Posted on by Jessica Dofflemyer · 2 Comments

Lamp Lighting

We can see it from the cemetery. This house that we think may be our next home.

As an albatross flies, it’s about a mile and a half away from us. We stand beside hundred-year-old lava rock grave stone markers, in a simple cemetery just down the street from where we currently reside. Between us and the peeking A-line rooftop of our dream house, lie grassy meadows, one steep valley, and several property lines with fences. Of the house, we can see nothing but windows.

“I don’t know…if we could walk straight from here, it would probably take 15 minutes to get there. It’s not far.”

I’m assessing distance while the Bohemian nods, his arm around my shoulder.

“I’d like to see a light inside. You know, something that warms it up,” he says.

It is sunset and the light is fading. The distant house windows are dark, reflecting nothing distinguishable from this range.

“How about those old-style lamps? You know the ones that were at the front of houses on the posts?”

“Didn’t those burn on kerosene?”

“Yeah, maybe…” The Bohemian laughs.

We are living between our dreams and the practical, trying to dance this balance between the two.

The practical facts of our current situation are as such:

  • The rental agreement on our current sublet ends in four weeks, on the first of November.
  • We believe that we may be able to actually settle for the long-term(ish) in the house peeking at us from across the fields. However, that scenario is contingent on several factors completely out of our control, which will not reveal themselves until November. Should all bode well, we still would not be able to begin dwelling in the dream house until December or January.
  • Hence, we are in a 2 month limbo, looking for something temporary, while wishing on a hoped-for-but-not-guaranteed abode.

At this juncture, I will add that Craigslist currently shows 12 long-term rental listings, only two of which, are on our side of the island, with one of those listings asking $3000/month for a two bedroom, utilities not included.

It feels good to look out over green pastures at the only roofline in sight, imagining ourselves lighting up that house with warm, golden hues from the inside. As the sky fades into grays and lavenders, we stand at the cemetery taking in the view. As we do, the dark shape of an owl glides low above the meadow just before us.

It is special there in the quiet. The silent swoop of an owl. The setting sun with clouds outlined in pink. The scent of plumeria lifted to the breeze. The old-time spirits of the cemetery, deep in the ground, marked by crumbling, moss-covered markers.

As we turn to leave, I think about the souls that rest there. How each human lived a life, however short or long. That they each got their chance to move about the earth and live a lifetime. Five senses, looking, listening, touching, tasting, smelling. And dreaming…they all got a chance to dream. Hopefully, they got to live their dreams.

The Bohemian and I walk side by side, step out of the cemetery gate and back on to the quiet, two-lane road. I hear the flip-flop sound of our summer sandals as we move.

This is our chance to walk upon the earth. For how long, we do not know. We get to be here. To sense it all. Maybe even lean into a sixth sense and follow it across the fields. Together, we can dance between the classifieds and that distant roofline with dark windows.

Dream about lighting lamps.

photo courtesy of Joseph Thorton
photo courtesy of Joseph Thorton
Posted on by Jessica Dofflemyer · 2 Comments

Time to See

Leave it to nature to take care of the big picture. Which, for me, is often zooming in on something small in the natural world. Like a flower.

Yesterday’s post, Among the Seven Billion, was a bit heavy. A reflection of what was weighing in my mind with those hefty statistics on humanity’s health and well-being (or lack, thereof). I don’t think the problem of poverty in the world can be solved with the mind alone. Certainly my worry won’t help.

But in the garden, all is well. The moist, loamy soil lifts to the air, blending with a waft of fresh chlorophyl from the ginger and turmeric stalks. My body is renewed with reminders, grounding me in the here and now.

Looking down, I am gifted with the gem of a treasure. A flower that signals medicine to come.

2013-09-26_olena flower

Turmeric, or olena (in Hawaiian) was one of the approximately two dozen plants brought to Hawaii by the Polynesian voyagers. With a canoe, a mighty sail ahead, and only the stars to guide them, any item in these ancient navigators’ boats had to be necessary. The healing root of olena was among one of those chosen.

Medicinally, it is anti-bacterial, a blood purifier, and it alleviates inflammation in the body. Its purifying effects are used in spiritual ceremonies, as well, where the crushed root is mixed with sea water in a calabash, and sprinkled by a ti leaf with prayers.

We all can use a little purification, some good medicine.

I’ve kept a quote from Georgia O’Keefe at my desk for years. I think about my reference to her Calla Lilies yesterday. My turmeric flower today.

I may not have any answers right now of how to help the billions in this world that are in need. But I can can take the time to look at what’s before me.

“Nobody sees a flower really; it is so small. We haven’t time, and to see takes time – like to have a friend takes time.” ~ Georgia O’Keefe

Here’s to really seeing…

Posted on by Jessica Dofflemyer · 6 Comments

Among the Seven Billion

If you’ve flipped on a light switch in the comfort of your home, and are sitting before a computer screen with the ability to read these words, you are among the lucky. Relative to the majority of humanity, you are in the top-tier of the fortunate.

This morning I’ve got statistics rolling around in my head, mulling over everything.

Facts like these:

Almost half the world – over 3 billion people – live on less than $1000 a year. (Think about this in relation to your own monthly income).

80% of humanity lives on less than $3700 a year.

Of the 2.2 billion children in the world, 1 billion live in poverty.

2.6 billion people on this planet lack basic sanitation.

1.1 billion have inadequate access to water.

As I sit here, connected to the internet, sipping my organic coffee and conjuring words to share on the laptop that costs nearly as much as the annual lifeblood of over half the planet, I feel paralyzed. These numbers dig into me with a post-blissfully-ignorant-reality-bite.

Of course, one response could be gratitude. Count the blessings I’ve (somehow) luckily landed, that gives me more than the basics to live. Though I’ve had what I thought to be lean times – times when I struggled to make the rent or buy food – I’ve always had clean water, shelter, a war-free zone in which to live, and the ability to read and write.

As an artist, creatively expressing myself, I’m left to question what work matters. In light of these statistics, what reflections of my small struggles or triumphs mean a thing, when half of the world’s children are living in squalor?

In this information age, this world accounting is readily available for anyone that cares to learn. But there was a time when the knowledge wasn’t so instantly available. People lived and reflected upon the world within their physical view. Artists drew upon the influences of their immediate surroundings.

In the time of Georgia O’Keefe, did she question whether to bother painting bones and blooms, when so many on the planet were starving? And if the knowledge would have second-guessed her to the point of stopping, then the world would not have had Calla Lilies on Red.

I’m far from the artistry of O’Keefe. Not even close to that beauty that I am so glad was shared. No, I’m just a privileged American woman who takes the extravagances of her life for granted. A human consuming more than my fair share. An artist that wants to express herself in a way that serves the betterment of all, but is not sure how.

I’m a person, who, this morning, just can’t do more than try to fathom the number one billion. Try to perceive myself among the seven. Someone with the luxury to berate my blessings while wondering what to do.

courtesy of www.postersofsantafe.com
courtesy of http://www.postersofsantafe.com