Autumn - giving thanks.

Pumpkin Perfection
c. Gillian Cornwall

 This is a perfect late September day. The morning air cool as a reminder of the harvest days ahead. I throw my mind one hundred and fifty years to the past and envision myself on pastoral lands and villages built of the the stones dug from the fields by which they stand. 

Simpler times are what I crave, time spent in a kitchen preparing food for the winter months - a pot of soup set upon the stove, bubbling with the goodness picked steps from the cottage door. I know I've idolized it and it was work, hard work then, but was there not more time, more direct contact with our needs and survival? I want to go right to the farm for the food upon my table but the journey to the farm has become a treat, a special occasion, an adventure too far without a car so I wait for the times when I will be taken there and I dream of the land, the red leaves of the blueberry bushes in the distance and the song of the sheep and the cattle. I dream of the sensation of the cool, earth-damp squash or potato in my hands, fresh from the ground below my feet. 

It is autumn and I recognize the gifts from the land. Fill my glass with BC wine and I will lay a dish before you replete with the wonder of this place, my home.

-Gillian Cornwall, September 25, 2012.

The Blueberry Fields of West Saanich
c. Gillian Cornwall

Undergrowth

Hawaii - 2006
(click image to enlarge)

This is a poem about instinct and letting go. It's a reflection of our capacity to survive and engage in pleasure that we must have had as a full time job before the things of man shifted how we function, before we industrialized to make our lives easier. We have traded the full time job of working for survival for "paid work" so we can exchange money with others to provide our food and shelter and protection. We work so we can play and touch base with our instincts of survival on our vacations by going camping, visiting the natural world. We've added a step because it made it physically easier for us but has it only complicated our worlds?

Wet

steaming 

jungle

desire soaked 

anticipation

prowling territory

collective spirit

instinct

sparking

licking wounds

watchful

awake

thick with life

-Gillian Cornwall

Connections

Beddis Beach, Salt Spring Island

c 2011

A month has passed since the death of my brother and I have been walking the path of grief with as much personal truth as I have. On this day, I reflect on time and draw on work from last year and another loss:

   "What do our lives owe to the spirits of those who have passed? What do the living owe to the dead? Does memory, fading memory, suffice? Time delivered at a graveside? Conversations into the beyond?

   What is it that could possibly be enough to tell a loved one that we care, that we notice the absence of their physical being, that we feel a hollow place where they once rested within us?

   You cannot be replaced with something else, not with actions nor words nor tributes. All I can do is to open myself more, to let that universal energy flow through me and know, in this one act, we are united eternally."

-Gillian Cornwall, written on June 24, 2011.

Miracles

Philip and Eunice Cornwall, Muskoka Autumn

Circa 1979

We want miracles.

We have miracles:

in each breath

and smile

between strangers,

with every blazing,

red leaf

that dances

on the autumn breeze

before coming to rest

on the still-green

summer lawn.

What is it you need

beyond the potential

of your eyes opening

to a new day?

For therein lies the miracle,

the potential for creation

of love

and beauty

and kindness.

Dear life,

you are my miracle

and I am grateful.

With love and blessings to all.

-Gillian Cornwall, September 9, 2012.

For Beauty's Sake - A Love Poem

This piece is a considerable departure from last week's.

I needed to write something joyous this week, something passionate and beautiful and joyous, so I have written this poem about love, passionate love, purely for the sake of the beauty found within the state. I hope it brings you joy; after all, perhaps we owe our greatest debt to joy:

Your lips brush the curve of my ear
Your soft voice vibrates
on the warm breeze from the south

You are carried
over the water
a glimmer on the arched back
of the spinner dolphin

You heard my call
and arrived with time and space
to lay me down
on the warm sand
beneath the coconut palm
shivering above us

This old tree can hold our fears
so touch me now my love
for I know the ache
of a space once filled with you

Replenish my body with yours
your touch
Read the story upon my skin
Read between the lines upon my face

Write your language upon mine
a page or two
in your book of life

Write upon me
indelible love
language only
listened and learned
between two halves of an hour glass

You fill me
and I fill you
Back
Forth
across time

We break the rules
We break the glass
We become one 

with the rest

-Gillian Cornwall, August 28, 2012.

In Loving Memory - Christopher John Cornwall

Christopher John Cornwall 

August 31, 1949 - August 18, 2012 
(photo taken 1960s)

I didn't post last Sunday. It's been a hellish couple of weeks. My eldest brother, Chris, passed away in the wee hours of Saturday morning on August 18. This week, I devote this space to my brother, a kind, gentle man with an incredible mind, a quick wit and a passion for the arts. He was a wonderful big brother and a true friend.

Thirty years ago, Chris and I sat on either side of my mother's hospital bed as she took her last breaths. In these final moments, though her body was emaciated by ALS (Lou Gehrig's Disease) and her speech was severely compromised, she spoke. I believed she was saying, "Hold me up. Hold me up." Chris believed she was saying, "Love. Love." Who knows for sure. Both could be true. I felt she wanted us to hold her up in her bed; she was not the type of person to take death lying down. Perhaps what Chris thought she was saying was also true and she wanted to walk towards pure love. Chris and I were there together for this. We have always tried to have each other's backs - before that difficult time, during and after.

He was the best big brother I could ever have hoped for and I cannot recall an instance, not for a moment, when he said or did anything unkind or hurtful. He was the most kind, gentle and loving man I have ever known. When my youngest brother and I were little, I am 13 years Chris's junior, he took us to Centre Island in Toronto and arranged to take us up in a small plane to tour over the city!

He taught me to dance, gave me records form his DJ days in the 1970s and took me to see ABBA, Springsteen, Duran Duran and Blondie. He invited me and many friends to his perfect Vancouver Pride Parade viewing location year after year, but most of all, above all else, he loved me absolutely and unconditionally. He accepted me exactly as I am without question, no matter how I erred or failed, no matter if I was by his side or not.

God knows I wish I had made the time and resources to see him in these last two years. I didn't. There are reasons, circumstances, but the fact remains that I didn't. I pray he can forgive me my physical absence and that he knew, that he knows now, he was never far from my mind and never out of my heart. He will never be gone from my heart. My greatest inheritance from my brother is the example of his life - his kindness, his beautiful, gentle heart and his grace. He was the purest definition of a gentleman.

I love you Chris - my beautiful, perfect brother. You have been and always will be my angel.

With only good memories of our time together in this life, from your loving sister, or as you called me, "mia sorella", Gillian.

-Gillian Cornwall, August 26, 2012.

Energy

8"x10"
Oil Pastel on Paper

Maui

$300.00

by Gillian Cornwall

This week I have chosen to post an older piece, one I re-read to myself this morning because I needed to reflect on lessons and relearn them, to remind myself that all is well. Last night I took the time to look at the stars because the Perseid meteor shower was on high. It was the first time I had simply sat and looked at the stars in a ridiculously long time. This simple act reminded me of the magnificence found in stillness, in being alive and at peace with oneself. Here is what I have to offer you this week. I hope you enjoy reading it:

Autonomy. Decision-making. Clarity. Choice. Listening. Understanding. These are my practices today. Chaos swirls around me and through me and I am aware but I do not fear it. There are systems in place but I select from them to suit my functionality, my path, without allowing them to rule my decision-making.

I remember that I always have choice and, often, the power to wait before sharing and engaging in a choice. Sometimes, time creates a space previously unseen and, where possible, it is best to wait. Additionally, I am learning to question assumptions, my own and those of others.

The energy exists as a precious gift and it is up to us how we shape it, utilize it and exchange it in its perfect relentlessness ...and I don't mean to insinuate that energy is pushy, rather that it is constant - no more, no less. It is changeable in form but not in quantity. Energy is perfect. We are energy; thus, we are perfect.

-Gillian Cornwall, May 2, 2011.

Joy and Paul

Me -1982 - Feel free to laugh out loud now.

We're human. Sometimes we get scared; we run.

This is my story. It's no more nor less than your own. The telling of the story is the lesson and the legacy. Share yours with me as I share mine with you. Let this not be a place where fear steals our voices. Let this not be a place from which we run.

This past weekend I had a visit; we met up on Salt Spring Island in the Gulf Islands between Victoria and Vancouver. This was a neutral territory of sorts as the visit was from my college roommate and her husband. He was her boyfriend when we were in college. While she and Paul have wandered through my heart and mind considerably over the years and, as life would have it, across my TV screen, we had not been in each other's physical presence for 30 years.

I had recently written and posted a piece here that I had dedicated to Joy as she was the first person to whom I came out at the tender age of 18. I wrote about this experience with her as her kindness and love at the time gave me strength, hope and courage.

So flash forward thirty years to me getting off the ferry at Fulford Harbour, Salt Spring Island and walking up to meet Joy at Patterson's General Store while Paul looked for a place for the car. I knew it was her from quite a distance by the way she stood and by her smile. It's elements such as our smiles by which people will remember us. When Joy smiles, her extraordinary eyes spark - even at great distance you can see it. Her eyes are the colour of the atmosphere between the realms of earth and space.

What I'm trying to say is, it was unmistakably her. Every cell of me recognized her without doubt or question and I felt connected and happy in that moment. A missing piece was found and placed in my heart. I have lived here on the west coast in the present - always in the present -which is good but something was missing. Most people only known me here, in fact, all that I actually see and with whom I share my time, have no connection to young Gillian, teen Gillian. The people here were not there when my mother went into care with ALS when I was 18, they did not see my struggle with ambiguous sexual orientation, full-time college and three part-time jobs. They weren't there then, plain and simple. This visit gave me the opportunity to share our past, our stories of who we were then - just kids in many ways.

Joy and Paul represent a home of sorts, a knowing of what I was, who I was, and who I am now. Only they have a true comprehension of the path I have walked and they give that path a truth and a history through their seeing, their acknowledgement.

When I first found out from Joy that she and Paul were coming, I was excited for they have lived and reported as journalists all over the world and I knew they would have an endless number of incredible and fascinating stories to tell. I would listen and they would talk. This is what I envisioned. I believed I had accomplished nothing by comparison (ah, evil comparison). It wasn't until they asked, "So what have you been up to in the last thirty years?", that I realized the incredible, beautiful, extraordinary and, at times, exceedingly painful and difficult path I have walked between then and now. Key words in my description included: agoraphobic, homeless, farmer, stand-up comic, jazz singer, surfer, die-hard romantic, lover and teacher. This is, by far, the abridged version.

It wasn't until I saw where I was when I shared the apartment with Joy at Yonge and Lawrence in Toronto and where I stand now, that I realized what an amazing and full path I have walked and how I have shaped and re-shaped my personal map to get to be the person I am today, standing where I am standing, taking a breathe and reviewing the landscape before continuing.

I am hugely grateful to re-attach myself to a healthy part of my past, beyond words in love with Joy and Paul for sharing this opportunity and so excited to maintain my newly restored friendship with them.

When I was younger, I ran from my past wholesale; a part of my childhood was terrifying and painful; however, now I can look back and reach out to those I loved then and ensure they know what a positive influence they have had on the woman I have become, ensure they know they are a part of me and, thus, a part of everything in this perfect universe.

Joy and Paul, you exist in my every fiber. When you look at me and smile, I am a mirror holding myself up to you to see the perfect wonder of your own selves. Thank you now and always for the perfect gift of your love and friendship.

-Gillian Cornwall, August 3, 2012.

Enjoy the Journey

It's difficult. It's not difficult. It's only difficult because we make it so. When we let others get to us, when we take it on, when we make assumptions and when we don't do our best - that's when it's difficult.

I am trying to reinstate a few arts.

1. The art of doing nothing, being still.
2. The art of joy.

3. The art of gratefulness - grateful for my life, that glorious adventure.

I wish to take this path. I actively walk this path. I stray. I slip. I get up. I start again. It's my life, my great adventure. Everyday is a gift, a surprise and a treasure. There are blessings in a smile given or received, a bird bathing in a fountain, a blue sky day or a raindrop on a perfect, pink summer blossom. The key is presence. Remain present. Enjoy the journey.

-Gillian Cornwall, July 17, 2012.

A Woman Worn

You are ripped up. 
You are the lost sock.
You are the windblown,
dirt-sodden,
slightly shredded flyer;
an event passed while you were plastered to a tire,
going around and around and around.
You are the petals on the sidewalk,
dropped from the hanging basket,
more pretty than cement, 
no longer a flower,
no longer power.

-Gillian Cornwall, 2010.

Gay Community Airlines - A post for Pride

Being part of the gay community is a bit like flying; not in the Peter Pan kind of way, rather in the airplane way - but it's more like flying with WestJet than Air Canada. At least you have a sense that you belong on the plane and you all know you're going to the same place; nonetheless, we're only on this plane together because we're different from the other passengers and it feels safer for all of us to be together than it does to be scattered to the winds - individually bullied into coach when we're all quite certain we've paid and paid to go first class.

The thing is though, just like any other flight, you've voluntarily chosen to lock yourself into a metal tube with 300 strangers and the metal tube is going to be blasted into the air by igniting jet fuel and the whole dog and pony show is controlled by somebody you have never seen who is cloistered behind a bullet-proof, locked door. W T F

So we're separate
but we're together
but if we are all separate together in this one place - aren't we a bit like fish in a barrel? So, off we all go post-weekend, post-Pride, post-coitus to return to the job, the apartment building, the subway - and we're surrounded by others, most likely straight others, and we go back to what it felt like to be separate, like high school, and we're oh so careful and oh so good and we let things go because we don't want to be punched - again, and we don't want to risk our jobs - again and we don't want anyone to feel bad - ever, and we can take it - we're freaking invincible.

The fact is, I still have the fear, I still look over my shoulder, I still hear the voice and I cringe before the first blow strikes.

-Gillian Cornwall, c June 2012

Women

I remember the layers I've peeled from women
- t-shirts, dresses, secrets and fears.
I remember the passion, the exploration
and discovery.

I have known women,

loved well by some,
left for dead by others.

There are those who have taken this me-lump of marble,
chipped and shaped to a pleasing form.

There are those who fell into my skin
to wear as sheep's clothing.

If you think I have forgotten you,
I have not.

Each of you pass through,
pushing through cells,
clattering doors and windows,

eyeing, spying each other,

eyeing, spying me

from the inside

out.

-Gillian Cornwall, c July 1, 2012

Truth and Acceptance

There is no light so bright as that of truth but what is truth? I suppose there are some truths accepted by the majority. We all nod. "Yes. That is true." There are some truths which quite possibly only hold verity to me, while the remainder of the populace revolts, "No! That's not true!"

If I say, "I am fat", that is my truth while those around me chime, "No you're not!" I may want to believe them but as I sit with my belly popping over the waistline of my jeans, I think to myself, "Um, yeah, I'm kind of heavier than I'd like to be."

So what is our truth and what does it do for us? Does it light a path to action? ...and, as always, we may choose a path of love or a path of fear. If I say, "I am fat" as my truth and choose a path of loving action, I may decide against the waffles, butter and maple syrup for breakfast and choose to take a walk and have a salad or freshly squeezed vegetable juice for lunch. On the other hand, today I may choose the path of fear, ignore the discomfort of the extra weight, eat the waffles and have a grilled cheese sandwich for lunch. As long as I am aware of the choices I make, I can applaud or forgive myself, both loving reactions, and move forward, able to reinvent myself daily, in every moment, with loving kindness, with acceptance in every beautiful moment.

-Gillian Cornwall, c June 20, 2012

Teaching

What do you believe about yourself and why do you believe this?

I have asked my students this. I ask them to write down what they believe about themselves. I ask them to fold the paper in half and write why they believe this. I ask them to fold it again and put it away, to just let it be where it is. It's on a piece of paper. Does this make it true? I explain how I believe I have the opportunity to reinvent myself daily, that I am not a culmination of others beliefs about me and that this is the only way I stand before them now, teaching.

I am worthy. I have value. Everyone wants to be seen. Everyone wants to be heard. Everyone wants to know that what they said means something to someone. I confess that I learned this from Oprah.

I write because I love it. I want to open my chest to you like my ribs are window shutters and shine out to you and have you shine back at me. We are reflections of each other. We are one.

-Gillian Cornwall, c 11June2012

A Memory, In Gratitude - a 'coming out' story

One of these things is not like the others...

A Memory, In Gratitude

-for JM

I sat close beside you on your bed, in your room, terrified, filled with the need to tell you my truth that you might better understand me and, at times, my shyness with you. Every time I started to speak, the words petrified in my throat. I choked on the fear of your response. What if you asked me to leave? What if you were repulsed by me, by this thing that I was and had no control over, this thing that I could not nor did not want to change?

You leaned into me, pulling me close by the shoulder, and looking into my eyes, you spoke softly but firmly, "I'm really worried. Please tell me, what's wrong?"

I later found out that you thought I would tell you I'd been diagnosed with a fatal disease and that I'd be dying off without further ado. While I felt in that moment as though that was precisely what I would do, that was not, in fact, the case.

I don't know why I believed you would react adversely to the information I was compelled to share. After all, you were a perfectly kind and decent human being; nonetheless, I had been raised to believe that I was wrong, off, defective - both within my family and by the world at large. Now I know the truth. I am perfect in each moment of my life as long as I live a path of kindness, joy and love. I am full. I am complete.

Knowing you, having you hold up a lantern when I was still so young and tell me you could see me, you heard me and that I meant something to you - this was formative in my path to wellness, truth and self-acceptance.

Your friendship and acceptance of me at the tender age of 19, as I told you, "I'm gay" meant the world to me. I felt loved in that moment and I am eternally grateful for that. Thank you.

- Gillian Cornwall, June 7, 2012

Love in the Thought

"The thought manifests as the word,

The word manifests as the deed,

The deed develops into habit,

And the habit hardens into character.

So watch the thought and its way with care,

And let it spring from love

Born out of concern for all beings."

K. Sri Dhammananda
-How to Live Without Fear and Worry

There is no light so great as the light of the universe that shines through me. With this light, I have all that I need. That which is not held cannot be taken. I will continue to walk my path of truth regardless of the decisions of others. I cannot be made to act against my heart. The light of life shines through me eternal. There is peace in this. No matter what is said or done around me, I act in my best truth and light. Aloha. The breath of god flows through me. I am one with all. Peace and light are my path.

Gillian Cornwall, May 24, 2012

It's Only Chaos If We Call It Chaos

Oil Pastel and Mineral Oil on Paper

Gillian Cornwall c1988
$10,000.00

What transpires in our hearts as we traverse our life paths all intertwined, running parallel and doubling back? Our motions as open thermodynamic units mirroring the minutia of our own atoms and molecules, we careen through space and time where everything is happening all at once. Brave and crazy, we remain in motion, all in a million directions, each with a different map, yet, all with the same destination. Through the traps and blockades of fear, we march on, heading towards pure love.

-Gillian Cornwall, c May 21, 2011.

The View from the Rooftop

Each morning the view from the rooftop patio surprises me and I am overcome with awe. Regardless of the weather, I am about brought to tears by the glory of it. Everything is made clean, including me, and I am able to reinvent myself by the simple gift of life and a new day. Worry, anger and fear are washed away as I step anew on my path from fear to love. I do not need to explain the actions of others, only my own actions and reactions.
 

Now, what will I do?

Now, what do I will?

With every step I take forward I create the path I will walk. How will I choose it to appear before me with every footfall?  With each step the universe shifts a little, with each smile and gentle gesture given and received. Left, right, left, right - I walk on with an intent to see and to love the journey. Be at peace old soul; all is well.

Gillian Cornwall, c April 25, 2011.

Heaven and Earth

May. I taste the proximity of summer, all the while walking through the oaken wood, soaked knee-deep by thick, green grasses and bluebells. A narcissus bobs to the beat of my heart. It is here that I unite with all of life, known and unknown, as I stretch into the unfathomable depth and breadth of the universe. Stars tickle my fingertips as they tattoo the universal truth upon my hands.

"You are here." They pen this upon me and I whisper my understanding as I bring my arms down to caress the camas lily at my feet. It sparkles with dew and stardust. I need no more than this. In this moment I need for nothing, in awe of the simple perfection of life.

Gillian Cornwall - May 1, 2012.

Being Four

It takes a lot more work to be four than it does to be twenty-four. Anyway, this is what I believe at four. At four, you're the boss of no-one and everyone bosses you. At twenty-four, you can take a bath when and if you want and you don't always feel as though you are missing something because you are the one making things happen instead of doing what you're told or failing to do what you're told which is more the case with me. At twenty-four, I won't have to eat Lima beans if I don't want to (does anyone ever want to?).

If I want to, I'll wear my underwear outside my pants and tie my towel around my shoulders and no one will laugh because I really will look like Superman by then - even though I am a girl. For sure, I'll never wear dresses because they're uncomfortable and stupid and I hate having to pull them every which direction in an effort to cover enough of my tomboy body.

At twenty-four, I won't have to come in just because the streetlights are on and, some nights, I'll eat dessert first because I want to be sure that I won't be too full for that part and I'll ask the minister at the church, "Why? Why do you think it's fun for us to get out of bed early when it's not even a school day, just to be told that we're sinners and that we're 'less than'.

Sure, at four, it's a bit easier to say someone else did it and kind of get away with it when the baseball goes through the bedroom window but, at twenty-four, I'm pretty sure I will be strong enough to throw it over the house and miss the window like I meant to in the first place.

When I'm twenty-four I'll probably look back and think I was pretty darn cute at four instead of feeling like I was put together like a fort,out of spare parts. At twenty-four, I'll be able to go to the store on my own and buy as much junk as I want. At twenty-four, my parents might make sense and I'll be able to tie my shoes right every time.

It's so far away. I'm four and I'm small but I get it. I gotta go; it's past me bedtime.

-Gillian Cornwall, 26APRIL2012

Gravity

I used to dream that I could fly. When does that stop? I know I'm not the only one. Others have told me they used to dream this. When do we lose our faith in that dream? Is it one day in our teens when we ask someone, when we tell them of that dream and they simply laugh at us in our naivete? Have we said, "Wouldn't that be cool, to just run and jump and take off into the sky like that?"

I wish I could feel the freedom and terror of that dream now, the way it felt to lift off from the ground and soar ever upwards; feel the terror of blundering the navigation through the power lines and careen towards a less than graceful landing with a little smoke and sizzle.

When does the word "impossible" enter our vocabulary with such permanence and spirit-crushing power? Why do we believe it? Why do I believe it now, when I can so easily recall the perfect truth of the dream, the sensation of flying? 

With enough fatigue from the grind of work-a-day life, I can close my eyes and rise above the weight, the weight of gravity and the weight of the word I was given to carry at such an early point in life: impossible. 

Put it down; it was never your word to carry. Fly.

-Gillian Cornwall, August 2011

Finnerty Gardens at the University of Victoria

Amid the chaos of the first day back after the Easter weekend, I took the time to walk with a friend through Finnerty Gardens at the University of Victoria today. 

I work at the school and haven't been for a walk through the gardens for longer than I care to remember. It is so easy to stay attached to the computer, to not move, to not go outside to walk and breathe and chat with a friend but, you know, it was just as easy to go and it did me the world of good. 

"There is a calmness to a life lived in gratitude, a quiet joy." Ralph H. Blum

All images and text, with the exception of other quotations, are property of Gillian Cornwall. April, 2012

The Wine Magical Mystery Tour

I love wine.


I have a map in my head and heart of all the places she has taken me with all my senses engaged in the journey. I have been bold, more bold in these travels than I have been in so many other aspects of my life. 


I have freely taken the hand of sommelier, vintner, aficionado and friend and said, "Sure, take me there." I have sipped from their cups with the eyes, nose, palate and imagination of any brave and true explorer. 


These explorations through the glass have led me to BC orchards and fields of French lavender, through summer meadows and into the Napa Valley. I have felt the warm summer sun and breathed in the sage of the Okanagan bench and wandered silently through the depths of cool, clay cellars and I have hidden in their oaken barrels. I have breathed in the scents of the tropics and glided over the dizzying heights of the Argentinian mountainside. 


I close my eyes when I taste. I breathe deeply. My breathe is a breeze crossing the wee rivulet of wine on my tongue and with this inhalation, the colours, textures, scents and images rise up and take shape across my senses.


I understand little about the process. I know nothing of viticulture and soil - the study of oenology is beyond me but I have my own wine map which I have drawn through my tasting travels and the mental picture book of the places I have traveled with her (for surely wine is a woman) and I so look forward to the next adventure, to every taste, with anticipation, wonder and delight.


-Gillian Cornwall, April 1, 2012.

No Kids of My Own

Okay, so, I don't have kids of my own so maybe I don't fully understand it and being gay with no kids has definitely made me an outsider from my family with the exception of my eldest brother who is also gay with no kids. 

What I don't understand is why this means that no one in my family except my eldest gay brother shows any interest in my life whatsoever and those that have kids can only talk about their kids and not themselves. When their kids grow up, they seem to have no self with which to engage others and then just start asking for grandchildren or start talking about other people's kids. 

It is odd that I have friends with children who are perfectly capable of talking about themselves, subjects that interest them and, lo and behold, they are entirely capable of asking me about the myriad of activities and interests in my life. 

So friends, I thank you and to my family, who are entirely unlikely to be reading this, tell me about you and, if the spirit moves you, ask about me. I'm kind of awesome.

With love and frustration,

-Gillian Cornwall, March 2012

Vision

Today I walked home from the eye doctor, grateful for my vision. This is what I saw:

 

Work - Creative Non-Fiction by Gillian Cornwall

Work

The head volunteer for the silent auction was the least silent creature I'd encountered in ages. She entered the hotel lobby like a comet entering the earth's atmosphere - impossible to ignore and inciting fear amid the mere earthlings. Yes, she was an asteroid (emphasis on the "ass") made of Lucy Ricardo instead of stone and mean instead of funny. She terrified me at first but I quickly learned that while her trajectory was inevitable, I could choose to react to the circumstances in any way I pleased. My shoulders dropped from their position about my ears and my usual smile of contentment returned to my quiet face. 

It astounds me when I see volunteers engaged in a humanitarian effort, raising money for a nation that has been through earthquake and tsunami, vying for power and control.; particularly since they are not even being paid for the effort. As I said, I spent the day veering from the course of this Lucy asteroid and expending my energy on tasks such as skirting tables and making jokes about being unfit for such a task, not having put a skirt on my own body for at least a decade. 

I stood back and let the asteroid sputter and spit as needed, responding calmly and kindly to her spark and shrapnel with the hope that an infinitesimal ripple of calm might slow her path to a self-destructive heart attack. Perhaps my tactic worked. After she barked "You have to get past me first!" upon announcement of my imminent departure, she actually hugged me upon leaving. This left me gob-smacked. 

What does each person with whom we interact carry away with them and what do they leave behind with us? Millions and billions and trillions of energy exchanges occurring in each fleeting moment, changing the story of the world each and every time. Still, we speak of chaos as though it were something separate from ourselves , something for which we aren't, in fact, completely responsible. A large part, if not all, of this chaos we fear, this chaos we are trying to  align, is a direct result of our own words and actions. 

Are we simply creating the mess in order to give ourselves something to do, something to clean up? If so, it's not so much chaos as it is job creation.    

-Gillian Cornwall   c2011