09 Dec, 2011
The sweet Southern sun keeps thoughts of winter at bay. The fingertips of frost brush the morning hours, but they fail to find a grip. Pine needles soften the ground and broaden the seasonal pallet just enough to keep the day friendly. All signs point to one momentarily flashing word: temperate.
Grace-Calvary Episcopal Church in Clarkesville, GA.
This is the final vision recorded by my trusty Canon S95 camera. Northern Georgia was hit by a few days of heavy, cold rain last week. I arrived in Clarkesville soaking wet and promplty took cover for some lunch. Before I ate, I took a peak in the church to confirm the description from Barbara Taylor's book (Leaving Church). Because I was wet, I knelt in the doorway to pray rather than going inside. While deep in prayer, I felt a strong pressing at my stomach. Later, when I went to take a picture, the camera that was in my coat pocket no longer turned on. Thank you, trusty camera, for all of the fine images you've passed along to us over the past 6 months!
Last week, I had the pleasure of visiting Barbara Brown Taylor and her husband Ed at their home near Clarkesville, GA. While I espouse the sacredness of all places, I recognize that certain locations tend to make me more aware of the divine presence. Celtic mystics called these spots “thin places,” which refers to the notion that the veil between humanity and the divine is particularly diaphanous in some areas. The Thad’s community uses the antithetical language of “living thick” in reference to the abundance of spirit in the God-love life. Any way you slice it, there is something sacred to the land on which the Taylors live. It bears a history of holiness that stretches from centuries of Cherokee reverence to more recent celebrations of the sundance, sweatlodges, and a variety of other formal religious practices. While walking along the various ridges, streams and knolls of the property, the history of land use from logging to apple orchard to pasture is just close enough to be noticeable but shrouded such to pique curiosity.
With many of the people I encounter, I focus my energy on dialogue with the hope of gleaning wisdom through questions directed at perspective and practices. On the Taylor property, the verbal dialogue was secondary to the experience of the land. Just like an apprenticing musician sitting at the feet of a master player, I absorbed a great deal by sheer proxy. My bones were fed by fresh milk in thick glass jugs. My feet sank into the rich soil of their organic farm. My hands melted snow flurries while collecting fresh greens; they felt the tickle of a horse’s mouth and the vibrant chill of the upper Chattahoochee. My eyes watched the sunrise sneak through a stormy morning for a vibrant greeting on the trees. But the real feast was for the ears: long, breathy silence. No planes. No cars. No voices—save those of migrating finches or hunting coyotes.
For a few interesting words on the role of silence in our lives and in film, check out: http://www.nytimes.com/2011/12/07/opinion/dowd-silence-is-golden.html?_r=2&smid=fb-nytimes&WT.mc_id=OP-E-FB-SM-LIN-SIG-120711-NYT-NA&WT.mc_ev=click
I had the pleasure of absorbing all of these things for a few days last week. When I mentioned that I was hoping to do a little writing before I headed down to Atlanta for the holidays, Ed set me up in an Airstream trailer in the woods on their property. He brought me fresh eggs, a cast iron pan, and a few other groceries to make the time even more idyllic. Although the days passed quickly, my connection to the place was so profound that I can easily return there in my mind. Call it thick or thin, that setting has a comforting spot in my memory that I will surely visit for some time to come.
These two animal figures-- newt and salmon-- are examples of Ed Taylor's stone work. He studied the traditional Cherokee skills of stone selection and carving.
Thanks to Ed and Barbara Taylor for sharing your time, thoughts, and property!
Ed helped me fix my guitar, which had suffered some serious cracking while rambling across the country. Thanks to Ed for his extraordinary kindness throughout my visit!
Thanks to Bob and Sherry Frame for hosting me near Toccoa, GA!
Now, I’m safely settled in the suburbs of Atlanta. I plan on being mostly stationary here through Christmas. I am trying to let my mind cool and muscles soften after a prolonged period of exertion. Sometimes, we need to rest from even our Sabbaths—to regain perspectives that compliment and inform our experiences. As a culture, that contrast might be the shift from passive frenzy to active stillness. I, for one, hope to strengthen my atrophic stillness—starting now.
Until we meet again
More actively still
Than we thought possible
