Oh Samantha, I felt the bite of that brutal Orkney wind against my face. Your thoughts are like a balm to the chaos of our bizarre time. And yet, there in the background stands the old man of Hoy, as he has for - I have no idea, thousand, hundreds of thousands of years, first as land, then eroded by the sea, now sea stack, ogled by ferry trippers, and visitors to Hoy alike, diminished maybe, but still standing. These cruel self serving men cannot hope to survive more than a few more years. We stand together, creative, caring and loving beings that we are. Communities of kindness will overcome the banal, brutal lies of narcissistic men! We hope together. Thank you for your words x
"it’s just a speck, a fleeting part of something inconceivably vast, complex and unknowable. Somehow this helps. I feel lighter, my sense of self less dense, less important, my edges blurred, just a little."
The sense of AWE is an antidote to our strong inclination toward narcissism and self-aggrandizement.
Absolutely beautiful photos - the way you managed to cat ch that black and light in what are colour images! The text is a powerful counterbalance to current events: sipping cocktails on Gaza's seafront ... seriously?!
There’s a kind of madness got loose in the world. I’d love to dunk those men in the North Sea. That slap of cold would knock some sense back into them!
Thank you Samantha for your gift of words this morning. Your reflections on the monks at Brough brought Skellig Michael to my mind and the beehive huts that still stand there. A place I visited just once (pre Star Wars) and it left a profound impression on me. I was awed by it, as one should be in such a place.
Thank you Margaret. Skellig Michael is a place I would love to visit, but perhaps only in imagination now, as we make such an impact on these delicate, small places. Yes, I read somewhere that the early monastics in Europe had no desert in which to emulate their teachers, the desert fathers, so they turned towards the western seaboard instead. All those islands called Pappay, Pabay, Papay were named for the monks that had settled there. And my goodness, the monks in those beehive cells must have been hardy indeed!
Yes, similarly here off the Breton coast...And yes Skellig Michael is somewhere I've also longed to visit, but am travelling barely at all these days; once a year to Iona where I lead a retreat and v occasionally to my Cornish homeland. Seems useful to keep my footprint as light as possible - sometimes it seems all we CAN do...
Yes, I don’t go far these days either if I can help it. But I recognsie too that even being able to stay put is a privilege many don’t have, and I am thankful for my home.
Yes indeed, Samantha, and thank you for the reminder. We are so fortunate, those of us who have a home; and especially so if that home is in a beautiful liminal place (mine forest, yours ocean).
Beautiful post and much needed in this time - a time like no other. Being outside in the natural world is very grounding to me right now - you are correct that it can get one away from the pesky news on our "screens". Though I do appreciate the written and spoken words as well as the artwork from your posts when they come to my screen. Keeps my faith that our modern day world still has ways for gentle and reflective moments to be shared - thank you!
I love this post, Sam. Thank you for your beautiful and thoughtful words, for reminding us of what really matters in these very dark and disturbing times… for reminding us of what resistance is and can be.🙏
Absolutely magical combination of photos and words, Samantha. The photos are stunning, especially the first few, although the dark light is so different from your beautiful light-filled paintings.
Not wishing to reduce modern life to the class structure of 'Fraggle Rock', but if we keep mending the damage, do we become the Doozers? Unless we solve the problem of the consequence free elite (not perfect, but France had the right idea) we are just tidying up after spoilt brats.
Sorry my knowledge of Fraggle Rock is hazy! But my understanding of mending is more to do with mending our relationships: with material things, with our place, our soil, earth and water, with the creatures around us, and with each other. Mending knits things back together, strengthens things that have become frayed. I see ‘mending’ less as clearing up after (and thus enabling/prolonging exploitation) but as offering a different model or mode of being.
Ahhh Samantha such a bracing walk I have just gone on with you! It was just what I needed today. I know the winds invigoration and its relentlessness living as I do in the southern part of Te Waipoumamu. The South Island of NZ. You have done just that; moved gently and mended with your words. Thank you!
Lovely to connect with you across the many miles, Peta! It sounds like it's no conicidence then that New Zealand flax and cordylines do so well here in Orkney, standing up to all the wind can throw at them.
Just what I needed to read today. Such beautiful and comforting words and images - conveying the enormity of everything right now but also how to live within it. Thank you.
Yes, the distractions are so many, and so insistent, and so URGENT all the time. The danger is we just go numb to it all. But just being present to wind and rain and sky always helps me somehow.
Oh Samantha, I felt the bite of that brutal Orkney wind against my face. Your thoughts are like a balm to the chaos of our bizarre time. And yet, there in the background stands the old man of Hoy, as he has for - I have no idea, thousand, hundreds of thousands of years, first as land, then eroded by the sea, now sea stack, ogled by ferry trippers, and visitors to Hoy alike, diminished maybe, but still standing. These cruel self serving men cannot hope to survive more than a few more years. We stand together, creative, caring and loving beings that we are. Communities of kindness will overcome the banal, brutal lies of narcissistic men! We hope together. Thank you for your words x
You are so right Sarah. I’m so glad to hear my post was a balm today.
Such a wonderful post, Sam. So timely, so deeply comforting and with a galvanising reminder: we are not impotent.
Beautiful writing. Thank you.
I’m so glad to hear my writing resonated for you Barbara, and no indeed, we are not impotent.
"it’s just a speck, a fleeting part of something inconceivably vast, complex and unknowable. Somehow this helps. I feel lighter, my sense of self less dense, less important, my edges blurred, just a little."
The sense of AWE is an antidote to our strong inclination toward narcissism and self-aggrandizement.
Indeed so, Baird. Awe and wonder.
Absolutely beautiful photos - the way you managed to cat ch that black and light in what are colour images! The text is a powerful counterbalance to current events: sipping cocktails on Gaza's seafront ... seriously?!
There’s a kind of madness got loose in the world. I’d love to dunk those men in the North Sea. That slap of cold would knock some sense back into them!
Thank you Samantha for your gift of words this morning. Your reflections on the monks at Brough brought Skellig Michael to my mind and the beehive huts that still stand there. A place I visited just once (pre Star Wars) and it left a profound impression on me. I was awed by it, as one should be in such a place.
Thank you Margaret. Skellig Michael is a place I would love to visit, but perhaps only in imagination now, as we make such an impact on these delicate, small places. Yes, I read somewhere that the early monastics in Europe had no desert in which to emulate their teachers, the desert fathers, so they turned towards the western seaboard instead. All those islands called Pappay, Pabay, Papay were named for the monks that had settled there. And my goodness, the monks in those beehive cells must have been hardy indeed!
Yes, similarly here off the Breton coast...And yes Skellig Michael is somewhere I've also longed to visit, but am travelling barely at all these days; once a year to Iona where I lead a retreat and v occasionally to my Cornish homeland. Seems useful to keep my footprint as light as possible - sometimes it seems all we CAN do...
Yes, I don’t go far these days either if I can help it. But I recognsie too that even being able to stay put is a privilege many don’t have, and I am thankful for my home.
Yes indeed, Samantha, and thank you for the reminder. We are so fortunate, those of us who have a home; and especially so if that home is in a beautiful liminal place (mine forest, yours ocean).
Beautiful post and much needed in this time - a time like no other. Being outside in the natural world is very grounding to me right now - you are correct that it can get one away from the pesky news on our "screens". Though I do appreciate the written and spoken words as well as the artwork from your posts when they come to my screen. Keeps my faith that our modern day world still has ways for gentle and reflective moments to be shared - thank you!
That’s true too Lili, the words and images we share through our little screens build connection too. Thank you for reminding me.
I love this post, Sam. Thank you for your beautiful and thoughtful words, for reminding us of what really matters in these very dark and disturbing times… for reminding us of what resistance is and can be.🙏
Solidarity to you Ingeborg, from across the miles. We are all affected by this, but Americans first and hardest. X
Joy is resistance. Here's to joy.💜
Absolutely magical combination of photos and words, Samantha. The photos are stunning, especially the first few, although the dark light is so different from your beautiful light-filled paintings.
The light here is always changing. Now as we approach the vernal equinox the light is starting to rush back in, faster and faster...
Not wishing to reduce modern life to the class structure of 'Fraggle Rock', but if we keep mending the damage, do we become the Doozers? Unless we solve the problem of the consequence free elite (not perfect, but France had the right idea) we are just tidying up after spoilt brats.
Sorry my knowledge of Fraggle Rock is hazy! But my understanding of mending is more to do with mending our relationships: with material things, with our place, our soil, earth and water, with the creatures around us, and with each other. Mending knits things back together, strengthens things that have become frayed. I see ‘mending’ less as clearing up after (and thus enabling/prolonging exploitation) but as offering a different model or mode of being.
Ahhh Samantha such a bracing walk I have just gone on with you! It was just what I needed today. I know the winds invigoration and its relentlessness living as I do in the southern part of Te Waipoumamu. The South Island of NZ. You have done just that; moved gently and mended with your words. Thank you!
Lovely to connect with you across the many miles, Peta! It sounds like it's no conicidence then that New Zealand flax and cordylines do so well here in Orkney, standing up to all the wind can throw at them.
thank you for this. I always look forward to your posts
Thank you Jupiter!
what a wonderful post. thank you.
Thank you Roberta. Writing it helped me too!
It was a wonderful reframe with beautiful images and prose.
Just what I needed to read today. Such beautiful and comforting words and images - conveying the enormity of everything right now but also how to live within it. Thank you.
It's hard not to feel overwhelmed by it all sometimes, isn't it, but for me somehow the sea helps keep it in some kind of persepective.
A huge reminder and encouragement Sam, in a week when it’s easy to be distracted and discouraged. Like walking into a rain in the face Atlantic wind!
Yes, the distractions are so many, and so insistent, and so URGENT all the time. The danger is we just go numb to it all. But just being present to wind and rain and sky always helps me somehow.
This piece had me completely transported - thank you!
That cold North Sea bite certainly wakes us up!