I heard the geese splash across the sky this morning

i saw the spider patient  in the center of her web
i watched the ant cross quietly along the window, meandering like a river through heavy silt
(as i sat and ate toast)

these are moments;  fleeting.    Ordinary.    captured by my eye,
while spirit whispers  to my hip hopping mind, gently imprinting their fossils  on my life breath

the ant hypnotized me-- transforming thoughts into captured words, as though the spider
spun her web to weave a tale


the geese call to winter coming
the familiar bugle trumpeting the change of season clearly

all of these moments,

my cat's crushed whiskers like a rumpled garment as she rises startled from a deep sleep

the vegetables left carefully by the neighboring farmer at the door
(bouquets of grand expansive leaves i've never seen before,)
the trill of the red winged black birds echo summer's ghost, as I slide the window closed

these primordial matters call me from my preoccupation with the internet  (with 'important work' and 'urgent priorities' )
within a few mere decades, modern life heralding massive rapid change and disconnection,
from these tiny treasured  calls  of  the  wild.

My inhale has forgotten them, but my exhale remembers well
and gently coaxes my flesh and senses to recall.

These tiny things reclaim my breath.



N. Hoeppner
c. 2018
soulbrush

REALITY: Truth or Fiction?



There are 118 elements in the periodic table.   True.

26 letters in the English alphabet.   True.

Both serve as building blocks to creating endless realities. True.

Dreams, memory, perception, sensation, emotion; all real experiences within your unfolding reality,  but not necessarily the truth.

Opinion is not fact. True;   (despite popular effort to make it so).

A fact is a thing that is indisputably true. 

Fiction  is 'a belief or statement that is false, but that is often held to be true because it is expedient to do so.
"the notion of that country being a democracy is a polite fiction".   


        How do you create your current reality?  How do you decipher your Truth from  Fictions?

"Just the facts ma'am..." if you please.



'My mythology', Ms NGH
fictional character

c.2018

(artwork  N. Hoeppner)


                                                    'We adore chaos because we love to produce order.'    M.C. Escher

Howdy and thanks so much for  dropping by!  I apologize for my  cyber absence.  I  have been wandering in circles  searching for  the inspiration fairies and magic pixie dust, while tunneling into hidden passages of the psyche.  'ooooh, scary kids!'     Translation?:  I am busy preparing for a solo art show at the Salt Spring Gallery, opening apr 13-25.     Check back for postings of the show or please drop by the Gallery on beautiful Salt spring island, BC.    

xo NH

Growing up, the youngest of the roving neighbourhood brood, I often felt desperate to keep up. At about age 5, before we moved from that old, two storey, looming drafty house with the pine green trim, I was embroiled in treacherous games with the big kids.   Hide and Seek was one such game.   I didn't play the usual 5 yr old brand of closing my own eyes,  only half hidden by a bush,  legs still obviously  sticking out!

I played to win.

A long time ago, in a land far, far away, children were simply not supervised, coddled and duct-taped to couches, while holding techie gadgets that hadn't even been dreamed up yet. No, they balanced eggs on spoons while madly running about and tripped recklessly through muddy three legged races, saddled to their snotty nosed neighbour.   Playing always happened outdoors.

The trees were our companions and play structures.   Rather than sunscreen, we found shade.

In my 'hood, the other kids were older, taller, faster—I knew I was at a disadvantage. I realized one way to remain untouchable in this game, was not to go under,  or in, or behind, but rather...UP.

And so I did.

When the time to hide arrived and we ran in opposite directions, I climbed the wood pile to the lean too, reached for the sloping garage roof, from where, a bit of another s t r e t c h and scramble, I could just make it to the porch of our very steep roof via an obliging oak tree.

I adored that view.      I earned it.        I owned it.

Lying flat on my soft belly so as not to be spotted, I would watch the tallest boys and smartest girls circle the houses and wander the back-lane, until they were far enough away, and I could scuttle down unseen, just enough time to find home-free, safe and sound!    Victorious.

They never figured out how I did it and they hated that fact.   And I never told.   I felt like a puffed up colourful bird, chest out, confident and strong.

It makes me gulp in fear and wonder now, thinking about it.   I am just back from a recent visit where I drove by that looming old house and I can tell you confidently, I wouldn't climb it today.

That childhood discovery of a bird's eye view taught me the simple joys of a breeze blowing through my messy hair and the hidden power of raising your perspective, changing your vantage point, heading  UPward.

Hide and seek was my secret glee.

A lifelong love of hiking to vistas was cemented in that childhood game. To this day, when I feel stuck, stagnant, or drained I walk, drive or climb to higher ground, to lift and open my thinking, my energy, my horizon. IT seems to reconnect me with that young confidence we all have as small, yet mighty children. To remind me of what we can accomplish when we know no fear. I had no fear of what might happen during my crazy climbs because I was too young to understand or care. What a blissful state to realign with, imagining only possibility.   Your eye only on the goal.   The opportunity for wind in your hair and a tremendous sense of joy and pride.

May you find a worthy view and feel your own joy rising in this new year ahead.    What's your childhood confident spot?

Have a yummy and surprising new year and don't forget to scare yourself!  

​Ms NGH  
12/2017

​

                                               



                                  S    P     A    C    I    O    U    S     N     E     S     S.


Longing for a sense of spaciousness and  less pressure,  I haven't written in awhile - not for myself; not for work, blood, love nor money.  

Sometimes not writing is a marker of avoidance, of myself, of my inner world, of things that need attention. This time it was a signal of another process. Exploring my living space in a new way, the space of living in my body and my outer home. Unknowingly, my deeper need and pursuit of spaciousness has launched my personal  reorganizing renovation, divesting, recycling campaign.

My soul went on strike. Demands were simple: a little more breathing space amidst the daily visual noise. It was much easier to turn off the radio or the computer, than the constant visual demands of paper piles, undone tasks, and groceries that needed transforming into edible dishes.   Although the demands were simple, the tasks to fulfill this deceptively simple request, were not. Emotionally overwhelming and physically demanding,  the pressure  had actually  been accumulating  my entire  life in the  growing inertia of nostalgia.

In keeping with the rising zeitgeist toward minimalism and the magical life changing decluttering  a la Marie Kondo*, these phenomenons highlight and sharply contrast  the sheer consumer madness afoot.   For many a post war decade now, consumerism and excess has been growing, hitting a fever pitch through the 80's up until, well,.....now.  Western capitalism and entitlement has created a gluttony of junk accumulation, an economic crisis several times over, based in north American debt load, and the rising obesity and sloth of inactivity,  purchase power(nee rather, ease) and technology. These realities, although well known by society, are sadly potently anaesthetizing the public into somnolent numbness and apathy.   'Potently' I say, because this is how many corporations and advertisers design  it to be.  The need for clearing space is directly linked to consumer culture.   IT counters the panicked sensation of drowning.  IF you are like me this  bombardment creates tension within.

Back to, 'AH!'  Exhale.    The pursuit of spaciousness.    Did you notice your shoulders soften with the conscious breath?   Fortunately,  we can always choose to wake up from this robotic, ceaseless onslaught.

Other good news is there is also a rise of more conscious, ethical business, with eco friendly and fair trade emphasis fuelling their vision.    Probably even  within reach of your very own neighborhood.

With the popularity of the aforementioned*, ' life changing magic of Tidying up'  and  the meteoric rise of the minimalists*, something else is emerging.

There is clearly a broader yearning afoot.   A yearning for spaciousness.  Room to breathe.   Room to stretch.   To let go.    Release.   Lighten the psychic burden.   

My spirit was feeling cramped, and while I value yoga, I needed a deeper stretch and room to expand that I couldn't yet access.   Perhaps even deeper, clearing space is  a vehicle to heal ourselves and clear the past .  Perhaps most importantly  clearing helps heal the planet we have so callously and blindly used as a garbage receptacle.    Being mindful of new purchases, recycling, upcycling, giving away, sharing resources. 

In dance, reference to the sacredness of movement and its power and healing in our lives to ground us-- dovetails effortlessly  with the joy of an empty space to do so!   Whether your personal medicine is an afternoon espresso, a yoga warrior pose or a titillating book, consider that stillness, space and beauty calm our far too frequently vexed spirit .     We are then able to release  tension.      E x-p-a-n--d--i---n----g.

My writing had been bottling up. I've missed it.  Felt guilt, pressure, confusion, ache and even despair and pointlessness—but through all of these incarnations I held the internal space to witness, observe and not react. Clearing the story; the 'shoulds', the confusion, until a deeper truth emerged.  This  Parallels the eerie hovering  of the wildfire smoke and haze this summer blanketing most of  BC;  we were forced to be in it, powerless to impact it, and yet learned to be with it,  until it lifted;  simply awaking one morning to a new, clearer landscape.

     Breathing easier, once again.

Sometimes taking a break from something important to you is not in fact avoidance, but rather  reverence. Reverence for the space we seek, the refuge we require, the value we wish to add. The fervour of committed play.

I have made this the year for massive give aways and clearing of my space.   It continues.  No coincidence I am sure, hitting my  half century mark.  A  new identity wishes to emerge, chafing at the old constraints, limitations and programming.   I regret, I still have a long way to go and recognize it is a process,  an ongoing process.   IT is also fun to see  positive contagion  spread  though,  as your shift draws your whole family to the quest.

Visual clutter it seems, is a stressor which I never fully understood. I rationalized it as representative of a full life, creativity, stimulating, an active mind, a busy life.   Perhaps I am simply not willing to be so torn to pieces anymore filling too many responsibilities.   A chaotic  desk  top now feels overwhelming instead of creative.  Confusing. 

Yes, in truth, the patina of living is messy and wrinkled and leaves its stains and scratches.  Entropy happens.  Laws of nature need to be understood to avoid self reproach. But the practice of clearing is becoming a deep-seated need toward a deeper calm and ease, saving both time and energy.  I am already breathing easier.   And  when I maintain consistent movement toward
                                                                                                                    less

                                                                                                                             and less

                                                                                                                                              and
                                                                                                                                                         less,


it is  freeing.    Emancipation by  simply,  lightening the load.   By taking this action, The gifts are plentiful in return.   One can breathe easier.   Spaciousness graciously allows the yielding, the surrender more readily. Clearing allows Personal pain, heavy density and stuckness to transform to inner power.

                     S p a c i o u  s n e s s   allows  the  essential  to  e m e r g e.


 Ms NGH.
c 2017/september

references

1. *The life-changing magic of tidying up, Marie Kondo, c 2014. (see also Books blog 'a brief affair',  jan 2016)

2. *IF you are unfamiliar with them, check them out at, the minimalists for their blog and podcast, netflix documentary and several books.   http://www.theminimalists.com/   two average American young guys simply deeply committed to a principle of less is more.  Their work elegantly demonstrates the power and beauty of clarity, simplicity and living intentionally.

3. * Nia dance, a holistic approach to movement and wellness in your body, see also my blog, the genius of movement, june-2016, and look for classes in your area it's worldwide!  FInd your joy and an ability to maintain a ready,  aware and waiting (RAW -a NIA priniciple) openness to daily life.

April's lessons continued.  The lesson of impermanence through ethereal spring beauty reimerged for her.   All year she waited impatiently for the moment to spotlight her adored cherry blossoms.  This delicate blossom, so luminous;  a celebrated beacon of beauty against the dark grey skys of a cool spring.  Glorious,  yet achingly temporal.  Letting go had  never been her strong suit.   She  tensed her body and prepared.  On her last calendar day she mustered the  courage and blew soft pink snow kisses to May, showering the damp earth with cherry blossoms, grateful her part in the renewal was done for another year.   

  Letting go of her attachment to all of  her creations,
                                                    her body relaxed.    Allowing the transition.   

The gift of impermanence giving way to the next wave of growth.  A  robust black raven dusted her crown with its wing on landing,  honouring  her with a job well done.  She whispered her gratitude to the bird.   She had once again earned a rest and snuggled back into her reading for another year.  

APRIL  knew her blossoms were late this year.    She was distracted by reading the history of humankind.


Ms NGH/2017

The Bones of Winter

The last day of February rolls out.
Chilly. Clear. Familiar.

Patches of snow.  Patches of dirt.   A quiet, bored energy prevails.

Dullness. Ordinariness. A day easily forgotten as so many other unremarkable days blur into one another.

But what of it?

The stars remain behind the clouds.   Life stirs deep in the soil unseen by the naked eye.   Velocity and time continue their kinky relationship.   Nothing is truly more or less dull in this day, than what we so easily celebrate as the glory of a summer month.

February merely demands more of us, by offering less.

It prompts us to remain curious about the journey. Poised for the shoe to drop. Tensions of a waning winter build. In prairie cold places, this is also known as cabin fever build up.

It is a stark offering.   Tired bare branches reach long, sinewy fingers; intricate silhouettes of their winter bones against the fleshy sky.

Oh, I do long for the warmth of sun on my cheek.   My eyes yearn now for the pop of spring blossoms,  like cotton candy for the retina. To unburden oneself from the weight of wool jackets.... the sheer lightness of being wearing one's own skin again!

Yet, February is the anchor that holds us steadfast to winter moments.   An undervalued stillness.   A quiet that regenerates us.   IT serves to both prepare and amplify our joyful bursting forth into a different kind of feverish pitch-----
SPRING!

Perhaps February is an unsung hero that showcases so beautifully the power of patience.  Stillness.
Mining the dream.

It is the bare bones of winter which gifts us the distinct and delicate birthing of spring.