Here’s a quick update for you:
We’re heading to North Carolina for a family wedding, so blogging—and composing—is going to be sparse.
Also, not to get too personal, but this is the week that everyone gathers in Valdosta to get GHP up and running—the students will arrive on Sunday. As you might imagine, I may or may not be having a little trouble focusing on this version of reality.
But first, a wonderful comment that my spam filter forwarded to me for evaluation:
What’s up to every one, for the reason that I am in fact eager of reading this webpage’s post to be updated on a regular basis.
It contains fastidious information.
Fastidious, that’s me all over.
I’m guessing that many people know that although the labyrinth occupies the majority of our back yard, there is a small portion on an upper level that does not belong to the labyrinth. Nor does it “belong” to me. It belongs to my lovely first wife, who has long desired a party patio.
The very nice stone wall that I built last September in the first burst of retirement was part of that effort, and in fact we had the sod laid in and some other little plantings done, but on the whole the result on the other side of the walkway—the patio itself—was unsatisfactory.
The LFW does not easily settle, her 36-year marriage to me (as of this Tuesday) notwithstanding, and so now we are embarked on getting exactly what she wants.
Here’s what our back yard looks like at the moment:
You will remark, no doubt, on the festive colors you are seeing.
Good shot of the successive approximation of the layout of the pavers by our team (Cow-Tip, Squirrel, and John—let me repeat that: Cow-Tip, Squirrel, and John), who have never in their careers been called upon to do anything of this nature but who are attacking the æsthetics of it all with great gusto.
Spoiler alert: this patchwork regularity is not what the LFW wants, but I am given to understand after a discussion on Friday afternoon that Cow-Tip, Squirrel, and John are now in complete alignment with her desires. Also, it should be noted that the plastic sheet in the background is the actual location of the patio. The foreground is just the team’s staging area, guaranteed to kill off the sod we installed last year.
Stay tuned for further developments in The Patio, Part II: The Harlequinading.
No work on Seven Dreams today, but I have to mention how much fun Scott Wilkerson’s text is to work with! It bodes well for the enterprise. (It also bodes well that he has not complained or even mentioned that I cut about six lines from the “Fly and fall” text…)
A couple of weeks ago a bunch of us were sitting by the fire out in the labyrinth and there was a rustling behind us up on the patio level. I assumed it was one of the small set of feral cats that flit in and out of our lives, but when we turned to look it was a fully grown raccoon ambling across the yard.
“Oh hai,” it said, apparently surprised that four or five adult humans were sitting by a fire fifteen feet away, and fled.
Since a rabid raccoon had been picked up in the city recently, it was determined by some of our company that I should call the Animal Warden and have her set a trap. I pointed out that the animal appeared to be perfectly healthy—if a bit absent-minded—and I was loath to depredate the biome like that.
But I did as I was told, and on Monday afternoon I went out to the labyrinth to read and write some letters, and there was a trap in the southwestern corner of the labyrinth. There was also a cat in it.
It was of course not the one feral cat we’d like to trap and neuter. This was a youngish feline, one I had not seen before, reddish shorthair, slightly Abyssinian in its aspect. It was not happy to see me, although it was willing to sit peaceably as long as I didn’t get too close.
This was a dilemma. I formed the opinion that this was someone’s pet—it didn’t have the clipped ear of a neutered-and-released animal— and I was very unwilling to turn it over the Warden. What to do?
Fortunately for all of us—myself, the Warden, and the cat—late that night, after the Lichtenbergians had left and I had just finished walking the labyrinth, I heard in the distance a woman calling her kitty—and the animal in question answered most piteously. It wanted to go home.
So that was that. I got my glasses and the phone (for a flashlight) and opened the trap. The cat streaked out of the labyrinth, over every intervening fence in its way, and was gone. Freedom!
I called the Animal Warden—the fabulous Cyndi Hoffman—and left a message explaining why she would find the trap sprung but empty. Late this morning (Wednesday) I thought I should check to see if we had caught any more cats.
We had not:
Adorable, isn’t he/she? Except when you approach the cage and it snaps at you. It was willing to sniff at a proffered knuckle, but then snapped at that, too. It did, however, eat the kitty treats I dropped in there, while Monday’s cat would not lower herself to eat such stuff. Well, they were old. This disdain of stale kitty bits was another reason I thought she was someone’s pet. Wild carnivores are not so picky.
Soon, Warden Hoffman arrived and, after I made sure it was not a nursing mother, took the beast away to relocate its adorable ass.
I would like to state for the record that I have no objection at all to peaceful coexistence with wild life, even curious things like raccoons who tend to turn things over and misplace items in the labyrinth when I’m not looking. But I did as I was instructed and must assume that all is right with the world again.
I did work on “Your Beauty” this morning and I think I’ve made a lot of progress. We’ll see. I’m not posting it because you’ve heard the pretty part already, and the part I’m working on now is so inchoate that hearing the computer version would make no sense at all. I’m pretty sure Finale will let you at some point tell it exactly how/when/how much to speed up a beat, but I’ve never done it. So before you hear the whole piece—once it’s finished—I will have to explore that. Otherwise, it’s this stream of stupid-sounding eighth notes that just plop along. It really needs human interpretation.
The first Saturday of every May is World Labyrinth Day, and I’ve celebrated for a couple of years now. So far, it’s been a private kind of meditation event. Maybe next year I’ll open the labyrinth for walking at the 1:00 worldwide walk…
Yesterday was more private than ever: just me and my kilt and my labyrinth.
I spent the late morning and early afternoon out there, gardening, cleaning up, prepping candles, etc. After everything was ready, I just sat back and wrote letters and read.
I walked the labyrinth several times, sometimes with music, sometimes with birds and leaf blowers. Nothing earth-shattering, just profound gratitude for this space and my life.
My favorite time in the labyrinth is late afternoon into sunset: the light slants across the space (as above) and the grass burns green. Day birds end their shift; the dusk crowd starts checking in. Knots of winged insects catch the light. Everything just breathes more calmly. Soon it’s time to light the candles and light the fire.
And then it’s just beautiful. A wise person sits and tries to hear the sermon.
Continuing our examination of Ronald Grimes’s mapping of rituals, from the second chapter of his Beginnings in ritual studies.
What, and how many, objects are associated with the rite? … Of what materials are they made? … What is done with it? … What skills were involved in its making?
This is an interesting aspect of 3 Old Men for me, since one of the aims in designing this ritual was to make it as simple as possible. You may recall that my original idea involved three old guys in loincloths with staffs: next to nothing to transport or keep up with. The addition of the labyrinth added a lot more cost and transportation issues, but our ritual objects are essentially the same: skirts and staffs.
Are the skirts ritual objects? Skimming ahead in the chapter, I note that costume is an element of ritual identity.
So that leaves our staffs. They too are part of the identity of the 3 Old Men, since they are part of the archetype of the Elder, our reclaimed masculine version of the Crone, but I think they are more than that. I’m sure everyone remembers Gandalf’s claim at the doors of Meduseld that his staff was just an old man’s prop. Just so: our staffs are our support, but like Gandalf’s staff they embody/symbolize our power as Elders.
The question of how they will be used is still to be determined. I know that when we proceed around the labyrinth, I envision our staffs marking time as we move in unison. It is probable that we will incorporate some kind of ritual/dance movement into our peripatesis using the staffs. The agon involving the offer of struggle: will it involve the staff? If not, then the laying by of the staff becomes ritualistic.
There is one more use of the staffs for which I’ve already planned: whatever other decoration there may be on them—and we haven’t decided even what they will be made of—there will be markings on them which will guide us in the actual laying out of the labyrinth. That means there will be four staffs, not just three: laying them out in a square will give us the corners of the innermost octagon. There is also a centerpoint and the width of the path marked to help lay out the positions of the stakes. Sacred geometry, folks.
There are other objects that keep floating into the plan but which I keep rejecting. I would love to add small stands at each entrance, beside which the Old Men would stand, each with one of the four elements: a bowl of water, a bowl of earth, a brazier of fire, a bell or smudge stick (for air). Participants could use those as they see fit, either before entering or upon their exit. The problem with the stands is severalfold: transportation issues, of course, and stabilization issues. The winds are fierce on the Playa; everything has to be staked and tied down, and there is—as I understand it—a prohibition on campfires, tiki torches, etc., so the brazier would be problematic. Perhaps if the 3 Old Men have a longer life with the regional Burns, the stands can make an appearance.
At what time of day does the ritual occur—night, dawn, dusk, midday? What other concurrent activities happen that might supplement or compete with it? … At what season? Does it always happen at this time? Is it a one-time affair or a recurring one? … How does ritual time coincide or conflict with ordinary times, for instance work time or sleeping time? … What is the duration of the rite? Does it have phases, interludes, or breaks? How long is necessary to prepare for it? … What elements are repeated within the duration of the rite? Does the rite taper off or end abruptly? … What role does age play in the content and officiating of the rite?
Again we are dealing with two overlapping rituals, the Grand Ritual of Burning Man itself and the inner ritual of 3 Old Men. Naturally, the grand ritual takes place at the same time every year, with its separate questions of preparation, etc. Interestingly, you might think that the grand ritual of the Festival ends abruptly: burn the Man and go home, but it is not nearly that clear cut. These days the Man burns on Saturday night. Many people then leave on Sunday, but many also stay for the burning of the Temple on Sunday night, which has become an equally important part of the grand ritual. (That is our plan.) And when you think about it, even those singular high points in the grand ritual don’t have a clear ending: thousands gather for what is essentially a big bonfire. Who decides when a bonfire is over?
For the 3 Old Men, these questions have not been answered. In fact, despite Grimes’s warning that his proposed map is not to be taken as a checklist, I think that they provide us a useful guide in deciding how to complete our plans for the labyrinth. Will this be a daily event? At what time of day will we take up our positions as officiants? (Conversations with veteran Burners suggest that dusk is our best bet.) How long will we remain stationed? How will we decide when it is time for peripatesis? How will we decide when it’s time to stop? If we are able to add to our troupe so that we have back-up Old Men—which I think would be awesome—how do we effect the ‘changing of the guard’?
Even the question of the age of the officiants is not firmly answered: at least one of our hopeful participants, i.e., needs a ticket, is not an old man at all and in fact will probably be quite disgustingly fit by the time August rolls around. Can a 30-something don the skirt and staff? A question of ritual identity we will need to examine.
Tomorrow: ritual identity
You may recall that last weekend I bought a limestone bowl at the American Craft Council show in Atlanta. This was for the express purpose of installing it at the west point of the labyrinth.
The labyrinth is aligned to the compass, with the entrance at the eastern end. (When you see photos of the center, the bricks are in line with the points.) Back in the day, the four elements were each associated with the four directions:
Easy enough. Over the last six years, each of the four points has gone through various incarnations as I get a better feel for what belongs in the space, and water was the last of the points without a permanent feel to it. I had settled for a glass bowl that I found at Ross (Dress For Less) for cheap—I had the local glassworker remove the pedestal and reattach it upside down in the bowl to serve as a place to put the candle while the bowl was full of water.
But it froze and broke during the polar vortex, and I decided that this time I would find a permanent solution. As soon as I saw Brooks Barrow‘s creation, I hoped this would be it.
Oh yes.
Here it is in situ. I cleaned out the new ivy growth and raked a bit. Just now coming up are the Japanese painted ghost ferns that grow in front. I could plant a couple more there just for effect; they’re such lovely plants.
Here’s a long shot of the bowl, from across the center of the labyrinth:
So last night some friends and I had an installation ritual; we used all four elements, with me carrying a bowl of water over to the new bowl. I poured it in, lit the candle in the center and was immediately struck by how perfect it is.
It’s just this luminous pool of water floating there—perfectly stunning. Because the bowl’s interior is shallower than the outside, you get a “big bowl” look from the outside, but the inside is this perfect little scoop of light.
Here’s the long shot:
Ta-da! Finally, all four points are finished to my satisfaction. I should pull all four together and do a blog post about them as a group. (For one thing, they have rather tidily arranged themselves from tallest to shortest around the circle: Air–Fire–Water_Earth.)
So there we are, a new piece of the labyrinth. Stop by and see it.
Ritual is an often-misunderstood term these days. To too many people it means “an empty gesture,” or “sequence of actions meant to effect a quasi-magical (or even magical) result.”
But to those of us who study such things, ritual is very much a living process. Ritual offers Order, Community, and Transformation to its participants; those who are already familiar with Joseph Campbell’s Hero’s Journey will be familiar with the pattern.
Any ritual worth the time will provide the same Separation/Revelation/Return that Campbell’s monomyth does. Indeed, all the literature that uses the pattern provides the reader with ritual-by-proxy.
I am often asked how/why my labyrinth is used/useful, and here is the correct answer, although I know it does not clear up any confusion for most questioners: labyrinths provide a first-hand Hero’s Journey to those who walk them. You enter, follow the path. You bring your concerns and questions, and the curves and turns and compass point sculptures all offer you ways to filter your thoughts. You listen for answers, you formulate metaphors. You reach the center, where an omphalos provides a focus and/or a platform for viewing the compass points. Finally, you turn and make your exit, retracing your steps and revisiting your metaphors. Around my firepit, we say
Take the Pathway
to explore
uncover
confront.Return to the Fire
to confirm
affirm
retreat.Order. Community. Transformation.
Very mystical, but when it works, it works. (Sometimes a walk in the labyrinth is just a walk.)
The purpose of all ritual is liminality: a border which you must cross that separates you from your normal frame of reference, either physically, mentally, or spiritually. It is designed to offer you new perspectives on your reality, to transform you either in small or large ways. Ritual is everywhere.
Burning Man itself is a ritual: after a great deal of preparation, you trek into the desert under extremely harsh conditions, where you live for a week. You encounter amazing/bizarre/beautiful objects and experiences. At the end, the dominant figure is communally but completely destroyed. The community is dissolved, and you return to the “default world,” as the Burners call it, changed in some way.
The Governor’s Honors Program is a ritual: take 700 gifted high school kids and separate them from their homes and social structures. Open with highly structured, highly formal meetings, then create new challenges and experiences for them, not the least of which is each other. After a period of time, bring them together for one last Convocation, now raucous and emotional—itself a ritual event—and then dissolve their community. Send them home, changed. (N.B.: anyone who does not understand this and attempts to operate this experience as merely a summer learning opportunity for smart kids is doomed to failure.)
You see the pattern.
Tomorrow: Order. Community. Transformation.
I went to the American Craft Council Show this weekend in search of a bowl for the west point of the labyrinth.
I don’t have a photo of the bowl I had there; it was glass, I left it face up during the Great Freeze, and it broke:
It was really just a stopgap; I have never really found just the right thing to be a focus for west point meditations, the element of the West being water.
But I figured if I could find a bowl anywhere, it would be at the American Craft Council Show.
Indeed, right off the bat:
This is Wisconsin limestone, made by Brooks Barrow of Montgomery. Yes, I asked if it would survive as an outdoor piece, and he assured me that it would. I will have photos of the installation after it stops raining and I get out into the back yard. I think it’s going to be a powerful station for meditation.
Also for the labyrinth, an 18″ elk-hide drum:
This is from the same artisan who made my flute, Guillermo Martinez.
Here’s a fun thing, both for the labyrinth and the bar:
A quirky little tumbler/shot glass, by Jenny Mendes. She had several dozen of these, each incredibly different, each with two faces.
I also got a couple of things not for the labyrinth.
This is a light switch plate by Kevin Loughran. It’s going by the back door, so in that sense it is for the labyrinth. For a certain amount of money, we could have replaced every light switch and outlet plate in the house. (Notice that we also bought the switches…)
And finally:
Aren’t these pretty? They’re by Gali Chehirian, handpainted in the verre églomisé process.
The whole show was impressive, much moreso than last year, and I had a great time talking to the artists about their materials and their processes. All of them were super nice and fun to talk to. Next year, go and see for yourself—but save your pennies: you don’t want to experience leaving something beautiful behind!
And that’s how my weekend went. Tomorrow, we’ll dive back into Burning Man theory and practice.
Ah, snow.
I appreciate the beauty of the earth when it snows, but really, people, how nasty can you get? And when the National Weather Service issues a Winter Storm Warning (that’s warning, not watch), you stay home. Then you can take lovely photos of your surroundings rather than wonder whether you’re going to die in them. It’s not that hard.
Here’s a little clip of a piece that has the title The Labyrinth in Snow. It’s just a sketch/proposal for the piece I wrote for the Ayrshire Fiddle Orchestra in 2011; they chose to go with the Variations on ‘Resignation’, so I still have this lovely bit to play with. Anyone up for a second cello sonata? <raised_eyebrows_pursed_lips> Then play the first one. </raised_eyebrows_pursed_lips>
I don’t know. I think I may be finished (except for the little pedestal bit).
The new part. I was surprised at how easily it tapered down to the end. The hard part was trying to keep the thing looking level.
We’ll let it settle in and make adjustments from there.
I have several large pieces left over; they’re going to start my project, paving around the firepit.
