Rock to Sand

The Beach at Hulopoe, Lana'i Hawaii

Gillian Cornwall, c. 2012

I was born a rock, projected into this world, whole, a unity of DNA from all of those who have passed before me in the paternal lines of Cornwall and the maternal lines of Jay. I am searching back through these lines, searching for the end of the strand, knowing it lands in the cradle of the world from whence each one of us has risen at the dawn of humanity. 

I was born a rock and at 55 I am eroded to sand, but sand is a beach and everyone loves a beach, right? Tell me it's true, please? I search for worth amidst the grains remaining as I am gradually washed back to the mother ocean, wave after wave, pulling me home. 

Cornwall, Kernow - likely my father's people arose from here, as many of that name have done. I am drawn to the shores of this southwest peninsula of England. A place that has held its own culture and nationhood in its soul since first inhabited in the Palaeolithic and Mesolithic periods. I am spending time learning the language and the ways of the people to gain a better understanding of that which is likely the birthplace of the paternal side of my family. 

Jay, the bird, in English etymology, and "joyous" from the French "gai" or Roman "gaius." My mother's side of the family hails far back in England and, before that, French. It is much harder to trace the maternal line as men have held power and, in their self-importance, power over record, for ...well, forever I suppose - at least in Western culture. 

As the beach, how does one remain strong? How does one stay strong when the rock is hollowed out and the last of us crumbles to join the rest of the sand? Is there strength in simply letting go? Is there strength and hope in knowing that each grain of sand is unique and each piece of us is unique? Together, we stretch out to the mother ocean united as a place between land and sea. Like I describe myself always, I am a conduit, a bridge, between people, places, and times. A conduit is not an easy thing to be because one is not seen so easily when broken down to sand or stretched between this and that. One is a road rather than a destination and often forgotten when the journey ends. 

I am something. You may not remember me, but I have been here and remain, like the via of Roman times, the scar of me remains, the lines in the landscape and long after you have passed along me or through me, I remain. I am the journey you have made and the place between places. I am Kernow, kernou. I am Jay, duGai. I am one with the mother and a strand in the colourful blanket of humanity - strong, unique, worn, fragile. I am the sand beneath your feet when you stare out to sea, on the edge between land and water, masculine and feminine, here and not here. I am.

Meur ras.

Vyaj salow!

-Gillian Cornwall, c. May 21, 2017

Dedicated to my friend, Nadita Beauchamp

Thanks for inspiring me, for seeing me and for lifting me up

St. Ives, Cornwall (Kernow)

Photo by: Sheila Jeffries (author extraordinaire)

(used with previous written permission) 

Ocean Heir

Pacifica

Gillian Cornwall, c. August 2015

Rising from the Salish Sea

Heir apparent to her island throne

Kelp and sand dollars adorn her 

She knows no ways but those of nature born

No pretense

No sense of hate

No desire to subjugate

Her only need, to be

To inhale and exhale deeply

Sufficient space to breathe

To allow herself to leave

To fall and rise again

Not a fish to be lured to net

Nor a wildcat morphed to pet

She wove fibres from the land

In colours of the sea

And the spectrum of life

Wrapped 'round wrists 

Of those she loves

Do not cast a shadow on her 

She may fly 

And return at will.

-Gillian Cornwall, c. August 23, 2015

Mount Baker from Willows Beach

Gillian Cornwall, c. July 2015

Here's to the Mother

 

Sea Lions - Barkley Sound, BC

Photo: Gillian Cornwall, c. September 4, 2014

Air, water, earth ...you know, those things we need to, you know, live. This past Thursday and Friday, I had the honour and distinct pleasure of spending a small, but life-changing, amount of time at Bamfield Marine Sciences Centre. 

I originally travelled out west from Ontario 23 years ago because I wanted to, no, I needed to, be by the ocean. I dreamed ocean, I drew giant, rolling waves and I wanted to surf - more than I wanted to pursue my career, more than I wanted to be with my partner, more than, well, anything - so in June of 1990, I packed up a couple of suitcases, with a promise of coming back for the rest, and headed to Salt Spring Island where I had friends to support my transition (thank you Alberta and Gloria). I actually feel ill now when I am away from the ocean - some weird land-locked syndrome I suppose. I thrive on the food here. I would happily live on a diet similar to that of a coastal bear - salmon, blueberries.... I thrive on the air and the seawater at my feet.

Spiritually and physically, I look to the water as my mother - as mother to us all - the key to our existence. We cannot survive without her and we all know it, right? so why do we keep doing it? Why do we keep walking down a destructive path, sullying her with our poor sustainability practices and thoughtlessness. We are killing ourselves when we destroy the oceans. Are we that dissatisfied with our lives? Would we not struggle if someone tried to choke the life from us? Perhaps we need to stop talking about saving the world and start talking about saving ourselves. Let us own our selfish human nature and be clear. If we kill the oceans, and this is exactly what is happening around the world, then we kill ourselves. If we kill ourselves, we have no need for fossil fuels, nuclear testing, blah, blah blah.

Most of you reading this can go right now and turn on the taps and let it run into your palms - drink and wash in the life-giving water. Do it. Be amazed at the ease with which you have that substance which sustains all life. If you live near a lake, a river or sea - go to it and give thanks. Apologize for the harm you have done and promise to take more care, for water is the mother of us all and we must care for our mother. 

Please be 'care full' and not 'care less'. We are in the paradise we look to so longingly in prayer. Give thanks and act with the love paradise deserves. Be grateful and willing to consider this life giving resource. 

Visit: Bamfield Marine Sciences Centre at: http://www.bms.bc.ca/ if you are interested in finding out about the incredible research UVic and other western institutions (UBC, SFU, UofC, UofA) are doing to understand and maintain our mother ocean. I am so proud to have such an impeccable facility available to high school students and university undergraduate and graduate students right here on Vancouver Island. The seawater at this facility is some of the purest in the world. I like to think we have the 'champagne' of seawater available at Bamfield - unpolluted by the effects of industry. This means that creatures thrive better while being studied and are returned to their exact environment, alive and robust. 

Bamfield Marine Sciences Centre, Bamfield, BC

Photo: Gillian Cornwall, c. September 4, 2014

Get inspired: 

Bamfield Marine Sciences Centre: http://www.bamfieldmsc.com/

Mission Blue - Sylvia Earle Alliance: http://mission-blue.org/

Surfrider Foundation: http://www.surfrider.org/

Deer Group Islands (I think...)

Photo: Gillian Cornwall, c. September 4, 2014

 Seals, Barkley Sound, Vancouver Island, BC

Photo: Gillian Cornwall, c September 4, 2014

 Sea Star, Touch Tank, Bamfield Marine Sciences Centre

Photo: Gillian Cornwall, c September 4, 2014

 Sea Lions, Barkley Sound, Vancouver Island, BC

Photo: Gillian Cornwall, c September 4, 2014

 Paddlers, Barkley Sound, Vancouver Island, BC

Photo: Gillian Cornwall, c. September 4, 2014

 The view from Bamfield Marine Sciences Centre, 

Bamfield, Vancouver Island, BC

Photo: Gillian Cornwall, c. September 4, 2014

 Temperate Rainforest, Bamfield Marine Sciences Centre

Bamfield, Vancouver Island, BC

Photo: Gillian Cornwall, c. September 5, 2014

 Temperate Rainforest, Bamfield Marine Sciences Centre

Bamfield, Vancouver Island, BC

Photo: Gillian Cornwall, c. September 5, 2014

 Ferns, Temperate Rainforest,

Bamfield Marine Sciences Centre

Bamfield, Vancouver Island, BC

Photo: Gillian Cornwall, c. September 5, 2014

The sun shining through the forest canopy

Temperate Rainforest

Bamfield Marine Sciences Centre

Bamfield, Vancouver Island, BC

Photo: Gillian Cornwall, c. September 5, 2014

Thanks for reading and I hope you will make everyday a day to think about that which gives us life and that for which we must remain, grateful.

-Gillian Cornwall, c. September 7, 2014.

From the Mud

Oil Pastel on Paper

Gillian Cornwall, c. 2011.

This week I am offering up a very short work of fiction. It is one of the pieces I prepared recently in light of a local competition which allowed only 250 words and six of them dictated to the writers as compulsory. I hope you enjoy it.

From the Mud

You pressed your finger to a live barnacle, watching it clench under the pressure. You mastered childhood delights as you mastered painting, an explorer of life and light. I loved you though you terrified me. It is true that a wondrous mind armed with an ocean of knowledge suffers ebb tides of confusion, depression and madness. There were times when your demons, released from the harbour of your salty seas, lay exposed, grappling and gasping, drowning in oxygen on your dishevelled shores. 

Shortly after your paintings were featured at the Vancouver Art Gallery, the stimuli and attention overloaded your sensory processors. Your psyche misaligned and your thoughts became a jumble. The loss and the gain, like inhaling and exhaling broken glass, left you derelict and remote.

When last I saw you, in the institution, you were painting again, great canvasses, four feet by six. To the eye of the unacquainted, these paintings appeared mud black and flat but, as I sat with you, guided by your eyes staring into the work, the clarity of the image arose through the texture of the paint. I saw the layers of life held within, an excavation of your ocean floor, exposed, for all to see should they care to look. It is only chaos when we don't understand.

-Gillian Cornwall, October 6, 2013.

 Vancouver, December 2010.

c. Gillian Cornwall

Live the Magic

When does time take over our thoughts? When do we stop collecting rocks, 

and playing with toys?

 When does making a scarecrow suddenly become something for farmers or children only?

 When do you stop climbing trees just because they are there 
or going to the petting zoo to see the baby animals?

When do rides become too expensive and too dangerous? When does fear take over?

 When does it happen that there is no time to go to the beach or explore the creatures of the earth?

 When do we stop making snow angels

 and dressing up for Halloween?

 When do we stop lying under the Christmas tree to stare up at the lights in wonder?

 When did we put away the board games

 and stop climbing to the highest peak?

When did we become afraid to embrace and honour mother ocean in all of her beauty,

 with all of the joy in our hearts?

When do we become afraid to take some calculated risks and live the magic?

Roll down some hills; squeal with joy. 

Pick an earthworm up off the sidewalk

and put it back in the grass.

Jump in some puddles. Get dirty. Get your hair wet.

Live.Love.Learn.

We are never to old to be joyful and open to experience.

Have fun.

-All text and images by: Gillian Cornwall, c. 2013.