The Grand Canyon

No matter which view you take of it...

...the Grand Canyon always looks different and amazing...

...it is always grand.

Sedona's red rocks

 The red rock formations of Sedona are beautiful.







Photographs of formations like the Cathedral Rock show up on calendars year after year.

To recognize rocks as "something famous", that's saying something for a rock.

Then there were two

A lily isn't from a seed. It comes from a bulb. It needs to be hidden and protected; and it waits for the right time to sprout and then to bloom.
You don't just toss it out into the field and it takes root. You don't spread its seeds all around everywhere.
It's a quiet taking of root, a slow revealing.

I am impatient for my lilies to bloom. For them to open up and show me what color they are.
Today I had another nice surprise: pink tip lilies.
You can't rush beauty. You can't demand it within your own time frame.

The search for a vase

I decided that flowers need to live in my house.
The flowers that will be living in my house will need a place to stay.

A vase was needed.

And I went looking for one.
I stood in the market looking at an assortment of vases, fish bowls and candle holders--nothing very striking.
"We have a shop," the man said, and pointed to a tiny hole of a window in the wall nearby.
"Where's the door?" I asked and one of the boys nearby led me to their small, dark room where hundreds of vases and candle holders were stacked on dusty, crowded shelves.
It wasn't really like a shop at all, but more like someones forgotten cellar storage.
I blinked and my eyes adjusted to the light. It was such a dusty, cave-like room, I wanted to walk back out and go look somewhere else for a vase. But instead I took a closer look at what was around me.

Sometimes it's a matter of finding the beauty amidst the unexpected, right? Sorting through the trash to find the treasure.
Shine up the old brass lamp and out pops a genie to grant your wishes.
Smile at the somber old woman on the street and watch the amazing transformation when her own return smile lights up her face.

So I had that boy pull vases out of the deep recesses of the shelves and dust them, and I held them up to the slim bit of light coming through the tiny window.

In the end, I found one to take home with me. It cleaned up even better than I thought it would. It surprised me even more once I had it home, cleaned and in the light.
For the seeker, hidden beauty once revealed is a treasure indeed.

A hint of beauty

Isn't that pretty?

This orange has held a place of honor on my counter-top for the last week and a half. It was just too pretty to eat.
But even a pretty orange will succumb to the rottenness of unmet potential if it never gets to be eaten--the purpose for which it was created.

Sitting there on a plate, the full beauty and goodness inside are only hinted at.
An orange, to be fully enjoyed, must be eaten. It's outward beauty destroyed, it's insides consumed. If not, an orange is not an orange.

Ah the mystery of beauty.

Shikara ride

My favorite thing about Kashmir is the lake.
The people.
The quietness.
The slower pace.
The beauty and culture reflected in its environment.

On this cold November morning, my friend offered to paddle me around the "block" of her neighborhood.

You can find anything you're looking for right there on the lake: groceries, phone charge, plastic buckets, sweaters, potato chips, pharmacy, carpets, shawls...
The shops were open, waiting for someone other than the locals to visit. The tourists have been missing for months.

The houseboats, too, are waiting for guests. Everything has been newly painted and repaired. There has been lots of time to fix those things you might otherwise never get around to.
All that's needed now is for someone to come back and enjoy all the fresh paint and improvements.

Thoughtful patterns

Maurits Cornelis Escher was a pretty smart guy, mathematically speaking. He didn't do so well in school as a youngster, but he turned out alright anyway.

He was fascinated with the the idea of infinity, the infinite-ness of pattern and repetition, the impossibility of the human mind to grasp the idea of the infinite.

My favorite of his works is this one: three worlds. I like the reflection, depth and the subtle repetition of shape.

Escher's tessellation patterns were some of his most ingenious works.
They are thoughtful and well planned. He spent hours perfecting his designs and the pieces all fit together just as they should.

Pattern.
Repetition.
Thoughtful design.
Those ideas apply to more than just tessellations.

How about the way we develop patterns of repeating mistakes in our lives.
Or how those who love us continue to forgive us for these mistakes.
Or maybe how with some intentional thoughtfulness--and with the Hand of the Infinite, we can be renewed to create different and better patterns within our lives and relationships. Patterns that will echo eternal beauty.

Again, art imitates life.

Color and madness turned happy

Did you know the color brown is associated with humility?

Did you know VanGogh drank himself to death?
Actually, there are a number of theories on what drove him over the edge. And by "edge", I'm talking about a serious drop-off into the deep end--I mean, who cuts off his own ear and then paints a picture of himself all bandaged up?
But did you know he was also a preacher for a time? And maybe the lack of care for the poor around him, for whom he was so compassionate, is what drove him mad.
Or maybe it was the paint he wouldn't stop eating.

Theories, all of them.

And color theory is what we talked about today. VanGogh was a color genius.

Today I avoided telling children that VanGogh was a drunken kook, and we focused on the product of his pain--beautiful paintings.

Pain inspires art.
Beauty inspires art.
And for us today: art inspires art.

This is some of what VanGogh's still life paintings of flowers in vases inspired in my students...

...flowers with smiles...
...vases with faces...
...analogous color schemes...
...and even a triadic harmony.

I may have gone a little deeper into the fascinating topic of color theory than I intended for my young audience--but, hey, it's really interesting stuff!
And I think they got it. It showed up in their work, anyway.

I love it when they leave saying to each other, "That was fun."

And to me: "Thanks! Thanks for teaching us, it was fun."
Thing is, they really mean it.

Art inspires happiness, too.

It is well

It's been... one of those days.
Near the end of it, I went up to the roof to see the sunset. Because I could see from my balcony that it promised to be a good one, and a rare glimpse of sky in these overcast monsoon days.
It was.
Beautiful.

In the noise-ridden city of Delhi, the rooftop was a sanctuary of quiet. Perhaps the traffic and people sounds don't echo off the buildings as much when you're above them.
Whatever it is that makes the hush, my whole being welcomed it.

The last rays of September 10, 2010 lit up the sky.
And it. Was. Glorious.

Yet...

Inwardly, I groaned.
There is a gaudy temple in my view of the skyline. It was blocking the sunset I wanted to see in full.
It's spires marred the beauty I longed to be unblemished.
I wanted perfection.

I wished for a view from higher up, so I could see over the temple silhouette.
But I was already on the roof. And I am earthbound.

Sigh.

All is not well with the world.
But in this moment, all is well in this place.
In this moment, all is well with my soul.

I can choose to set my gaze on things higher.
And I can remember that no matter what turmoil is around me or within me, there is a deep Source of Peace which calls to the depths within me.

Beauty knoweth no pain

I agreed to have a pedicure.
If you know me, this is a rare. For several reasons:

• I don't care to have people touching my feet.
• The only other time I had a pedicure it hurt me and caused ingrown toenails.
• The massage part hurts and leaves bruises.
• In most cases, I do a much better job painting my nails.

Yeah. So. I went and had a pedicure. All the time telling myself: "Remember, Lindsay, these are your feet. Be assertive."

My anti-pedicure instincts are good, I tell you.

So while my pedicure companions either drank chai or were made to look like a baked potato (tinfoil on her head), my feet got soaked and filed.
The guy who gave the pedicure seemed competent, but these are the injuries I sustained:

• bleeding cuticle when trimmed too close
• side of my toe filed raw
• and, of course, the bruises from the massage

Apparently, I'm a pedicure wimp.

All of this reminds me of the oft-repeated mantra of a friend of mine:
"Beauty knoweth no pain."

• This is what you repeat to yourself when your new shoes are pinching and giving you blisters.
• This is what you remind your friend when her new wool clothes itch.
• This is what you moan as you pluck your eyebrows.
• This is what you hope when your hands are covered in henna and you cannot feed yourself.
• This is what you tell an 8 year old when she whines about brushing her hair.
• This applies in the case of the pedicure. For me, anyway.

Ah what lengths we go to, all in the name of beauty.