A space between

Posted on September 28, 2016 by betsybeadhead | Leave a comment

This is normally off limits, but was open because some guys were working on the air conditioning unit of the church near where I work. The unit is behind the wall, and there is a chain-link gate that seals up this small passageway. It is very narrow, so the worker has to be slim. I wonder if anyone thought that the entire unit might need to be replaced some day? They’d have to either take down (and then rebuild) the brick wall or use a crane.

I appreciated getting a chance to see this view without the fence in the way. I considered going on a wander to see the area inside, but figured I couldn’t justify it.

A wander.

Posted on September 21, 2016 by betsybeadhead | Leave a comment

I went on a wander recently, inspired by the book “The Wander Society” by Keri Smith. She is the author of interactive books that inspire creative thinking – such as “Wreck This Book” and “The Pocket Scavenger”. They aren’t books so much as ideas and suggestions to make you see the world differently. Normally you do something to the pages with her books – glue something in, paint something, staple, sew, chew, freeze… But this book is different. You are the one who gets altered. You are encouraged to go on aimless wanders, inspired by Walt Whitman, and really experience the world, directly, without using your phone at all. Actually see, smell, hear, taste, feel what is around you – interact with the real world, as it is, and as you are.

She says that if you send a picture of a small cairn (a pile of stones) that you made to info@thewandersociety.com, you’ll get a Wander Society membership card.

I could have cheated and made one in my back yard, but I’d know.

I went to my dentist’s office recently and got there a little early. I happened to park in an area that I don’t normally. There is a Midas Muffler shop next to the office, and from where I was parked I could see they had a tiny back yard.

Here is a view of it from Google Maps – the yard is in the bottom right. His office is at the top.

cairn3

I wandered out of the parking lot for the dentist and into their yard. I didn’t look to see if anybody was watching me. Most people are so involved in their own concerns (and their phones) that they don’t notice someone stepping off the pavement and into some other area. Also, if you act like you are doing something wrong, people will think you are doing something wrong. So don’t act like it.

I wandered partly into the yard to look at it. It was a small area – big enough for a picnic, but not for a game of soccer. I didn’t go all the way in. I saw some stones (probably chips from the concrete) near the patio area. I went closer to look at them and realized that the door to the shop was open. There was a possibility that they could see me. I had to be careful. I stacked the chips to make my cairn.

I stood out of view of the door when I took this picture. I wanted to minimize my chance of getting caught. It wasn’t like they had “no trespassing” signs up – and I wasn’t damaging anything. I stacked some stones. Hardly vandalism. But I still didn’t feel like explaining what I was doing.

cairn2

I used the camera’s magnification to take this closer shot. This is what I sent to them but I’ve not heard back from them. (Or her, because is this really a thing – or is it just her idea and she wants to be a thing?)

cairn1

Do you need a membership card to be a wanderer?

When part of the questionnaire for the society says that “Would you be willing to give up technology on a temporary basis from time to time?” and has questions asking if you agree or disagree with these statements – “Modern society has created a situation where life is experienced second hand, through screens instead of through direct experience.” and “It is time for us to take control of our mental environment.” – then maybe I’ve failed as a wanderer by trying to get confirmation of my membership using the very technology they are trying to get us to move away from.

The website is www.thewandersociety.com

Don’t do like I did and just look at the lightning-bolt symbol and think that’s it. Scroll down and click on the other symbols. Print out the various things – one of which is the membership card.

She came out of the forest.

Posted on November 7, 2015 by betsybeadhead | 8 Comments

She came out of the forest, laughing, singing. She was unafraid of the crowd that was waiting, unafraid now of their jeers and taunts. She’d gone in alone, afraid, untried. She emerged a month later, at the next new moon.

If you survived a month with no supplies, alone in that unmapped place, you were never taunted again. The people who called you scaredy-cat to your face or behind your back had a new name for you if you emerged, whole and intact a month later. Wisdom-woman, perhaps, or keeper of the flame. Seer. Prophet. There were many names to be had then.

Women and men both ventured into those woods to prove themselves. It wasn’t required, and it wasn’t expected. About half returned. About half of them that did were never able to speak again, never able to even feed themselves. They’d returned, but in body only.

The others who never walked out of the woods? Forgotten. Their names were never mentioned again. Did they die? Run away to another village? Start a camp? The only ones who might know were those who returned, and they never said.

(Written 3/27/15)

In the desert, we remember.

Posted on February 8, 2015 by betsybeadhead | Leave a comment

I am enshrouded in the welcoming smells of desert sand cooling, the dusky smoke of the fire, of roasting lamb slaughtered that afternoon. I recline upon rugs, handwoven by my grandfather (taught by his father, taught by his father…). They are a little musty from being rolled up for too long.

For too long we have walked on carpets made by machines and not men, soaked up the rays of florescent lights, breathed recycled air, listened to artificial music.

We’ve left, gone west into the desert, no map, no plans, no forwarding address. We’ve slipped loose this mortal coil, this mortal toil for older times. We slip into our djellabas like slipping into a warm bed on a cold night – comfortable, comforting, consoling, smoothing away the calluses built up like armor, like a shield against an unforgiving, unwelcoming world.

We’ve left that world behind.

We left at twilight, dusk gathering her cloak about her. She had not yet bejeweled herself with stars. By the time we found our home for the night amidst the hills she’d gone all out for us, diamonds against dusky cobalt.

We wear turbans out here, all of us.

We are doing as we have done for thousands of years. It is us, always us, out here under the stars, laughing with storytellers, singing with song weavers. Out here, we remember.

Out here, we remember who we are.