The imagination and humor are my go-tos in times of stress. I've been revisiting what my imagination came up with during the pandemic. It reminds me of all we endured - A LOT!. We need a rest and to trust our inspiration and motivation WILL be back if it's on hold.
For a little relaxation, scroll down, join me again on this Haiku Hike, written and recorded with my survival-brand imagination.
For a little Creative Workshop for Sanity and Fun... join me on February 15, 4pm pacific/ 7pm eastern for easy, fun, and reckless art and writing.. Scroll down to sign-up.. Free for Underground Highway Members.
Art and Writing Prompts below the story
There are fireflies
impersonating the stars
flying within reach
Haiku Hiking Trail:
For Relaxation (and an imaginary trip if it's cold outside).
Below is the script if you want to read along and aren't operating heavy machinery. It induces a drug-like state.
(10-minute read, less if you're fast)
"I need to get outside.
There’s an unexplainable haze following me that smells like garlic. Additionally, due to the length of this quarantine, I’m experiencing a mild inertia and some crankiness. Also cynicism, skepticism, and ... isamism. (not even sure what that is …um).
I have endless cravings for ravioli, pistachio nuts, and garbanzo beans, Then there’s the insomnia, hissing, self-torment, , bloating, binging, belligerence, bingo, bickering, boorishness, bathing… actually not that much bathing, my sweatpants have been walking around by themselves and …. that haze, that garlic haze. It’s clear, I need to get out, commune a bit with nature. I need a hike. BINGO!
So I hope it’s okay if I take you with me, in case you need to get out too.
I’m bringing sliced apples, pistachio nuts and … garbanzo beans in my backpack.
And voila, I’m at the trailhead to a hiking path. And it’s foggy, giving the atmosphere a feeling of mystery and poetry. There’s a big glass encased map of the trail at the head and it says: "Walk this way."
That’s all, it says: "Walk this way." There are no lines indicating paths, trails or switchbacks, no markers guides or levels of difficulty noted, nothing about rattlesnakes, mountain lions or poison oak. Nothing about overlooks. No guidance on what this podcast is supposed to be. It doesn’t give a You are Here… arrow … so I’m not sure if I am. here. But I might be.
It doesn’t show where I’m supposed to go. A squirrel chatters by a smaller sign I might have missed if he weren’t there. The sign says, “Take a small step and the way will be made clear.” Okay.. I like this. I give him a pistachio.
And, I take a tiny step, -then the next one is easier to take because I like the crunch of dead pine needles beneath my feet. I like the sound of it, the feel, and the breeze on my face. It’s a nice change from walking from the kitchen to the living room to the kitchen to the bathroom and the kitchen to the bedroom in my house for the past several months. The path here is barely visible because of the fog but I hear the hooting of an owl, and as I do, all things owl come to mind: Halloween, magic, sorcery, the feminine, the night and … wisdom, the subconscious.
The smells on the trail are fresh and alive, pine, a moist earthly scent of musk with flurries of wild ginger. A nice change from the familiar scents in my house of lysol, fur balls, and …garlic. I
The path is lined with trees out of storybooks with the enigmatic fog surrounding them: weeping willows, apple trees, a giving tree, a tree with a Cheshire cat in it, a Charlie brown Christmas tree, Dr. Seuss pink powder puff trees, and of course pine trees.. because, pine needles.
I continue walking and walking and walking and look back and the trail I came from is gone and where I’m going is filled with tangles, thickets, obstacles, branches, self-doubt and creative chaos, thorns.
I have no idea where I am and how to get through this. I’m not sure how to get back. I’m lost… we’re lost – the fog makes it more ominous, but it’s cool moist, sensation reminds me how nice being outside feels. Actually after being at home for so long, being lost is okay its refreshing,I rarely get lost in my own home
I can see big letters burnt into a stained varnished knotty pine wood sign behind one of the brambles - that same squirrel is scampering across the top. The sign says: “Haiku Sky” Haiku Sky? And underneath are scrolls of instructions:
I unroll one of them it reads:
The sky is filled with alphabets here. If you breathe a little deeper with a little more presence than you did two minutes ago, letters come together … in haiku.
So I stand with good posture, because my mother told me to stand up straight a lot when I was growing up and I breathe a little deeper and with more presence than I did 2 minutes ago …. and wait. …. And nothing happens. [Well, maybe it did, but the sky is foggy so I can’t see it .
I see a large wooden storage box with a hinged top. Open it and there are thick fluffy blankets inside. There’s a tag on each one that says Washed and Sanitized, they smell like clove and lily.
I grab one and spread it out on the pine needle floor of the foggy forest and lay down.
Nothing like the sensation of laying on a forest floor, connected to the earth, the brisk temperature of the air, kisses my cheek.
I take a deep breath in and exhale and relax deep into the support of the blanket. It gives me permission to surrender all the struggles of 2020.
And then - I fall asleep and dream of flying.
I fly over people sitting outside in cafes,. I fly over breakfast in Paris, lunch in Bombay. I fly over canyons and meadows, and float on a breeze. Then in poetic motion I land on a tree. . And sleep … deeper and better than I’ve slept in a long time, seemingly dreaming not in haiku but in rhyme.
I awake and It’s still foggy.. but I can see an opening of blue and
words are spelled out in the blue alphabet sky. And they say:
'You are here.'
Okay, that wasn’t a haiku, but sometimes when you’re on the trail of an idea, it’s wise to let go of the destination you thought you needed to arrive at go a different way.
I return to my pillow fort at home, because this podcast is coming to an end. I return to Max the cat, and Sunshine, the also cat.
…the garlic haze and the fog are both gone and I write this:
There’s not a map for bringing a new idea into being. Creativity is not linear. But I know if I get lost, that it’s a natural part of the adventure of creativity. We get lost and stuck, the trick is staying on the path – maybe take a break but I know if I don’t give up, if I take go on a walk or patiently play with my idea in daydream, if I take tiny steps without even needing to know where I’m going … the fog lifts and the way becomes clear.
Be kind to YOURSELF. Stay safe."
Birds fly backwards north
butter flies across my toast
I want to fly too
© 2020 Jill Badonsky