A dream of consciousness

I had not expected to want to write here while I was at Squam, but the words keep bubbling through my mind and they need to be placed somewhere, even if I can’t do so coherently.  This Fall session of Squam is a continuation of the cracking open that started for me when I was here in June, but also finds me feeling even more introspective and contemplative than I thought possible.  It is a strange contrast – unfurling my heart while simultaneously turning inwards.  I spend the evenings processing the photos I have shot that day, or scribbling in my journal or writing here.  I watch the people in my cabin talking and I join in when I’m moved to do so.  I know I belong at the centre of this place, and that we are all at its axis.  Today I have had women come over to me purely to take me into their arms and hold me.  Last night I had women share their energy with me simply because I asked.  Gentle touches, smiles and wet eyes are integral to this magic and all these elements blend together to create this earthly heaven into which I can breathe my trust and know that it is safe to do so.

I find that my thoughts chase each other, and in Camille’s beautiful writing class today I experienced a stream of consciousness that was overwhelming with its speed and truth.  The prompt to which I was writing had nothing to do with Squam but, in the end, I realised that what I had written was precisely my reality here: the stream of consciousness – the dream of consciousness – the awakening that we find here thanks to Elizabeth’s vision and her open, open heart.

“It is music and words and my pen moving across the page.  It is the light on the water and having the eyes to see it.  It is my camera in my hands and my fingers adjusting the dials, and the dock on the lake, and the loon on the water.  It is the want and the heart and the love and the fear – my god, the fear – and the lady skunk in the woods and the spirit moving through the trees on the breeze.  It is the cliche at my lips and the knowledge in my heart and the rhythm of the words and the flow of the ink.  It is the blood in my veins and the water in my womb, and the movement of my thoughts and the poetry of this moment.  It is the struggle of the mind and the longing of my soul and the desire to be moved and the creative path which I seek.”

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Saying yes

I’m sitting in a cottage in the woods of New Hampshire, surrounded by women who are knitting and talking and getting to know each other.  We’ve just returned from listening to Elizabeth speak at her opening ceremony for this Fall session of Squam Art Workshops.  I am one of the lucky ones because I arrived at Lake Squam yesterday before everyone else arrived this afternoon.  I’ve had an extra 24 hours to sink into this place, and to allow myself to feel all the emotions that it triggers in me.  As I drove to pick up Camille from Londonderry, New Hampshire, I was conscious that my throat was already tightening with suppressed tears, and I knew that it would only become more intense the closer I came to Squam.  This place, which seemed like a dream before I first came here in June, only becomes more perfect and myth-like the more time I spend here.  In a way, it is confronting because my emotions are so close to the surface all the time that I am here, but I know that it is important that I let those feelings flow through me and emerge in whatever form they chose to do so – usually tears (happy, fearful, joyful, regretful, tender, intensely personal and always poignant).  I am so, so grateful to Elizabeth for creating this space where I know – I know – that not only is it safe for me to feel and cry and laugh, but that I am with my people who will support me and love me as I do so.  In the past day, I have been recognised as a soul sister, and I have met a true kindred spirit.  Even though the workshops haven’t officially started yet, I feel as though I have already found everything I could possibly have wanted from this experience.

Elizabeth’s hope for us as we embark on this Fall session is that we allow ourselves to be open, and alive and awake.  She blessed the session by reading from her journal her hopes for the magic we will find here, and by imploring us to open all the doors to possibility and to the present moment.  To say yes to what it is that we need from this place and this time, and to say no to self-judgment and whatever it is that doesn’t give us ease and peace and love.  I cried as her words touched that deep and secret part of me yet again, and I fell further in love with this place and these people.  I was cracked open by my time here in June, and now in September I feel myself closer again to my surface and yet so much further inward simultaneously.

I am here.  This is only the beginning.  I am saying yes.

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