Reflection Of Things To Come, performance & installation art piece, b&w photo from sketchbook & journal, Minneapolis, Minnesota, October 2008, photo © 2008 by QuoinMonkey. All rights reserved.
Providence
1382, “foresight, prudent anticipation,” from O.Fr. providence (12c.), from L. providentia “foresight, precaution,” from providentem (nom. providens), prp. of providere (see provide). Providence (usually capitalized) “God as beneficient caretaker,” first recorded 1602.
Old Journals
I stumbled on a lost box of old journals in the studio last week. I thumbed through one and tossed it aside. It was half-full of incoherent thoughts. On the cover of another was a painting by the Zen monk, Ryōkan who lived most of his life as a hermit. I remembered the cover, but not what was inside. I had bought the blank journal at Orr Books on one of my monthly trips into Uptown.
I used to spend a whole day walking the pavement, visiting bookstores, buying art materials, taking myself to dinner at The Lotus. Dinner was the icing on the cake — beef lo mein, iced tea, fresh spring rolls, and a smorgasbord of books spread out on the table around me. Delicious.
Orr Books, Borders, and The Lotus are gone. Uptown is a shell of its former self. What used to be trendy has moved on. Or maybe it was me.
I sat down in my rocking chair and opened the cover of the journal. On the first page was a black and white glossy I’d printed of an art performance collaboration with Jennifer. That was followed by a color drawing of a mandala with Gaelic names and symbols, the Celtic Wheel of Seasons. Samhain (pronounced ‘sɑːwɪn) or Day of the Dead, has morphed into Halloween. It is the beginning of the seasonal calendar, the first High Holiday of the Celtic New Year.
The drawings reminded me of my old sketchbooks from art school. But that was long before. The journal I held in my hands was from the year 2001 — the first year I traveled to Taos, New Mexico to take a weeklong workshop with Natalie Goldberg. I had a corporate job back then, and big dreams. After 9 years, I was working hard emotionally to let myself leave. I wanted to jump off into a life structured around writing and art.
How high was the cliff? I was petrified.
Providence
The effort came in learning how to get out of my own way; I used every tool, rope, and carabiner in my arsenal. The Universe seemed to conspire in my favor. After two years of self-imposed isolation, I drove 1200 miles to Montana and hung out with my old friends in the Bitterroot Mountains for a week. I was in a gay bowling league in Minneapolis that year and met tons of new friends.
The last night of the Strike Pool, my name was called. All I had to do was bowl a strike on the spot, and I would win the kitty. Every eye in the place was on me.
Something must have guided my wrist. The pins fell in slow motion like the parting of the Red Sea. I left with pockets stuffed — over a thousand dollars in $1’s, $10’s, $20’s, and $5’s; a buff friend walked me to my car. The next day, I went down to the bank and exchanged the stack of green for a money order made out to the Mabel Dodge Luhan House. That’s the only way I could afford to go on my first writing retreat sitting under Taos Mountain.
There were other things in the journal/sketchbook that reminded me of how hard I worked back then, how hungry I was, how much I wanted to live an abundant life around writing and art. I became fearless and put myself out there in strange and unusual ways. There were four pages on the stages of Alchemy, drawings from Prima Materia to Solutio, starting at the Full Moon on 5/7/1.
On a page marked June 9th was a Medicine Shield, I think it was a Butterfly spread. There was a page of drawings on the Ancient Tree Alphabet and its relationship to the Runes. “What Is community?” was written at the top of another page, followed by writing exploration, ideas, and meanderings.
I had forgotten I had taken an Enneagram workshop that year (the Ego forms around 1 of 9 enneagrams). There are positive aspects to each identity, but the False Cores of the Enneagram are harmful, learned belief systems, Monkey Mind mantras, that when studied, help answer the question of why we feel separate and alone, rather than part of a larger whole.
With Providence we are aligned with the Universe; whereas the separation of Ego causes us anxiety, insecurity, and pain. The Enneagram types and False Cores were listed in the journal this order (turns out I’m a Four) with notes that followed on ways to turn the tide:
- Perfectionist – False Core: Something is wrong with me
- Helper – False Core: I am worthless
- Performer – False Core: I have an inability to do
- Romantic – False Core: I am inadequate
- Observer – False Core: I am nothing; I don’t exist
- Loyalist – False Core: I am alone
- Epicure – False Core: I am incomplete
- Boss – False Core: I am powerless
- Mediator – False Core: I am loveless
Wilderness & Thoreau
My favorite journal spread was a rough drawing of 10 Mile Canyon in the Pintler Mountains of Montana. I had taken a once-in-a-lifetime pack trip with a friend, 2 dogs, and 4 llamas that we carted in the back of her Toyota pickup. I had never saddled a llama before or even been that close to one. Their names were underlined in my journal with the following notes:
- Crow – for the Crow Reservation where she adopted him, part coyote, she called him “Crazy Indian Dog”
- Camas – from the purple flower, like a gentle lap dog
- Rumpel – Stiltskin – The King, The Old Man – he was 15 years old and all white
- Chaco – for Chaco Canyon in New Mexico – he was feisty and black
- Willie – the friendliest, roams free, he was brown, she called him William III
- 10-Mile – for 10 Mile Canyon – the lead and the youngest with a white stripe, very stubborn
I never would have remembered these details without writing them in my journal by the fire (it reminds me why it’s important for a writer to take good notes):
The glacial Montana lakes we passed that trip were not named. There was a Snow Cave at 9000 feet. We saw a pair of migrating Sandhill Cranes on the hike in. Llamas do spit but it’s okay; it’s only cud, regurgitated grass or hay. And they only spit if they are irritated. The moon rose on Friday, July 5th, 2001 at 11:45, one day past full. The wind was constant, keeping the mosquitoes away. Until later that night, when the tent zipper broke and we spent the buzzing night with our heads covered.
The journal was so alive. Did I really go on a llama pack trip in the Anaconda-Pintler Wilderness? Drive twice cross-country by myself, join a bowling league, win $1000 on a single strike, attend a writing retreat on the edge of Taos desert with 48 complete strangers, all in one year? When did I stop sketching and drawing? Have I become complacent? Lazy?
I don’t know if I’m supposed to be laying low, slipping inside like the turtle way I feel. Or force myself to get back out there, take the next step, walk hard in the world again. It’s alright to rest, reflect, fill the well. But that journal woke me up — nothing comes easy. Nothing comes without hard work and risk. In 2001 I was working my ass off. The Universe lined up beside and behind me, nudging me along.
It’s kind of like those few lines from Natalie about the angels cheering her on. Or the way W. H. Murray and Goethe write of Providence. Or these lines in scratchy block print from the first few pages of my journal, penned by Henry David Thoreau:
I learned this, at least, by my experiment; that if one advances confidently in the direction of his dreams, and endeavors to live the life which he has imagined, he will meet with a success unexpected in common hours. He will put some things behind, will pass an invisible boundary; new, universal, and more liberal laws will begin to establish themselves around and within him; or the old laws be explained, and interpreted in his favor in a more liberal sense, and he will live with the license of a higher order of beings.
In proportion, as he simplifies his life the laws of the Universe will appear less complex, and solitude will not be solitude, nor poverty poverty, nor weakness weakness. If you have built castles in the air, your work need not be lost; that is where they should be. Now put the foundations under them.
Henry David Thoreau, Walden, 1854
Journal/Sketchbook Entry, March 18th, 2001
Near the Spring Equinox
Time of Crane Migration Through Nebraska
Providence Revisited
Do you believe in Providence? Not magic or miracles. But that if you make positive effort with Great Determination, the Earth and Sky, a Higher Power, will help you along? Do you believe in Fate? Or do you call it Faith?
Providence extends to the neighborhood, the state, the region, the country, the world. If the time is right, the old systems will crash to the ground, making way for the new. The right person will come into power, into the place they need to be. Change is not always positive. But it may be necessary.
Providence – is it fate or faith? Neither or both? Usually when it’s time to move on, challenging personal opportunities present themselves. Do we bite? Show a willingness to sink into the gristle? Or ignore the signs and keep living the status quo. Every day, we are presented with the chance to make a new choice.
If we’ve built castles in the air, then those are our dreams. The time is not lost. With effort, and practice, structure creates a solid foundation. What once seemed impossible is now routine. Am I living old dreams? Maybe it’s time to replace them with something new.
Journal Entry – Thoreau, Ryōkan By Hand, Ryōkan Journal, Corners, from 2001 sketchbook & journal, Minneapolis, Minnesota, October 2008, all photo © 2008 by QuoinMonkey. All rights reserved.
-posted on red Ravine, Thursday, October 16th, 2008
QM, what a wonderful gift these old journals are. From the photos, they look so creative and wonderful. Even looking at your handwriting, it seems to flow. I do get the sense that you were in a highly creative time then, a letting go and letting loose.
I do believe in Providence. I do think it was Providence that got you your strike in that bowling alley and fulfilled another step towards your journey to Taos, to Natalie, and to yourself.
I believe Providence is as much about the generosity one has for the world as it is about the world conspiring on your behalf. Maybe there is a karma aspect to it, and surely there is faith.
You wrote this post for a reason. You’re asking questions—something niggling in there. And if I think of the post you wrote last week, which you link to here (the one about Natalie’s lines and the angels), then even more I sense that something is moving inside. I say, Listen to it. Go for it!
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ybonesy, thanks for the extra support. I feel like I need it right now. And somehow, my subconscious is telling me where to look. It’s off leading the way.
I feel a little lost right now as to which direction to go — what do I really want to focus on? It feels like the last few years has been a coming together of the work of the whole last 7 years. And I am at a good place.
But I’m struggling with the kind of internal effort and isolation it’s going to take to hunker down and write (remember how Natalie used to describe her process when she wrote her books? Sometimes grueling!) and the call I feel to get myself back out there in the external world in some more concrete ways. There is a tug of war going on inside.
You’re right, it’s kind of nagging at me. So I’m going back to familiar concepts, mining what I know, the places I’ve been when I felt more adventurous and willing to take risks. I appreciate your support along the way. And anyone else reading. It’s very helpful.
I feel more like wanting to hide away right now, like the hermit, Ryōkan. Or like Emily Dickinson. Last night we had our poetry and meditation group and did you know that Emily Dickinson never left her father’s house or garden for the 20 years leading up to her death?
It’s strange to say, but I can actually understand why a writer or artist would want to do that.
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I knew she was extremely isolated, but I didn’t know she was that isolated. I just read a magazine article that came out in August about a book on the long-distance relationship (not clear if it was romantic) and letter correspondence Dickinson had with a man named Thomas Wentworth Higginson. He is responsible for the publication of her work after her death.
The article sheds some light on her hermit-like life. Here is a link to the article in the New Yorker (LINK).
(Apparently, the NYT also published an article [LINK], which I haven’t read, but when I went to find the other link, this came up, too.)
I can understand the challenges in knowing exactly what to focus on. Especially when in your heart you know it’s a hunkering down. Maybe it’s a new cliff you have to jump off. I do think there’s something easier about going for it when the “it” involves a more active engagement with those who support you and love you—friends, partners, fellow workshop attendees. When “it” is you and you alone (and you know everyone else is there with you, but they’re not physically sitting by your side) it has to take more. I think it must.
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ybonesy, YES, we did talk about Thomas Wentworth Higginson! In fact, I think he’s the one Teri told us about when she talked about Emily’s bio. She said that few of Emily’s poems were published in her lifetime. When she died, her sister found over a thousand poems bundled up in little handbound books in her desk drawer.
She immediately went to, I think it was Thomas Wentworth, to see if he would edit and publish them. He agreed.
But the irony is — Emily had sent this same man a few poems when she was alive to see if her poetry had merit. She was hungry for support, for someone to at least tell her the poetry had heart.
Instead, he told her the poems were too strange. And she never sent them out to anyone again. I’m sure Teri will chime in later if I have the facts incorrect (she has a mind like a steel trap!). But isn’t that the saddest thing you’ve ever heard?
Regardless of that – Emily Dickinson kept writing. She kept going. Nothing was going to toss her away.
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ybonesy, you’re right — in the end, it comes down to just me, sitting down and doing it. I have to have the discipline and carve the time out of my schedule when I sit down and do nothing else but work on my book. It’s scary and hard and also exciting. I need to get serious about setting up a schedule again.
Remember how Natalie had us track our creative time before we returned for one of the 4 Writing Intensive retreats in Taos? How did that work? I think every time we did a practice, wrote haiku, read, we logged it in a journal. Then we shared the journals at some point. Natalie shared hers, too. I need to go back and look at mine.
Accountability really helps. What you and I have with red Ravine. Writing groups, online and in person. Setting up times and showing up, whether others show up or not. I need to get back to that. I think it will help. Because, ultimately, it’s me. I have to show up for myself and do it.
And IT is more than one thing, more than one creative discipline. That’s the hard part, too. Not everything can have equal time.
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RE: Dickinson and Wentworth Higginson’s relationship, you should read the articles, too. They delve into that part (his critque of her work); it seemed to be a complex relationship. I think they wrote to one another for eight years before finally meeting in person.
But yeah, hopefully you won’t be as isolated as Dickinson. 8)
You know, a good friend of mine is writing her memoir as part of an MFA program. She is so used to and so good at working under deadline, that she put herself into a structure with deadlines (even though she is a professional writer and didn’t necessarily need the credential). Each two months, I think, she has to submit up to 50 pages. She gets feedback on each “packet,” as they are called, plus she has to complete readings on literary works in her genre and write about those, which forces her to take apart those works and understand why and how they go together so well and succeed.
There are different ways to get to an end. She still has to hunker down to write, but the structure is key to helping her do it. I’d like to ask her to write a piece about it for red Ravine some time, if she’s so inclined.
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Remember how Natalie had us track our creative time before we returned for one of the 4 Writing Intensive retreats in Taos? How did that work? I think every time we did a practice, wrote haiku, read, we logged it in a journal.
Yeah, I do remember. We committed to a particular practice—walking, sitting, writing x times per week—and then logged what we actually did each week. It was a good addition to the overall commitment to be in the retreat.
I’m not one to document my time spent, though. It’s just not a structure that works well for me. How about you? Do you think your structure will encompass some sort of documentation of your time spent?
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Hmmm…with the tracking of time, I don’t necessarily like doing it. But you know how it helped me? I did it for those months she asked us to and it made me more aware of how I spend my time — where I waste time, how I waste time, what I do with my time when I’m not writing, etc. I think that was a huge value for me. I think the accountability also helped me to be more efficient at my practices. It raised awareness around creative discipline.
I have creative check-in’s with a few other writers every 6 months or so. We set 6 month goals, then check in on how we are doing. No response. No judgment. I agreed to track my time in one of the 6 month periods. I got a lot more done.
To answer your question (#7), I don’t like tracking time. But I’m more efficient and aware of how I spend my time when I do it. I also think I accomplish more concrete detail in my creative goals. Would I want to do it for long, extended periods of time? Nope!
With my business, I have a software program that has a time clock on it that tracks time for each task. You’d be amazed at how much time can go by that we don’t account for if we don’t track it. It was a real money-saver. I’ve also tracked the time I spend on red Ravine at certain points so I can better balance my life. Very helpful. I made changes based on that tracking.
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I not only enjoyed this insightful post, I enjoyed the dialogue replies. The photos of the journal are wonderful, and have to me to thinking about journaling. I used to journal then stopped long ago because it seemed I was repeating myself. I’ve tried to pick up journaling again using a spiral notebook and pencil. That didn’t seem to get me to going. Now I wonder if I should get a nice looking type of journal that looks like a book with creamy pages. I thought about sketching, doodling, and just writing in a flow. I’ve tried this before to open up the within. Something I’m exploring as I feel journaling will definitely help my creative muse.
I remember reading about Emily Dickinson, and her hermit lifestyle. I’ll click on that link to read the article. I’ve had my hermit times, and the solitude was much needed. Have you ever read any of May Sarton’s books, and Alice Koller’s books? I’ve read all of their books, and my favorites are: The Stations of Solitude by Koller, and The House By The Sea by Sarton.
For me, I believe Providence is the true Essence of oneself yet usually masked by outer life and ego. 🙂
I like the idea of “walking, sitting, writing x times per week” and logging that down. Hmmm….
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Anna, thank you so much for your thoughtful comment. It’s so good to hear from others about their process around journaling and sketching. I think it’s so unique to each person.
These days I buy cheap spiral notebooks that I fill with Writing Practices. And this is just me — but my Practices are much more alive than my journal writing used to be. I have tons of old journals that document life at that time. But tend to be more rambly.
I also usually keep an archival sketchbook, much like the one in this post, where I draw and write notes and quotes about what I’m exploring at the time. That practice has fallen off for me over the last few years and I miss it. I want to get it back. Now I write things on tons of Post-Its that get lost around the house. I need to keep a sketchbook again!
This year I’ve also kept a separate cheap red notebook for my haiku. I love that little thing. It inspires me.
Maybe ybonesy will share where she keeps her sketches and practices, too. And I hope you’ll come back and let us know how it goes with your explorations on logging your practices.
I LOVE May Sarton. It’s great to find another May Sarton fan. I’ve read almost all of her non-fiction work. I started with Journal of a Solitude. I’ve only read part of her fiction but what I read, I liked. I’m particularly fond of Kinds Of Love. She’s got that slower style of unfolding characters, where you learn to love and savor them. I haven’t read any of Alice Koller. I will have to check her out.
Sarton does remind me of Emily Dickinson. You know what I have to often ask myself in terms of my need to be by myself? Am I hermiting or hiding? I have to keep checking in with myself. I can sure do both.
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QuoinMonkey, this post stayed with me today. I would like to get started journaling again, and I was wondering how to do so that is creative and to open up that right brain wide. I don’t want to just do a ‘Dear Diary’ and write about complaints of this or that…. unless it is creative and a parody! (I tend to be too serious and need to lighten up.)
“I also usually keep an archival sketchbook, much like the one in this post, where I draw and write notes and quotes about what I’m exploring at the time.” -QM
I like this! I have a new sketchbook just begging to be opened. I’m thinking of sketching, doodling, mindmaps, cartoons, notes and quotes, and whatever wild stuff may come. I like using a pencil (color pencils too) and paper, wanting to move away from the keyboard. There seems to be something about pencil and paper… using the hand. And yes, a journal for practices… and I will keep to my spiral notebook. LOL I see it now, sitting there on my desk.
I’ve been both a hermit and a hider when needed. Sometimes the world goes too fast, and I retreated to stop it and get off! I really liked Alice Koller and how she had dug deep into herself. May Sarton, I just love.
Enough said. Thanks for the inspiration for a writer trying to come back after quitting and vowing to not write again.
(PS: I wish there was an edit. I saw a mistake in my first post. Ehhh!)
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Good for you, Anna, to get started again. Your ideas of using pencils and color pencils sound good. And pens are fun, too. I have a bunch of markers, used for inking and that kind of thing, that I carry in a pencil bag so that I can add color in a more permanent way than colored pencils. But that’s also sometimes the downside—you can’t erase.
Just to chime in on journaling and journals, I have four in progress right now, all serving different purposes. My writing journal is a spiral notebook with a plastic-like cover, so that it’s kind of hardy. Then I have a fat red-leather-bound graph-paper journal that I’ve been carrying around for two years now, I think. It’s where I put my doodles, but it’s also got some writing. Not much.
I have two thin and very colorful journals that I also carry with me—one is for blog post ideas and any work on blog posts. The other is for my working memoir, in which I jot down the big-header ideas—like chapter ideas that I don’t want to forget. I’m not going to write that for a while, but since I’m always thinking of what will go in it, I carry the notebook with me to not lose my thoughts.
And I have a special bag that I bought in Taos, about the shape of a notebook, where I keep all my stuff. I take it everywhere with me, sitting in pick-up line at carpool, dentist office while my girls get their teeth cleaned, etc. And once I finish one doodle, I always start another. It’s become a constant in my life now—writing, doodling, planning for writing.
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ybonesy, I like reading about your different journals and notebooks, how you carry them all with you in a bag you bought in Taos so that you will have them in both common and uncommon hours. It sounds like all of these notebooks have become part of your practice — like you said, a constant in your life.
The great thing about having organized places to jot things down is that we then don’t have to carry all that in our brains or worry about forgetting our ideas — the next little bit of inspiration is free to come to us.
Anna, thanks for coming back and letting us know about our journal/notebook process. Sounds like it’s going to be a rich one and that you are more than ready to dive in!
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Quotes on how a few others view Providence. I’ll keep my eye out along the way for a few essays on the subject. Always interested in how humans venture to explain the unexplainable.
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Who can love to walk in the dark? But Providence doth often so dispose. — Oliver Cromwell
What gift has Providence bestowed on man that is so dear to him as his children? — Marcus Tullius Cicero
It is impossible that anything so natural, so necessary, and so universal as death, should ever have been designed by Providence as an evil to mankind. — Jonathan Swift
Under the benignant Providence of Almighty God the representatives of the States and of the people are again brought together to deliberate for the public good. — James Polk
You will certainly not doubt the necessity of studying astronomy and physics, if you are desirous of comprehending the relation between the world and Providence as it is in reality, and not according to imagination. — Maimonides
We failed, but in the good Providence of God apparent failure often proves a blessing. — Robert E. Lee
I once asked a hermit in Italy how he could venture to live alone, in a single cottage, on the top of a mountain, a mile from any habitation? He replied, that Providence was his next-door neighbor. — Laurence Sterne
Providence has its appointed hour for everything. We cannot command results, we can only strive. — Mohandas Gandhi
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Just before my vacation a couple of weeks ago, I came across a journal I had written in 2000. It was a time when I was really into list making, and I had written over a hundred pages of different lists. It was also a time of great upheaval and change in my life.
So revealing – to go back and study those lists. All the plans I made, the things I wanted to accomplish in the next 5 years, the 100 things in my life that I thought had influenced me themost. On and on.
Just made me realize again how important the act of journaling is, and how important to save what we write. There is so much wisdom, assessment, learning in those old books. I cannot imagine not having at least 3 journals going con-currently. It is such a habit. It is just a part of what I do and who I am.
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Bo, that must have been amazing, to find all of those lists. I like that idea – of making lists, bullet points. It digs into the meat of things. I think you might have been the one that was commenting on the posts ybonesy and I did — our Do or Die lists of things we wanted to do before we died that we posted a long time ago. I hadn’t looked at that in ages and it was good to go back.
I have accomplished some things but others will take my whole life, if ever. Yes, all the wisdom, assessment, learning, seeking, found in old journals – it’s true. What I like the most is I can see how far I’ve come — that I’ve grown. At the same time, there is a sadness that comes in knowing all the things I probably won’t accomplish. They are yesterday’s dreams. And dreams change.
I like the idea of writing on 100 things in life that have influenced me the most. Maybe I will. At first glance, it seems like 100 things is a lot. But once you get rolling, I bet the list can be a lot longer than that! I could probably come up with 100 books alone! Hmmm. Food for thought.
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