Roses...the art of life

"Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they?

Think not of them, thou hast thy music too,-

While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day,

And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue" John Keats

It is that time of year when we transition into the cold and darkness of Winter. In the garden that signifies many things. Recently my dad and I pruned a multitude of rose bushes. Well he did, expertly, and I was his novice student. He is known for his beautiful roses at home.  My dad has a true green thumb, and spends many hours in the garden. I have been known to be not so handy in my garden travails allowing many a plant to meet an all too soon demise. So  it was with a newfound curiosity and desire to learn the art of green life. 

The pruning allowed us to observe the sound of the gentle rain in the garden. The quietude and stillness made this experience truly enjoyable, coupled with the crispness of the cooler afternoon air. Over the summer, the roses had provided me with hours of glorious scent, of delightful colour. Now, in the waning into true Winter, watching them take their final bow towards their ephemerality was true beauty.  It reminds me of the cycles of life and death, allowing the full nature of transformation to be present, from the arrival of the first blushing bud until the last of the petals fall.

I have been contemplating my new instructions to rose pruning and feel that these lessons may also apply to life. Surprisingly, over the past few weeks, I have given this advice to people who are searching for the ultimate rose pruning. Here are my dad's guidelines on how to prune roses, wonderfully advised in his gentle tone of voice, filled with patience.

Cut away the old flowers first.
Start with what you can see easily and cut them away.Take off the old roses, the leaves, in order to see beyond the wildness of the rose bush. Take time to look at the plant and see how it is structured, instead of being in the midst of the plant. Step back and have a look at it from all angles until you can see the whole of the plant and get to know it and what shape it might take.  
Not to be too hasty at the start when we haven't truly seen what shape it is we would like to develop. Give it the space to allow it to unfold. Being patient that it is the first step in the process and it may not yet be clear what to do next.

Cut away anything that is growing on the inside. We are looking to make the rose bush circular. 

Cutting away the branches on the inside. Some looked so lovely that I didn't want to cut them at first. They were not part of the roses plan to grow into its envisaged shape. Such as when things look beautiful on the surface, but they do not serve us anymore and we need to let them go. They are not for our highest purpose, and may lead us into thorny situations in the future.

Cut away anything that is crossing over into the middle of the bush.

This step entails cutting away that which has grown over what needs to be bare. Cutting a branch that will later interfere with the growth of a stronger branch...a healthier one. In modern times, we often have so many things going on, and not always enough time to have clarity on all that occupies us.  To cut away those things in life that cross us, that keep us "busy" and "doing" and that stop us from breathing and Being. "At this deep level we can then create the life we want especially when all of our "branches" are going in the right direction. We can harness and maintain our energy by being clear of what our intention is.

Prune to a third of its original size. Making a firm cut just above a new bud. This might seem a lot, but roses like a good prune (It might look harsh) They will grow back. And flower.

To me this last guideline is all about trust. A third? Really? It seems a lot. Apparently so. 
There has been many times in my life when I have "pruned" my life. Just after it is done, I have had a feeling of slight discomfort, tinged with regret: "oh, perhaps I trimmed too much-it looks so bare and empty". To me this stage is knowing and trusting new opportunities will enter a vacuum. The roses need it in order to grow anew. And amazing opportunities often replace what had been removed.

Winter is a time of introspection, of shorter days and longer nights. It is a wonderful time to observe what is going on internally and make changes that suit us on a deep level. We benefit from this time of introspection to gain clarity and scope out possibilities for the time ahead.

In life, we need to create space, especially if life feels too full. On a physical level, when we have an internal empty space, it can fill. The breath fully exhaled creates a vacuum in the lungs, creating room for the next inhale. We can then trust the new breath will enter into our body easily. We can surrender fully to this breath as it enters at a profound level.
When there is emotional space, it too creates room for the new, whether it be new romantic love, friends, hobbies, a new passion, or something old that is new again. We cannot always do this from a place of busy, overwhelm or overflow. Creating space for new growth. It is a time for searching what makes us happy and excited and what makes our hearts glad.
Space and release on a mental level is needed too. It is the basis of meditation and mindfulness. It is the clearing out of old thoughts, of becoming aware of what our thought space is doing. New thoughts can arrive, creating feelings of aliveness and inspiration. We benefit from this deep level of surrender. Of lettting go, and feeling into the next transition. Knowing that we will be supported. "Leap, and the net will appear".

Gardening together was a beautiful experience. Metaphorically, it is great to get a perspective on one's own life by a person we trust. Only we can make choices and decisions regarding our inner lives. However, discussion and advice can assist with how to "prune" ourselves in the best direction, and with the most amount of love.  

So in the midst of this chilly Winter, there is hope and trust for the Spring whilst acknowledging that it is still a deeply inward time... a feeling of waiting for the next growth to appear and to be filled by new delights. And the beautiful anticipation of the scent of roses filling the air with joy.

xx

Sound Intimacy

"Music and sound influences our perception of the world. At this juncture in time, music, among other things, needs to point to nature - the un-built spaces on our planet. One of my goals as a composer is to create music that point to these places. My weird compositional process involves extensive "fieldwork" where I seep myself in these places. Overtime, my ears, like eyes acclimating to a dark s

pace, gradually tune into the sounds and fluctuating systems that define these places and a certain intimacy is gained. This acclimation time and gained intimacy is a key component to my compositional process and reinforces the music I compose. When I return home from "fieldwork" I will use the collected "artifacts" to render a music that points to these place, amplifying their imperceptible resonances and rhythms." Erik DeLuca 

I love this quote. I love that Erik deems fieldwork and deep resonance with nature as important in the creative process. Somehow I feel that is validating my current artistic process. I remember being sent it from a dear friend whilst I was reading "The secret teachings of plants" by Harold Buhner. A remarkable book that speaks of heart energy and how plants can teach us to be more engaged with our own bodies. Yes, it may be a little left of centre for some. It speaks of our nervous systems and how we can "tone" the parasympathetic nervous system. It has been recently discovered that the heart has an energy all of its own. It is separate from our neural network. So how can we combine both and have the brain waves sitting atop the heart waves for the ultimate in inner peace and creativity? A true combination of mind and body and our emotions. Especially in an age where the adrenaline system (aka as "busy") is seen as King. 'I'm bringing the parasympathetic back' is more my mantra.

Today I went on a little adventure (not of the adrenalin kind). It was down to Fossil Cove. I attempted to walk the trail yesterday only to be stopped a third of the way down by a strong force. I made a recording at the junction, becoming swamped in mosquitoes. Mother nature knows my relationship with her beloved mosquito and I is fraught, and so I retreated back up to the car, attempting not to itch. Kind of like not throat clearing after you have a cold, or been overusing the voice. It always makes it worse once the itch has been scratched....better not to do it in the first place.

So second time lucky today. A steep decline through gorgeous bush area, with lush vegetation, signs of animals and birds everywhere. I came to Fossil cove and it was beautiful. It reminded me of the french "Falaises d'Etretat" made famous by Monet, which I visited 20 years ago, but on a smaller scale. And much more remote, clearly.

Fossil Cove, Tinderbox

Falaises d'Etretat, Monet

The tide was becoming low (I had checked as I certainly did not want to not be able to re-traverse the water). Initially I was able to walk the fossilised ledges and discover small inlets, small bays and small cavernous areas. The area under my feet was ancient. I wondered how many people actually had stood in this cove. A few hundred? Maybe more. Still pristine. When the tide lowered some more I could make my way under the overhang and adventure to the other side. 

Listening to the waves, the roll of the water, noticing her feel; her stillness and sometimes her strong movement.

Just being with nature, sitting a while in contemplation. Noticing the small sea creatures. Finding small cave-like areas where the resonance would change and shift. Knowing from experience now that if it is still damp there is a better chance of it resonating.  Singing. Breathing. Making sound. Being silent. Listening. Being curious. Exploring. Being Queen of being present, and noticing when I wasn't (often the mosquitoes distracted me...)

Buhner talks of the breath in the city "The breath cannot be taken in deeply in such places, it rises shallow and short in the chest. The heart is racing an rapid, then it is thunder muted and soft. Like a tiny bird seeking release, fluttering desperately inside the chest".

I notice the difference in the ability to breathe here. The ease with which the inhale arrives and how the deep surrender of the exhalation can occur. Helped by being in proximity to the trees and vegetation and the ocean. I feel my body can let go inch by inch into something new and wonderful. I am planning on resting deep and anchoring all that I have done into the Earth and continue with this intimacy of "fieldwork".

Sound and Silence: a(n) (H)earpoint

“The important notes were the ones I didn’t play.” Louis Armstrong

Contemplation and meditation, as well as musings gathered from regular ocean walks, helped me to become aware again as to why sound was so important to me. People around me seemed to be able to be with a lot of loud noise, a lot of the time. Not so for me. I am starting to make silence a regular part of my day. Without it my nervous system becomes over-stimulated and the parasympathetic nervous system becomes elusive having all sorts of body ramifications.

From birth I was significantly vision impaired. I needed to hear and touch the world. I could not see things and did not see things as others saw them. I was exposed to an alternative sensorial environment: one where sound was paramount. Individuating people and their moods from their unique sound “aroma”. I have vague early recollections that this led to a great deal of fatigue; where silence was a balm when I did not have to be on alert. When i did get glasses it was a whole new way of information entering my psyche, which I adored. I would read to excess, under the covers, even though my eyes hurt.  

Even at this age, I had such a strong desire to know more; to understand the world. It wasn't until I was in my mid 30's that I had a true experience of depth perception: seeing the world in 3D. Oliver Sack's book "The Minds Eye" tells the story of a woman who has 2D vision (unable to sense depth). I  related to that instantly upon reading it, where much of my visual world then made sense. From this visual lack, my auditory and kinaesthetic worlds are my strength. I am lucky for as a voice specialist, visual detail is not the most important aspect. I can hear the voice in a uniquely different way from so many early experiences where this was vital to my survival. It now acts as one of my primary tools of differentiation.

I looked to my creative world for silence to fully immerse myself in the experience of sound at its most delicate. We are exposed to copious amounts of “ambient” noise each day. On any given day in a local café, I could hear the sounds of gulls, traffic, cups, coffee machines, people chattering, exhausts, skateboarders and many other noise cues, as well as music. Interestingly, it was also here in noisy places that I had the opportunity to become aware of my body, my thoughts, and emotions. It seems that when there is too much sound (known as auditory bombardment), I have the opportunity to not listen to any of it (for short periods only).

I was able to contemplate auditory selection versus bombardment in reading the journal of  Acoustical Society of America (ASA) (2012) “Although we have little awareness that we are doing it, we spend most of our lives filtering out many of the sounds that permeate our lives and acutely focusing on others -- a phenomenon known as auditory selective attention.” 

It is interesting that those who get hearing aids for the first time often give up for this exact reason. It takes up to 6 months for the neural re-structuring to filter out unwanted sounds. For many, they wear them non-stop for 3 days, become auditorally 'burnt out', place them in a drawer and never use them again. There needs to be a making peace with the sound world again.

The balance between sound and silence is a unique aspect of my musicality and performance. 

I began to look into my creative sound world through a lens of selective attention to express increasingly subtle nuances of sound. I started to question if could invite people into my auditory unique world: To show them a prism of my conscious world; an invitation to sense another viewpoint. Or a(n) “(h)earpoint.”

This led me to further performance musings.What state does one have to be in in order to truly hear and to be here? Does selectively hearing make us more present to our environment? The idea arose that there might be multiple stages of presence. What would guide people to be more present to themselves and the sounds around them? 

How could I invite others to be present to sound in performance? Is it through shock- as I have seen so many others do, such as in horror movies or certain theatre performances. Or is it through subtle sublime-ness, which I have also seen, such as a performance by Chamber Made Opera and Rawcus theatre company in their show “Another Lament”. Here there were definite feelings in the silence. Some silences were peaceful and others were strident. 

In performance I have a sense that I want to wait until the echoes have ended. Call and silent response, silent response and then call and so the cycle continues. 

Finding ways to strike the balance between sound and silence, for therein lies the power and the harmony between us and the world around us.