Once, I lay in the rust green hull of a tin canoe. Fall had blown its cold breath into the trees, setting them ablaze. When I woke, a gentle rocking had become frenetic.
Beautiful photos, beautiful prose. I don't feel crushed; challenged, yes, but crushed, rarely. I bend like the willow to change and am thankful that after 6+ decades, the wisdom of how to do that has taken root. It's definitely not easy, but I've learned from my husband that projecting what might be or happen, does me no good, as I'm not in that future moment, I'm in the present. In the present, I can handle the present. The video of the current and ducks is amazing, btw. Thanks for a great post.
“I bend like the willow to change.” I love this. It’s such an important reminder. Refusing to bend is a sure way to break. I love hearing this wisdom has taken root. And yes, yes. “In the present, I can handle the present.” Beautiful reminder. Thank you for your attention and your wisdom.
So sublime, Holly. I waver between wanting to be in those places with you and knowing I would hold you back. But I can be here, and that’s enough. You make it enough. ❤️
Gah! Thank you, Ramona. (In truth, I’d hold me back these days.🤣) Missed the most recent canyon trip a couple months ago. My canyoneering partners from this essay had QUITE the experience. A flash flood came through a canyon they were in. And thank the stars, they were able to scramble out (or at least high enough up a wall) just in time. They sent me some videos that made my heart pound. One of them is a hang glider, so he’s particularly skilled at reading clouds, and he said it came out of nowhere.
Hoping to be back up for the next trip come spring. (Just to soothe any worries, the flash flood thing is crazy rare—not flash floods, but experienced, careful canyoneers who keep will abreast of weather patterns and don’t go in if there seems any chance of flooding, which we are, getting caught in them.)
And also, I’d welcome you around any campfire you cared to join, my friend.
Such a beautiful piece Holly, I loved listening to this. And the photos! My gosh. I would love to see Utah one day. Your descriptions, as always, whisk me into a different world. Thank you for this x
Thank you! That’s how I feel about yours too. They take me to this vastly different space—so much water and waves and moody clouds. Sort of opposite at least than my pieces from the desert. Gives me the inkling of some sort of possible collaboration on the horizon. I’ll reach out if you’re up for it. ;)
Holly! This piece is stunning. As a geologist, river runner, and kindred wanderer, I share your love for these landscapes. Your words pay them the honor they deserve.
And, similar to Mary B, after re-finding my center following the election, I’m choosing to focus on the things that are both real and nourishing—the magnificence of swooping canyons and the grace of geese among them. I shared in my Note this morning that this orientation has me feeling weirdly healthy and whole in these dark times. 💦💙
Thank you for the walk through the sandstone, sediment and sentiment, Holly. I've come to believe that we move in our own seasons (not always in correspondence with the actual ones). We shift from energetic periods to times of dormancy. There's renewal. Hunting. Gathering. Foraging--for whatever we need. And then the cycle turns again. You really must read My Year of Rest and Relaxation by Ottessa Moshfegh. A healing "sleep diet" and self-imposed (but pharma-enhanced) hibernation is quite a concept.
Jules, I always so very much appreciate your wise reminder of this—the seasons, the importance of renewal and gathering. Just put Moshfegh’s book on my Libby cue. Thank you!!
Thank you, Troy. There is soooo much inspiration to be found everywhere we look in the great outdoors from whence we come and to which we’ll return. ;)
Holly, this one hit me hard. I mean, wow! Your prose is magnificent. If I could quote it all I would. But since that would be redundant, I’ve singled out the one sentence, which, given how I’ve been feeling lately, resonated as deeply as those canyons —
“I think of the role hope plays, that and the relentless “no” that must be said to anything that doesn’t help.”
Aw, Michael, you so often pick out the lines that are deeply meaningful to me. I don’t typically write with the intention of catharsis. By that I mean that art, not healing, is my priority; art trumps almost anything else for me, though lots of stuff takes close seconds. When this line came to me, though, it felt like an affirmation. I breathed out an audible sigh of relief. I think the response was a result both of realizing that I am getting much better at embracing a relentless “no” and of committing to get even better at it.
Thank you, again. Your attention to my words and meaning is a gift I don’t take lightly.
That’s beautiful. It’s wonderful when writing helps affirms sow thing for us.
It’s also not surprising to me that art is your main priority when writing as your words are always so beautifully crafted.
And now that you mention it, i’m thinking about my own priorities when writing. My first thought is that, like you, art is always at the top of the list, but I think some pieces I do treat as catharsis, others play/humour, some for understanding, and I could go on — but in a sense, at least for me, I kinda feel like all these secondary things just fall under that enormous umbrella that is art. :)
Beautiful offering friend. Being crushed and running free—both natural and necessary poles in our (and the earth’s) evolution. I don’t know if hope and curiosity are bedfellows but they tend to coexist in my experience. Curiosity often opens the door so I can then step in, walk toward, and eventually feel a sense of hope. Hope without curiosity feels disembodied and so for me, I let hope arise and take flight on its own accord after I’ve found genuine interest or at least a willingness to maintain openness toward whatever might be “crushing.”
Your writing is so thought-provoking, and in the most sensual of ways. I’m grateful for your weekly invitation to step into your many faces of freedom.
“Hope without curiosity feels disembodied.” Mmmmm. I like this so much. You know how you hear something and you go, ah yes, this is a part of my core; this is a part of what makes whatever is and has been and will be all right? This feels like one of those things.
I’m ever grateful for your wisdom, for your close attention to my “many faces of freedom,” and for your gorgeous replies, which feel so often like call-and-response in this building on sort of way.
Your writing is sublime. It is truly award-winning material that blows my mind and takes my breath away. Thank you for your courage and vulnerability in sharing your greatest fear. I am sending you every possible light vibe I can gather that you may be well💕
In answer to your question 'when changes you don't want come to mold you, how do you respond?' I say not very well. I always picture myself as kicking ass and taking the shit in stride. Sure it might be bad news but once I've digested it I'll do all the things I know to do and I'll keep walking forward...only it rarely actually works that way. I don't usually respond as I wish I would. I'm certain that life will give me many more opportunities to keep practicing.
Donna!! What a beautiful comment. I am letting the kindness of these words soak into me, and I’m deeply grateful. Thank you, thank you.
Oh my goodness, I know what you mean. How often the distance between the response I plan to have and the response I have just has to make me chuckle. After all, like you say, life gives us so many opportunities to practice. ;)
And thank you for saying about the audio. I have a somewhat secret dream of one day recording audio books as a part-time gig. I’ve always loved reading out loud and being read to.
I do love exploring slot canyons. There is something so wonderfully grounding about being in a space that feels closer by far than normal to the belly of earth. And the walls and formations you find down there are just out of this world.
Brilliant! So grateful for the worlds, inner and outer you share with us.
To answer your question, I have an interesting relationship with hope. Sometimes I hold on to it tightly like a life jacket, and other times it feels as if it’s drowning me and I have to let it go for survival.
Beautiful photos, beautiful prose. I don't feel crushed; challenged, yes, but crushed, rarely. I bend like the willow to change and am thankful that after 6+ decades, the wisdom of how to do that has taken root. It's definitely not easy, but I've learned from my husband that projecting what might be or happen, does me no good, as I'm not in that future moment, I'm in the present. In the present, I can handle the present. The video of the current and ducks is amazing, btw. Thanks for a great post.
Thank you, thank you, Mary.
“I bend like the willow to change.” I love this. It’s such an important reminder. Refusing to bend is a sure way to break. I love hearing this wisdom has taken root. And yes, yes. “In the present, I can handle the present.” Beautiful reminder. Thank you for your attention and your wisdom.
You’re so welcome, Holly. ❤️
Stunning all the way through, Holly. This made me want to be out there.
Thank you, thank you, my friend. It is truly a wonderful place to be. I highly recommend if you ever get the chance.
So sublime, Holly. I waver between wanting to be in those places with you and knowing I would hold you back. But I can be here, and that’s enough. You make it enough. ❤️
Gah! Thank you, Ramona. (In truth, I’d hold me back these days.🤣) Missed the most recent canyon trip a couple months ago. My canyoneering partners from this essay had QUITE the experience. A flash flood came through a canyon they were in. And thank the stars, they were able to scramble out (or at least high enough up a wall) just in time. They sent me some videos that made my heart pound. One of them is a hang glider, so he’s particularly skilled at reading clouds, and he said it came out of nowhere.
Hoping to be back up for the next trip come spring. (Just to soothe any worries, the flash flood thing is crazy rare—not flash floods, but experienced, careful canyoneers who keep will abreast of weather patterns and don’t go in if there seems any chance of flooding, which we are, getting caught in them.)
And also, I’d welcome you around any campfire you cared to join, my friend.
❤️❤️❤️
Such a beautiful piece Holly, I loved listening to this. And the photos! My gosh. I would love to see Utah one day. Your descriptions, as always, whisk me into a different world. Thank you for this x
Thank you! That’s how I feel about yours too. They take me to this vastly different space—so much water and waves and moody clouds. Sort of opposite at least than my pieces from the desert. Gives me the inkling of some sort of possible collaboration on the horizon. I’ll reach out if you’re up for it. ;)
Oh I love the sound of that. Definitely up for it!
Beautiful photos, stunning landscape and wonderful writing, love all of it
Thank you, thank you, Sohpie. ♥️
Holly! This piece is stunning. As a geologist, river runner, and kindred wanderer, I share your love for these landscapes. Your words pay them the honor they deserve.
And, similar to Mary B, after re-finding my center following the election, I’m choosing to focus on the things that are both real and nourishing—the magnificence of swooping canyons and the grace of geese among them. I shared in my Note this morning that this orientation has me feeling weirdly healthy and whole in these dark times. 💦💙
Aw, high praise from a geologist! Thank you very much. Yeah, these landscapes are truly something else, aren't they?
I'm so glad to hear hat you're finding what feels nourishing and that's leading to health and wholeness.
Thank you for the walk through the sandstone, sediment and sentiment, Holly. I've come to believe that we move in our own seasons (not always in correspondence with the actual ones). We shift from energetic periods to times of dormancy. There's renewal. Hunting. Gathering. Foraging--for whatever we need. And then the cycle turns again. You really must read My Year of Rest and Relaxation by Ottessa Moshfegh. A healing "sleep diet" and self-imposed (but pharma-enhanced) hibernation is quite a concept.
“Sandstone, sediment and sentiment”! Love it.
Jules, I always so very much appreciate your wise reminder of this—the seasons, the importance of renewal and gathering. Just put Moshfegh’s book on my Libby cue. Thank you!!
It could be the fine print on a wine label I think! I appreciate your neatly packaged wisdom too, Holly. It's a symbiotic thing we have going on!
Utterly gorgeous from start to finish Holly, I love listening to your narrations... ♥️
Oh, Susie, I'm so glad you like the narrations. I do enjoy doing them.
Thank you, thank you for reading and commenting. It means a lot.
Glorious photos, Holly - I can see how you find inspiration in this open-hearted, open-eyed adventure you are on. - Crushed? I'm done being crushed.
Yassss! That I love to hear.
Thank you, Troy. There is soooo much inspiration to be found everywhere we look in the great outdoors from whence we come and to which we’ll return. ;)
Holly, this one hit me hard. I mean, wow! Your prose is magnificent. If I could quote it all I would. But since that would be redundant, I’ve singled out the one sentence, which, given how I’ve been feeling lately, resonated as deeply as those canyons —
“I think of the role hope plays, that and the relentless “no” that must be said to anything that doesn’t help.”
Truly beautiful piece. :)
Aw, Michael, you so often pick out the lines that are deeply meaningful to me. I don’t typically write with the intention of catharsis. By that I mean that art, not healing, is my priority; art trumps almost anything else for me, though lots of stuff takes close seconds. When this line came to me, though, it felt like an affirmation. I breathed out an audible sigh of relief. I think the response was a result both of realizing that I am getting much better at embracing a relentless “no” and of committing to get even better at it.
Thank you, again. Your attention to my words and meaning is a gift I don’t take lightly.
That’s beautiful. It’s wonderful when writing helps affirms sow thing for us.
It’s also not surprising to me that art is your main priority when writing as your words are always so beautifully crafted.
And now that you mention it, i’m thinking about my own priorities when writing. My first thought is that, like you, art is always at the top of the list, but I think some pieces I do treat as catharsis, others play/humour, some for understanding, and I could go on — but in a sense, at least for me, I kinda feel like all these secondary things just fall under that enormous umbrella that is art. :)
Beautiful images and imagery. I feel crushed by the Jew hatred around the world. But I am hopeful as we have always persevered.
Thank you, my friend.
I’m so sorry to hear you’re feeling crushed. Sending a huge hug and lots of warmth and a stoking of the hope your way.
<3
Evocative. I especially loved the audio.
Thank you, friend. ;)
So glad to hear when the audio works. I have such a blast doing it.
Beautiful offering friend. Being crushed and running free—both natural and necessary poles in our (and the earth’s) evolution. I don’t know if hope and curiosity are bedfellows but they tend to coexist in my experience. Curiosity often opens the door so I can then step in, walk toward, and eventually feel a sense of hope. Hope without curiosity feels disembodied and so for me, I let hope arise and take flight on its own accord after I’ve found genuine interest or at least a willingness to maintain openness toward whatever might be “crushing.”
Your writing is so thought-provoking, and in the most sensual of ways. I’m grateful for your weekly invitation to step into your many faces of freedom.
“Hope without curiosity feels disembodied.” Mmmmm. I like this so much. You know how you hear something and you go, ah yes, this is a part of my core; this is a part of what makes whatever is and has been and will be all right? This feels like one of those things.
I’m ever grateful for your wisdom, for your close attention to my “many faces of freedom,” and for your gorgeous replies, which feel so often like call-and-response in this building on sort of way.
Your writing is sublime. It is truly award-winning material that blows my mind and takes my breath away. Thank you for your courage and vulnerability in sharing your greatest fear. I am sending you every possible light vibe I can gather that you may be well💕
In answer to your question 'when changes you don't want come to mold you, how do you respond?' I say not very well. I always picture myself as kicking ass and taking the shit in stride. Sure it might be bad news but once I've digested it I'll do all the things I know to do and I'll keep walking forward...only it rarely actually works that way. I don't usually respond as I wish I would. I'm certain that life will give me many more opportunities to keep practicing.
Also, your voice is perfect for the audio!
Donna!! What a beautiful comment. I am letting the kindness of these words soak into me, and I’m deeply grateful. Thank you, thank you.
Oh my goodness, I know what you mean. How often the distance between the response I plan to have and the response I have just has to make me chuckle. After all, like you say, life gives us so many opportunities to practice. ;)
And thank you for saying about the audio. I have a somewhat secret dream of one day recording audio books as a part-time gig. I’ve always loved reading out loud and being read to.
What a hiker you are, Holly! Wow. The photos are beautiful. The slot canyon was something else. And those reds from Utah-Moab country. Wow.
Thanks, Jeanine!
I do love exploring slot canyons. There is something so wonderfully grounding about being in a space that feels closer by far than normal to the belly of earth. And the walls and formations you find down there are just out of this world.
Just beautiful, along with your writing of course! Thanks again for taking us along on your ride.
Brilliant! So grateful for the worlds, inner and outer you share with us.
To answer your question, I have an interesting relationship with hope. Sometimes I hold on to it tightly like a life jacket, and other times it feels as if it’s drowning me and I have to let it go for survival.
Thank you, thank you, my friend! ♥️
I really like that metaphor. I do think hope can be both. And I think you’re wise to find balance—to know / learn when to hold on and when to let go.