Posted on by Jessica Dofflemyer · 2 Comments

All Is Lost

“I think you could all agree that I tried. To be true. To be strong. To be kind. To love. To be right. But I wasn’t And I know you knew this, in each of your ways. And I am sorry. All is lost here, except for soul and body. That is, what’s left of them. And a half day’s rations.”

~ Our Man, “All Is Lost”

 

I watched the movie “All Is Lost” on Mother’s Day. Not exactly an intentional choice, but it was the DVD that was at the top of the Netflix queue that weekend. So Jeb, the Bohemian, and I hunkered down at the end of the day for this award-winning survival tale.

Robert Redford is the one and only character, as “Our Man,” a sailor, alone at sea. There is no dialogue, just the portrayal of a man on his boat, and the series of events that unravel after colliding with a floating shipping container.

I think this is where I give the “spoiler alert” warning (if you have yet to see the movie and don’t want to know details, pause your reading now).

The movie has been with me for the past few days, as I reflect, most specifically, on the ending. The film takes the viewer through the progression of events that begins with a hole in the boat. What ensues is a series of incidences, that despite his efforts, Redford’s character cannot surmount. As soon as he remedies one problem, another arises, as he swiftly loses one security after the next.

photo courtesy of Buffer Me Up
photo courtesy of Buffer Me Up

 

Eventually, he is left with only a leaking raft boat, drinking the condensation from the salt water he creates, using sunlight and a plastic bag.

Finally, with nothing left to eat, a last, remote hope appears in the distance. A light from a ship in the night. He’s able to ignite a fire, that he then fuels with the pages from his log book. In his attempt to feed the fire, trying to be seen, the flames get out of control and engulf his life raft, sending him overboard into the dark waters.

But for his own heart beat and breath, now, in this moment, everything is truly lost.

What to do?

Our Man has reached the point beyond doing. There is nothing to do, it seems, but to surrender. Let go. Release.

And he does. He lets himself sink into the shadowed depths, falling, slowly. Dropping down.

As he drifts downward, he can look up toward the surface and see his circular life raft aflame, a ring of fire. He has been burned by circumstance and sun. Stripped of everything he thought significant. He has passed through flames into the abyss of water, where his life is transforming. Everything he knows is dying.

It has been depicted in some epic tales that only through complete and pure surrender, have the greatest realizations been attained. There is the story of a man earnestly seeking Truth by sitting under a tree, then finally giving up his quest altogether. Once he relinquished his grasping grip, he became enlightened as the Buddha. Or the story of Jesus on the cross, completely giving himself over to the experience of a long and torturous death, only to rise from that passing with life, ever-lasting.

Whether you literally believe these stories or not, the alchemy of pain and struggle into freedom is a metaphor that’s been woven in tales throughout human history. The legend of the Phoenix bird rising from the ashes is a classic story of unbounded potential emerging from a fierce forging. A prize only attained through the complete release into the flames.

Only as I am writing here, am I realizing the significance of watching “All Is Lost” with my son on Mother’s Day. How the final scene in this movie, as Our Man plummets down into the ocean’s black abyss, is one in which I can relate to in my own way.

I have my version of the plummet on the day my son was born. The moment when the mid-wife had checked his heartbeat as he was still in the birth canal, crowning, but not yet born. How she asked me to call upon whatever Powers that I needed to help me birth my baby. That the time was now. He needed to emerge. All of the magic and phenomena I could muster, must be called upon to bring my child into the world.

And when I asked for help from every deity of every lineage I knew, what I heard and felt was nothing. What I saw in my mind’s eye, was a vast and infinite tunnel of blackness, through which, I was quickly falling. There was nothing to hold to. Nothing to grasp. Nothing to help me.

For years I struggled with this birth experience (my son was born healthy and well – so Grace was with me somewhere I like to think). I questioned myself. I believed I’d done something innately ‘wrong.’ That I was so far adrift, I didn’t even know how to pray correctly, at the time of life and death, when I needed it most.

I told this story to a woman who was a Buddhist. She had become blind in the middle of her life, then later, regained her sight. She knew, intimately, about the darkness.

When I expressed my sadness and confusion around having felt not a thing in one of my life’s greatest hours of need, she asked with wonder, “You got the darkness?”

Awe and whisper in her words. “Not everyone gets the darkness.”

Robert Redford’s character, got the darkness. The nothingness. And just as he slipped into all its mystery, he looked up to the surface to see that boat with a light approaching his blazing life raft. Far down with little oxygen, he makes one final attempt.

He swims towards the top, pushing through water, kicking his way back to air.

The final sequence is left to interpretation.

A hand from the boat reaches into the water. Our Man grasps the hand.

The screen shifts from the black, watery shadows to a flash of bright, white light. The film ends.

Was he rescued?

Or did he die trying to reach the surface, the helping hand, only a part of some afterlife illusion?

The movie lets you choose how you want to see it.

Just like life.

So my Mother’s Day delve into “All Is Lost” was unintentional but poignant. I’m still mulling over my birthing story and all that wasn’t there. And all that was (most beautifully, my healthy son, now 10 years old and growing).

When all is lost, is Nothing left?

What is that Nothing?

Posted on by Jessica Dofflemyer

Note Card of the Week- Sunrise Shell

2014-03-21_sunrise

 

We can strategize and configure. Position ourselves to maximize the odds in our favor. But there’s always an element of chance.

The revered Sunrise of Hawaii, has been so sought after, that this rare shell has become even more hard to find simply resting upon the beaches. Not wanting to wait until they wash ashore, treasure-seekers often dive into the ocean trying to uncover these gems from the depths.

So simply stumbling upon one of these precious shells in a lazy stroll along the sand…well, that discovery is one sweet surprise, making our chance encounter just that much more delightful.

Such was my meeting with this Sunrise shell, featured as the Note Card of the Week. A treasured gift offered up from the sea to me. I’m happy to continue the sharing with you!

I will be incorporating more Hawaiian shell note cards in the Love Letters Press shop in the days to come.

Here’s to the precious treasures that cross our paths!

 

Etsy_Stationary_sunrise

 

Creating these cards makes me smile. Sharing them with you brings me happiness. Knowing that you may pass them on to someone you love, well, that’s just a beautiful thing.

All cards are hand-made, with care, on recycled paper.

Posted on by Jessica Dofflemyer · 4 Comments

My Craft Fair Initiation: Part Two

My first craft fair vending experience is now officially complete.

For those following along, my last post outlined Part One of this vending endeavor, which entailed me bringing my photography note cards to sell at my first craft fair, held at the Kauai Veteran’s Center this past Saturday.

On the morning of, the Bohemian, my escort, rose with a smile, even though it was 5am and his day off work. He drove us to the veteran’s center, where retired military planes were grounded as sentries on the front lawn. We were one of the first arrivals to see the nineteen empty tables waiting in rows, filling about half the space of the hall.

2014-05-12_vet hall empty

 

I was assigned the odd one. As in, the nineteenth table outside the rows, sticking out from the rest like a panhandle. The Bohemian took it as luck, reasoning that I was out of the lines and better seen from the front entrance. And besides, he pointed out, I was the table positioned closest to the food counter, where the donuts and coffee were being sold. Surely, everyone would be passing my wares on their way to breakfast.

 

note the precise timing of breakfast into lunch, as well as the backwards 3 as an E in Pepsi - love it!
note the precise timing of breakfast into lunch, as well as the backwards 3 as an E in Pepsi – love it!

 

One seasoned vendor, a slight woman in her sixties, with a silk plumeria clipped in her hair, snatched up the Bohemian right away, requesting he assist her in unloading her car. She’d had surgery on her wrist recently, and needed help lifting boxes to her cart. So while he helped her move jewelry cases, I opened up my solitary storage box and began set up.

By 7:30, all tables were to be “public ready.” Most were, as the nineteen representing vendors filtered into the hall, transforming their stations with rote-like automation. Some whipped out smartphones with high-tech accessories attached for credit card swiping. I held my grandmother’s old evening-bag clutch, inside of which I’d placed cardboard dividers between my ones, fives, tens and twenties. I hadn’t thought anyone would want to pay by credit card.

The coffee was brewed and wafting from the kitchen close to me. The Bohemian was now troubleshooting the jewelry vendor’s boom box on the floor by a wall outlet. I could hear her saying something about how studies had shown that certain music made shoppers more likely to buy. A bit more fiddling ensued, and soon some kind of Celtic-riverdance-meets-Andean-pan-pipes began booming out from the portable radio.

Mission accomplished, the Bohemian walked towards me, smiling, giving his shoulders a half-shrug, affirming the tunes. “It’s nice.”

What wasn’t nice, was that the compact disc chosen to play, had only three tracks set to repeat. And I kid you not, those same three instrumentals played in the background for the entire six-hour event, non-stop. So ingrained in my being by day’s end, that once back home and showering, I thought I heard the haunting sounds again, only to realize it was simply the sound of water in the drain triggering the phantom echo.

This craft fair event was held on a day filled with numerous island festivals on every shore. But despite the competing activities, the crowd that passed through our half-empty veteran’s hall was respectable in numbers. At least to my novice eye.

 

2014-05-12_vet museum

 

I didn’t sell everything I brought, but I sold a fair amount. More than the sales, however, was getting to see people experiencing the images on the cards. It was great fun for me to watch shoppers flipping through my stack of note cards with ooh’s and ahh’s. Someone would look at the photo of the purple cauliflower, and just like me in the moment I’d taken the shot, they were ‘wowed’ by it. People paused to take a look. Stopped to see something small and ordinary. Appreciated it.

Whether someone bought a card or not, many seemed to get a little happiness just by looking at the images. That, I very much enjoyed.

 

2014-05-12_vending table

 

By the end of my inaugural vending affair, I was wrapping up my goods with some cash in hand and plenty of new gifts. The Bohemian had bought me a shell necklace and earring set (a mother’s day gift, care of the jewelry vendor with the poor DJ skills). Another vendor gifted me two of her handmade bracelets, kindly saying that she hoped I would come to every craft fair they had. The crafter at my neighboring table, offered one of her denim patchwork bags, sewn for the purpose of  holding rubbish in the car.

Did I survive to vend again? Most definitely. I made it out of that first-time craft fair experience alive and well. Will I dip my toe back in those merchant waters? Maybe.

Not sure I’d do the veteran’s hall venue again. But it was a kind and gentle pool for this newbie to wade into.