Friday, December 30, 2011

Aspen Branches, Utah 
Gillian Cornwall
ink on paper

A Poem

I have expanded with love
Burst forth from the cement of the city sidewalk
the rogue flower

I learn and I shift
my perception
I engage in the moment that is
and leave the moment that will be
to its own devices

I have no animosity in my heart
no blame
I have expanded with love

I learn
I do my best
I share the gift of love
worship the living temple of my self
Love is a story of the world
in which 
we all belong

-Gillian Cornwall

Seek to enjoy, not to possess. -Nana Veary

Tuesday, December 27, 2011

My Online Heroes

This year I have been met with such great warmth and kindness from those of you that I have never met in person. I have built phenomenal relationships through social networking. Some of you have warmed my heart through your openness - expressing your fears and joys and kindness - restoring my faith in the human spirit. 
   Is it true that this kind of emotional intimacy is, at times, easier with strangers? Is the risk less and thus the willingness increased? I don't suppose it matters in the long run.
   My own ego tells me that it is, in part, down to my own openness of heart and spirit, that I create a space that is safe to join and to share your truth.
   This Christmas, as the year winds down, I want to ensure that all of you know that I am grateful to you for joining me in the moments we share online and that I see you, I hear you and what you say means something to me. I will do my best to honour your time and effort with my own truth and kindness. 
   I wish each of you every joy and blessing for the coming year and that you have every opportunity to live fully in the precious moments of your lives. 
   So very sincerely,

Thursday, December 22, 2011

Camp - Part Three

I know where I am drawn. There is peace in this as I walk on. It feels further in the dark than in the light, fewer distractions I suppose, but before long the woods open up to the upper level seating of the council ring and a lone star shoots across the open sky through the thick lick of the milky way. I sit, shoving my fists into the pouch of my hoodie and I sigh heavily into the night. I am a child, an animal with senses sharp and alive, nose to the cool air, eyes darting and adjusting to the light. 

In this ring, some eternal part of who I am, something I have yet to comprehend, releases and I know I have not come here to be alone as I originally thought. I have come to connect to something, to connect to everything, to belong. My young, taut, clean body breathes in the power of the love of all. I hold this cool night air in my lungs, eyes closed, connected; full. As I release this breathe, my self mingled with the universal soul into the one. I open my eyes wide to see the mother wolf staring at me from across the ring. Her two cubs are in tow, wrestling each other and the mother sits, our eyes locked. I gasp. I stay. I feel the hot tears on my cheeks. I understand the journey from longing to belonging. Purity. Comprehension. Love. 

Gillian Cornwall, copyright December 22, 2011

Tuesday, December 20, 2011

New Story "Camp" - Part Deux

   I make my way down the chip trail and across the bridge as the stream below gurgles its greetings, the water on its ceaseless path to bigger bodies. Ahead, the entrance to the cedar wood looms dark and wide and I shiver a little in this moon and star-filled summer night, briefly considering the consequences if caught mid-adventure by a concerned grown-up. My consideration does not outweigh my desire and I carry on down the path and into my beloved cedar wood. While my heart thumps time to this song of escape, it is more excitement than fear as I have walked the trails of this camp and lingered in these woods since age four. I have crunched through the crisp-top winter snows and lazed at the foot of these trees in the dog days of summer. I am comfortable here and more safe on these grounds at any time of day than I ever have been or ever will be at home. I walk here at peace and rest here in the palm of my maker, my nature.
   The scent of living cedar is my mother's milk and the branches sway in a trance with the whisper of the night time breeze. I tread upon the bouncing carpet of cedar fronds and the net of roots beneath my feet. This is a place of magic. This is a place of rope swings and tree forts. It is Peter Pan and Captain Hook and everything wild and good about being a kid. I maintain a ninja silence knowing the boys tribes, including my own brother, sleep in the tree forts overhead. I smile at my courage and, quite frankly, my gall; I will not stop here. I know where I must go. 

-Gillian Cornwall, copyright December 19, 2011

Monday, December 19, 2011

New Creative Non-Fiction - "Camp" by Gillian Cornwall

  Here is a taste from a new story in the works:
  "There is a particular scent to the canvas tent with its pine platform floor, replete with eight 9 year old girls, the counsellor-in-training, Cathy, and our revered leader, Liz. After three years of these overnights, I can quite confidently say that, while the scent is unique to these circumstances, it varies little from camp session to camp session and from year to year and tent to tent. I can not fully describe it but I will try to lead you by the nose and give you some idea because it's beautiful and peculiar and, for me, both inviting and petrifying. If one were to mix brown sugar with sweet summer sweat, dry pine and sun-warmed canvas and blend it with stale peanut butter and jam sandwiches from lunches gone by, you'd have a reasonable facsimile of what I'm trying to get at.  

I already know I like girls. I lay among them and I barely understand how it is I am an interloper in their midst. I have no idea how it is I am different or why I am the only one who feels like this. I am the only one awake though thousands of crickets and frogs trill beyond our fabric home. They call me, incessant as the sirens of Greek mythology. One more call, this time from the loon, and I silently slide from my sleeping bag placed purposefully by the zippered net door flap. My stealthy exit goes unnoticed or without comment as it is not uncommon for a young girl to require a night time trip to the outhouse; however, this is not my planned destination. I am equipped in my Keds, sweatpants, and hooded sweatshirt having planned my adventure earlier in the evening. I am restless and intense and night time sojourns both feed my sense of adventure and calm my troubled young soul."

-Gillian Cornwall,  copyright December 18, 2011

Wednesday, December 14, 2011


The stars in the sky would stand aside for you
with fascination and adoration.
This is how you light up a room.

Friday, December 09, 2011

Cowichan Winter Forest

Cowichan Winter Forest
Ink and coloured pencil
Gillian Cornwall
copyright 2011

Monday, December 05, 2011

From the Deep Blue Sea

Where from come I?
From a deep, dark place
Where from come I?
From the silt of the deep blue sea

Flowing and forming
and spanked to the shore

to open a mouth
and fill the lungs
with air I feed this life
with feet I fled the sea
with fire I made the food
for the ceaseless belly

Upon the earth I dwell

From mother to mother to mother

-Gillian Cornwall,
copyright August 8, 2010

Thursday, December 01, 2011

Buy Art?

Oil Pastel on Paper.
- Gillian Cornwall
Click on the pic to see it big.
c 2005