Empathy

Empathy in Difficult Situations...

Gillian Cornwall - c. 2010

Empathy - I have been thinking about how we act on a day to day basis in our personal lives but in the workplace as well. Leaders and colleagues can appear to have a void of empathy for those with whom they work. This lack of understanding can have some disastrous results, not the least of which is the alienation of the team and their emotional divorce from the organization. This can be the first crumbling brick in the demise of an institution or business.

All leaders can benefit from coaching in the process of empathetic engagement. It takes desire, primarily, to learn how to acknowledge the problems or difficulties of a colleague. It takes development of emotional intelligence. It takes dealing with your own issues first and not packing your emotional stinginess in your lunch kit everyday and hauling it into the office. 

Certainly, it is unwise to get right in the depths of the pit with others when they are down. If you are both in there, then how will one of you guide the other out? Who will hold up the light to show the path? 

It is essential to acknowledge the fact that the person is in the pit and that you are aware that they might be uncomfortable or afraid in there. If you skip this step and go right to, "Hey, at least the pit wasn't bottomless!" or "Don't worry, you'll get out." and walk away, it becomes entirely apparent to the person in the pit that you do not want to know they are in there at all. In fact, you are entirely dismayed or indignant that they have been so thoughtless in sharing their predicament. "Pit person" should have quietly withered away to nothing without disturbing you. Obviously, in this context, this is NOT the way to go about recovery and healing. 

Once you have acknowledged the situation, as an effective leader, you can offer direct assistance if you are able - this too is a form of empathy. If you are out of your league with an issue, it is still essential to acknowledge its existence with the person. Once you have acknowledged, if you are uncertain in how to direct the person, you can tell them you will get back to them (give a time and date) with resources and make sure you follow up! Be real and be true. Your position makes your time no more or no less important than that of your colleagues. The amount of money you are paid to do your job is irrelevant in this scenario. Time taken to work together is an investment beyond measure. Remember that the people with whom you work are your colleagues, fellow humans, all deserving of basic respect. They are not "your employees", rather they are employed by the organization and you have been hired to lead them.

Know your responsibilities as a leader. 

Know the resources of your organization. 

Know the rights and benefits of your team.

If you don't know, find out now before the next scenario arises. 

Do not make assumptions about the person's experience or feelings based on your own history.

Once you have held up that light and helped guide the person from the pit, set a time to follow up and talk about it. This may involve listening and it may involve redirection to other resources. Keep your judgments to yourself and be clear about the time frame and methodologies you have in which to assist. Be empathetic and kind. The people with whom we work are our employer's 'human resource'. Think about these two words carefully. Think about them together and separately and their meaning and implications. Be honest - both with yourself and the person with whom you are engaging. 

It is not your responsibility to "fix" whatever is happening with the person. It is unlikely they need nor want "fixing". As Oprah said on her last show, "...every single person you will ever meet shares the common desire. They want to know: 'Do you see me? Do you hear me? Does what I say mean anything to you?..."

Try it. See people. Hear them. Acknowledge what they have said to you and let it flow through you without judgment or personal need. You needn't carry it but hold up that lantern and let folks know you are willing, as a fellow human being, to offer light and guidance as each of us makes our way down our own individual paths. 

-Gillian Cornwall, c. June 22, 2014

Resources: 

The following articles, books and scripts have been of great help to me on my journey to being more empathetic along my path for emotional and social intelligence:

Psychology Today - I Don't Feel Your Pain -  Overcoming Roadblocks to Empathy by David F. Swink

The Four Agreements: A Practical Guide to Personal Freedom by Don Miguel Ruiz

Change We Must - My Spiritual Journey by Nana Veary

Solomon's Tale by Sheila Jeffries

A Glimpse of Heaven - The Philosophy of True Health by Dr. Glen Hepker

The Laws of Thermodynamics - A Very Short Introduction by Peter Atkins

Hawaii

Gillian Cornwall, c. 2006

Father's Day

The Cornwalls - circa 1964

Photographer Unknown

Ah, the joy of family photos -particularly those with small kids. I do not look happy. I can't recall this moment but I recall the feeling. 

There is Chris in the back left - he was a great brother and a dutiful son. I miss him. My dad was probably trying to make some kind of joke to get us all to be happy and laughing. Phil, my youngest brother on the bottom left was probably being imaginative and pretending he was launching us all into space or something.... My mum was likely being very proper and trying to simply get a nice family photo for our wall. As I said, I was probably sitting there bawling because, Bruce, my middle brother to my left in the picture was likely bugging me in some way or I was just cranky and tired. Who knows but, valiant effort photographer, valiant effort. 

Now that I am 52, I think back on my past in a different light than I did in my twenties and thirties and forties. Gad, I am aging -but it's better than the alternative! I still feel like the wild child I was at 19 ...some days.

Anyway, I think of my family life as a child differently now. Not just because I have had years and thousands and thousands of dollars of counselling but also because distance from my own childhood loans a different light to it all. My family life was tempestuous and brutal at times. Bad s--t happened. My dad and mum had issues that they both brought into the relationship long before we were twinkles in their eyes. They were folks with difficult pasts and little resource to resolve their own childhood traumas. I wish they had found the kind of amazing counselling that I managed to find for myself along the way. I would like to believe they did their best - even if some days their best was less than optimal. 

My father was abusive in different ways throughout his life. He grew up at the hands of an abuser and so the cycle carried on through him. I do not mean to say he was awful all the time. This is where, now, the child Gillian has healed (though the scars ache some days). I can remember the good stuff too. My dad was the guy who drove me to soccer every week and stayed silent to my mum after I was kicked in the teeth or dinged my head off the goal post. He knew I could tough it out and he didn't want her to stop me from playing. He saw my potential in sports and arts and supported my efforts and abilities. He didn't seem to want me to be a different person than who I was (and who I still am in many ways).

He was the one who supported me when I wanted the drum set for Christmas - though my mum put the kibosh on that one. Apparently drums weren't a ladylike choice of instrument in the sixties... He drove us all over North America on family vacations. He bought us treats. He got to be the good guy when my mum was mad at us. 

He did his best despite the errors he made in raising us on our paths to adulthood. I can't say that I've totally let it go because I know our potential as adults was impacted by the abuse. It takes something away from a person and it takes a very long time, if ever, to restore that sense of self-pride and ability. For many victims of abuse, you never get it back fully. You simply learn to be an advocate for goodness and understanding. You educate. You watch for it in younger folks and help them along their paths if you can. You show your scars and explain the road you have travelled. You use the lesson of your parents lives as your greatest inheritance. This is how the cycle is broken. This is how you learn to understand and, perhaps, forgive. You needn't forget. Remember your path. Remember the road you have travelled. Remember the good and the bad in the people who raised you. Allow yourself the time and the space required to heal. Forgive, if you can. 

The pain carried and doled out by others is not yours to carry forward through time. It's okay to put it down. You deserve to be joyful. If you have good memories of people who did bad things, that's okay. There are acts of kindness in each life. If you have not yet dealt with parental issues or abuse, please get help for yourself. You deserve to be unburdened and to find a life of joy. There are many resources available and your path is your path. You do not need to follow a prescribed path to wellness. Be kind and gentle with yourself. 

I wish I could travel back through time, to England, to the houses of my grandparents or their parents before them and provide a healing energy on those homes. I wish I could unravel that painful history and give my parents a better life. I'm grateful for the life they have given me and the opportunity to sit here today, to write this piece and share it with you. I hope they can see from beyond and know that I am sorry for their pain, that I understand and that I am well. 

Love heals. I breathe in the healing love of the world and return it to the world with my own breath exhaled. We are one. We are connected and together, we have all we need to heal and live well. 

On this Father's Day, I remember the guy who did his best and let him know, in the great beyond, that I am well. I am strong. I am grateful for my life. Thanks Dad.

-Gillian Cornwall, c.June 15, 2014

Summer in Ontario 

at one of the many lake resorts we were lucky enough to visit

Me, Phil and our Dad

circa 1966.

If you are being hurt by someone, there are resources to help you:

Victoria: 

Victoria Sexual Assault Centre: http://vsac.ca/

Canada:

Kids Help Phone: http://www.kidshelpphone.ca/teens/home/splash.aspx

Worldwide:

RAINN: https://rainn.org/get-help/sexual-assault-and-rape-international-resources

WHO: http://www.who.int/entity/en/

Real Food

Hand-picked from Alberta's Farm

Gillian Cornwall, c December 2008

Okay, so first I should explain this picture I guess. It makes me laugh every time I look at it. I won't even start with the Hawaii wallpaper mural behind me but under the sunshine yellow Arborite table (circa 1970), my feet are still caked with red mud from the fields of my friend Alberta's farm on the island of Lana'i in Hawaii. This was a great day. My partner at the time, being far more bold than I, pulled into the drive of Alberta's farm unannounced and we waited until Alberta showed up. I asked if we could come to see the farm one day and she said, "Sure, come by tomorrow and I'll show you around." 

Well, I thought this was pretty cool as I had watched this land progress with an abundance of produce and row upon row of banana trees and I wanted to see how things were going. Lana'i* used to be owned by Dole and all of the arable land was used to grow pineapple. The community revolved around the production of pineapple. People got up to the siren in the morning and worked the fields until the siren sounded again to end the day. 

We arrived at the farm the following morning - thinking we would just take a look around in our shorts and flip flops and maybe buy some fresh stuff before heading to the beach. I was staying for a month in a guest house in town so we were doing a lot of our own cooking and this was a great opportunity to eat local produce and learn about local growing practices.

Before we knew it we were helping to plant lettuce. We are not talking little tiny back garden rows - rather fifty foot long rows ...many of them. The soil was wet and lush and, where the hose had leaked, the ground was ankle deep in mud. It had been a ridiculously long time since I had felt that slippery squelch of mud on my feet - probably since I worked on a farm on Salt Spring Island, BC and amid the sheep, horses and chickens, I also kept a 40 foot by 80 foot garden. 

We helped plant for a couple of hours and then Alberta showed us around the incredible Eden that she and her husband have created. Here are some photos from their creation and the place from which we collected our bounty for the rest of our vacation meals.

 Yup. That's an avocado TREE!

Alberta picking us some lemons 

 banana flower 

 Alberta had a number of types of bananas growing

You have not had papaya until you have had one straight from the tree with a squeeze of fresh lime!  

 No small undertaking - years of labour and love

 Walking with Alberta through the banana grove

 Alberta under the avocado tree with her special avocado retrieval tool

I was obsessed with this tree. 

The Avocado Pear, hanging beautiful and full

Spinach, picked by Alberta as part of our "pay"

Amazing. I was reminded of this yesterday when Jodi and I went strawberry picking in Saanich. With the warm sun on our backs and a blessing to the earth, I bent to my task with the casual ease that comes with knowing you do not have to do this for a living. I ate no more than two ...okay three ....while we picked, my hands stained red by the sun-warmed, juice packed fruit. I watched the fuzzy bumble bees pollinate the surrounding flowers and wondered if I would come across Peter Rabbit, curled up, sleeping in the sun, full of the garden bounty! It was a perfect, sunlit, blue sky day on the Saanich peninsula just as that day had been in Hawaii. 

There is nothing on this earth like growing and harvesting your own food. Nothing will ever taste better and little will bring more satisfaction. I feel so blessed to live in a land that provides such incredible food (and wine!) and while we can produce little in our balcony garden, I am pleased to be able to have the herbs and odd tomato plant growing.

Remember those who farm for us while we toil behind desks throughout our days. Pay homage to the land that feeds us. It bears greater significance to our livelihood than our computers. Love that land; give back to it; be kind to it. 

I wrote this poem some time ago:

For every house we live in

For every school we raise in which to learn

For all the buildings in which we toil

Let us not forget the land on which they stand

For it is the land that is our true home

The land is the teacher of all we need to know

The land is the provider of all we need to grow

Let us not forget the land.

Saanich - by Michell's Farm

c. Gillian Cornwall

*To learn more about the culture and heritage of Lana'i, please visit: http://www.lanaichc.org/ 

Gillian Cornwall, c. June 8, 2014

The Rain Coast

 Rhododendron Spring - Victoria BC

Gillian Cornwall, c. 2007

Every lick of colour

sopping springtime blooms

wet paint in every green

fills the canvas of my town

Splotching pinkest pinks

Camellia upon Camellia

the fair flower that leaps whole

to the grassy bed below

Rhododendrons grow as trees here

floral monsters in pastel

a million pink and purple tongues 

catching raindrops from the sky

Now I lay me down among you

on this verdant, spongy ground

raincoat and gumboot clad

wash me clean into this land

-Gillian Cornwall, c. June 1, 2014

 Saanich - Vancouver Island, BC

Gillian Cornwall, c. May 2014.

Aloha Spirit and the Joy Spectrum

Hulopo'e Beach, Lana'i Hawaii

Gillian Cornwall, c. December 2012

Anyone who has known me for longer than a week knows that this (above) is my happy place. I am inextricably connected to this bay, this beach, this island. I first came to Lana'i more than 20 years ago because my dear friend, Alberta, was living there, building and setting up a movie theatre, The Lana'i Playhouse:

When I first came to the island, it took me a while to find the way of the place and the people. When you are new to Lana'i and not a guest at the resorts and you are there for a month or so, people might wonder who the blazes you are and how you fit into the Lana'i way of life. Not in a negative way - it's just a bit uncommon. 

Anyway, back to the concept of the aloha spirit and the joy spectrum. Lana'i is my happy place, my spirit base - I go there to be with my Hawaiian ohana, to regroup, to recharge and to be surrounded with the aloha spirit in a place with people for whom I care deeply. The aloha spirit is described as "the joyful sharing of life energy in the present". Really, I cold just wrap this post here because that is where I want to exist on the joy spectrum! ...but as you can see, I'm still here typing away because I couldn't resist and I want to delve into this a bit more because I see way too much unhappiness and human discomfort on the daily. 

I also want to acknowledge that my reference to Hawaii and the Hawaiian language and people  reflects only my experience of the place, the people and the culture and the connection I feel through my time shared. If you would like to know about the heritage and culture of the people of Lana'i, then please visit, Lanai Culture and Heritage Centre for more information. 

Joy. How do we integrate it into our every breath, our life's blood? Why is it not our top priority? I feel most well when I am joyful. Why do we allow those surrounding us to knock us from our joyful place with their 'stuff'?

I am a fairly joyful person at heart, though I find I can also be hurt easily. I am childlike in my joy and likewise in my hurt. I feel great joy waking up on a Saturday, knowing the only things on my agenda are a trip to the bookstore, stopping to talk story with friends and picking up local fresh food from the nearby farm stalls. Life is good!

People write songs about joy. Christians feature it in so many songs about the birth of Jesus: "Joy to the world", "Tidings of comfort and joy"...and we revel in the joy we see in a child's face. So what happens to us grown-ups? I know there are worries in life. I'm not immune to pain nor do I find myself skipping through the daisies when I am trying to problem-solve but, usually, when my heart is light, I'm so much more capable of decision-making and taking care of myself and others. 

Looking at joy on a spectrum in all we do might help us. When we are in difficulty, whether we have fear of loss or if we are angry, if we can just step back to look at how much we have for which to be joyful, then I think we could keep that ire and sorrow from taking us over or from letting us become awash in the ire or sorrow of another. I'm not saying not to acknowledge the anger or sorrow of another with love and care; I am saying that if we climb into the abyss with them, then how are we going to be able to hold up a light to help guide them out?

Within our darkest hours there is light. I have crawled from the depths with the faintest remembrance of a light at the end of the tunnel, even when it could not be seen. I have watched people pass away in my arms and I remember this when I am upset about not getting something I want or when I am frustrated because I am late or if someone has made a thoughtless comment that I believe was intended to hurt me. The Spectrum: I am breathing. My belly is full. I am loved. I have a place to live. I have this day, this moment, in which I have been blessed to share some loving thoughts with you. Whoever you are, wherever you are, I am thinking of us all now, together, in lokahi (unity, harmony), in the spirit of aloha. We are one. 

If you are unhappy or suffering, remember that there are many people who think this way, who are sending you love and joyful thoughts, those who know we are one and we are with you now. If you can find it in yourself, step outside and look for someone on the street who seems sad or alone too and share your beautiful smile with them. That gesture will change the world - the world in which we all live, together. I know this is true. An act of love, kindness, joy will ripple on forever, throughout time and space, for we are all energy and there will always be enough love (energy) for everyone to share. I have been both on the giving and receiving end of one of those timely smiles and I can attest to its power. Change We Must and change can come with a simple act of joy or love. 

With every wish for a full and happy life to each of you. 

-Gillian Cornwall, c. May 25, 2014

Me, on Lana'i - December 2012

with a lei given to me by one of my Hawaiian ohana, Auntie Irene

in the true perfection of the aloha spirit.

Resources:

Aloha Spirit: http://www.alohainternational.org/html/aspirit1.html

Lana'i Culture and Heritage Center: http://www.lanaichc.org/ 

Change we Must by Nana Veary: http://www.amazon.com/Change-We-Must-Spiritual-Journey/dp/0965154629

Papa Ola Lokahi: http://www.papaolalokahi.org/

The Homeland

Me - Probably 12 or 13 yrs old 

Camp Richildaca, ON.

The older I get, the more I seem to be "pining for the old country". I was made in England ;-) and born in Canada. My parents came over to Canada on the boat for the second time when Chris, the eldest, was 12, Bruce was 9 and Philip was one. I traveled as a stowaway inside my mother and I am determined that this is why I love the ocean, waves and surfing. 

One night on the crossing aboard the RMS Empress of Canada, the Atlantic was so rocky that my mother and Chris were the only two guests in the dining room along with a few service staff that were not ill with sea-sickness. My mother was very proud of that. I remember her all puffed up with it when she regaled us with the tale. 

We went back to England frequently as children. My parents traveled back on business with the parent company for whom they provided a Canadian branch in our hometown of Richmond Hill, Ontario and they usually made a family vacation of it. We went back to visit relatives and friends of my parents and to explore their favourite vacation spots. There were places that, even as a child, blew my mind. Among them were the grandeur, history and tradition of both the University of Oxford and Cambridge University, the size and wonder of Stonehenge - standing below one of the great upright monoliths in wonder, St Paul's Cathedral and the Whispering Gallery, the  thatched roofs of the Cotswolds and meeting the parents of my mum's wartime love on their farm there and feeling the love and intensity of loss between them and my mum. Lyme Regis and the Alexandra Hotel, where we met another family with kids and my brother and I fell for the same girl - tragically and, of course, she fell for him... I remember excavating fossils along the Jurassic Coast and getting quite embarrassingly stuck up on the cliffs. How sweet my eldest brother was to take Philip and I out on a mackerel fishing boat with our lines and wooden spools. Poor Chris loathed the look and feel of live fish!

I remember the sites and smells. They are ingrained in the fibre of my being. Hemel Hempstead in Hertfordshire - being able to finally be old enough to venture out on my own and browse through the shops on the high street. My cousin, Karen, is my closest relation. We are daughters of sisters, women warriors and survivors. I have not seen her for 32 years. I have not been back and, now, every fibre in my being is being pulled back with a magnetic force I have never previously experienced. I need to go. I need to see my people. I need to walk the places of my childhood. I need to take a trip across the pond to the Guidel Communal Cemetery in Brittany near the Gulf of Morbihan where there lies a marker for my mother's wartime love, Richard, shot down in the second world war. 

I remember,vividly,standing on the grounds of Biggin Hill Fighter Station, listening to my mum tell us the story of a German plane being shot down and crashing into the base, the air raid siren going off and because of her exhaustion, she stayed in her barracks bed until the windows imploded with the explosion. She showed us the scar above her eyebrow where the glass from the window had just missed her eye. I will never forget these things. I tell them here and hope my brother has told his children - lest we forget.

I remember the Tower of London, Westminster Cathedral, Buckingham Palace - waving to the queen as she returned from the race track. I remember how mum nearly had me convinced that Kensington Gardens belonged to her family but I just couldn't wrap my head around why they would leave if that were true! I remember cruising down the Thames, thinking of all that has passed over and through that historic river. I remember my mum losing her watch by Big Ben - irony...

I am attached to this country and my body has begun to call me home. I will need to scrimp and save but I know I will return to her soon.I will see the green patchwork of farmer's fields and walk the paths of some of the greatest writers ever known. I will cry for family gone, to whom I never was able to say my goodbyes. I will walk and walk through the streets of London and breathe deeply in the arms of remaining family. I will know that I am from this land. I am of these people and I am one with England through my bloodline and the soil and ocean that surrounds this faraway island. I will see the new friends I have met through the wonder of Twitter and we will sit and talk story over tea. 

I will see you soon, England. I carry you with me always. 

-Gillian Cornwall, c. May 18, 2014.

 My brother, Philip, and me 

A couple of very British-looking kids in Richmond Hill in the early 1960s

Love and Molecules Revisited

Eunice Audrey Jay(my Mother), Circa 1943

RIP

I originally posted this for Remembrance Day in 2012 and again, edited with greater detail, in 2013 but I wanted to re-post it today, for Mother's Day. I apologize to those who have already read this piece. The older I get, the more I think of the lives of my parents and the more I gain insight into why they were the way they were and why they did the things they did. 

One thing I remember so vividly, is my mother walking briskly through the streets of London one night with my brother, Philip, on one side of her and me on the other, an arm around each of us. She was reminiscing about her time during the war, when everything happened in a moment - life, death, love - and she sang us the songs of the day and we joined in for it was rare to see her this happy. It was as though we were given the opportunity to step back in time with her to gain an understanding of the passion she had for life, love and her country in that time and how every hour was savoured as it could very well have been one's last. 

This is one of the lessons I have carried throughout my life, thanks to my mom. I am passionate. It serves me both well and ill - I am all sunny days and raging storms. There is little middle ground in my nature. I have little patience for mediocrity and I am still learning patience and kindness everyday. I learned many things from my mother, some of which I have spent a lifetime unlearning and some are integrated in every fibre of who I am, leaving me glowing with cellular pride.

Imagine, my mom was driving a Velocette motorcycle around England in 1943. She was 19 then. She had a boyfriend who was a pilot. They used to read poetry to each other on the bench by "Peachy's tomb" at Harrow on the Hill where Byron wrote the poem "Lines written beneath an Elm in the Churchyard at Harrow" - a reflection of his time, daydreaming up there while studying at Harrow school between 1801 and 1805. This verse by Byron stands in bronze by this grave. 

Richard, known to his family as Dick, and my mother were in love. My mom was in the ATS at Biggin Hill fighter station and he was posted at Predannack Airfield flying Typhoons. They lived fast and true to their hearts. There was no time to waste by not feeling, blocking and worrying if it was right. Life was tenuous - up for the lottery at every moment as airplanes fell from the sky, bombs fell from the sky and buildings crumbled around people daily. The world was at war and nothing was forever. There was only the moment in which the truth existed.

Richard was shot down over France on January 31st, 1944. He was killed. His grave is in the Guidel Communal Cemetery in the Bretagne region of France. I have hopes of visiting there next year on behalf of my mother and to express my appreciation to him as an officer who gave his life for freedom from oppression. 

In 1948, my mother married my father. They had four kids, moved to Canada from England twice, started their own business and divorced in 1975. My mother continued to work to support the two children she still had at home. She created a new career for herself and kept my brother and I in school, in good clothes, with enough food to eat and the occasional vacation and special treat. She did well by us although she was sad - she had lost a part of herself in the process of all this.

At 58 years old, she died of ALS (Lou Gehrig's disease), robbed of her retirement and her chance to go to Europe and explore the arts of the countries she had spoken of so passionately over the years. I am sure she would have travelled to Guidel to see the resting place of her true love while there.

Her wish was to have her ashes taken to Peachy's tomb at St Mary's, Harrow on the Hill, to be spread in the place where she remembered her passion, her love and her truth. This was done in 1983 when I was 21 years old. I hope that my mum and Richard's molecules are dancing together still.

Live, love, be brave.

-Gillian Cornwall - c.May 11,2014.

My mother with a very young Wayne Gretzky

Photographer Unknown - approximately 1980

The Tear by Lord Byron

When Friendship or Love our sympathies move,
When Truth, in a glance, should appear,
The lips may beguile with a dimple or smile,
But the test of affection's a Tear:

Too oft is a smile but the hypocrite's wile,
To mask detestation, or fear;
Give me the soft sigh, whilst the soultelling eye
Is dimm'd, for a time, with a Tear:

Mild Charity's glow, to us mortals below,
Shows the soul from barbarity clear;
Compassion will melt, where this virtue is felt,
And its dew is diffused in a Tear:

The man, doom'd to sail with the blast of the gale,
Through billows Atlantic to steer,
As he bends o'er the wave which may soon be his grave,
The green sparkles bright with a Tear;

The Soldier braves death for a fanciful wreath
In Glory's romantic career;
But he raises the foe when in battle laid low,
And bathes every wound with a Tear.

If, with high-bounding pride he return to his bride!
Renouncing the gore-crimson'd spear;
All his toils are repaid when, embracing the maid,
From her eyelid he kisses the Tear.

Sweet scene of my youth! seat of Friendship and Truth,
Where Love chas'd each fast-fleeting year
Loth to leave thee, I mourn'd, for a last look I turn'd,
But thy spire was scarce seen through a Tear:

Though my vows I can pour, to my Mary no more,
My Mary, to Love once so dear,
In the shade of her bow'r I remember the hour,
She rewarded those vows with a Tear.

By another possest, may she live ever blest!
Her name still my heart must revere:
With a sigh I resign what I once thought was mine,
And forgive her deceit with a Tear.

Ye friends of my heart, ere from you I depart,
This hope to my breast is most near:
If again we shall meet in this rural retreat,
May we meet, as we part, with a Tear.

When my soul wings her flight to the regions of night,
And my corse shall recline on its bier;
As ye pass by the tomb where my ashes consume,
Oh! moisten their dust with a Tear.

May no marble bestow the splendour of woe
Which the children of vanity rear;
No fiction of fame shall blazon my name.
All I ask – all I wish – is a Tear.

October 26 1806

Western Red Cedar

Western Red Cedar by Gillian Cornwall, c.2005

Oil Pastel on Paper $900.00

22" x 30"

A naive poem follows. It is meant to carry you to a peaceful place, a remembrance of how it works when we stop and listen to all of life and that we are one, inextricably connected.

The Western Red Cedar

I'm a western red cedar 

thuja plicata

green perfect plaits 

well-organized leaves

'tree of life' 

arbor-vitae

for the next thousand years 
I will reach for the sky

My limbs droop downward 

in peaceful repose

while birds fly and sing 

from my tip to my toes

I spread my feet wide

for fear I may fall

though I suppose the fact is

I'll outlive you all

I live in a forest 

you may never find 

It's a place tucked away

on the outside of time

Far down below me 

'mid the moss and the ferns

One day I shall lay there 

my death bed I'll earn

As trees came before me

may I feed many more

In the depths of the rich 

thick, lush forest floor

Do not forget me 

I bring you your air

for the breathe of the forest 

Is the life we all share

-Gillian Cornwall, c. May 4, 2014

Cedar by the Lake

Gillian Cornwall, c. 2011