Autumn Gold

 The University of Victoria

All photos c. Gillian Cornwall, 2012.

The emerald greens have faded

The trees turn out their gold

Summer earnings spent

bearing fruit

or shady dealings 

with strangers

The basswoods blush

to a flaming red

for soon they will stand bare

aquiver in the autumn wind

The morning holds a chill

a nudge of what's to come

Though fifty times I've seen the face of fall

surprise and awe in every one

-Gillian Cornwall, c.September, 2013.

Waves

 

Hulopo'e

G. Cornwall, c. December 2012

This is Not a Poem, It is a Series of Waves

I come to you with my self in my own hands 

like a clam shell.

I say, "Look, this is what I am."

and I open.

This is my language.

This is my culture.

This is my truth

in this moment.

This is my ability to speak with you

from my heart.

My fears,

my scars,

they are here too.

Touch them;

know this part of my terrain.

Read me like Braille

in your hands;

read the shapes I take.

Read my amorphous shapes.

Keep reading.

I am here.

I am changing.

I am able to be touched by you

and read again.

I am the story;

shifting like the dunes on the wind.

-Gillian Cornwall, 

c. 2008.

The Wave

Oil pastel on paper

c. Gillian Cornwall, 1988.

available for sale

Autumn Joys

Autumn on the Saanich Peninsula

G. Cornwall, c. October, 2012

Come my orange pumpkin,

my roly-poly treat,

come my red-flamed maple leaf,

rain-soaked upon my feet.

Fall fairs abound,

trips out of town,

prize cows and pigs

-fresh pies to eat!

Rubber boots and cozy sweaters,

nothing can be better

than a bushel basket full of apples

cold, crisp and freshly picked.

Think not ahead to winter

nor back upon the summer's heat;

be here within this moment,

upon this land replete.

-Gillian Cornwall, September 8, 2013.

 Saanich Apple

G. Cornwall, c. October 2012.

A Wet Autumn Day

G. Cornwall, c. October 2012.

Falling to the Top

Jump

Victoria, BC

Gillian Cornwall, c. June 2011

Falling to the Top

Here's to free spirit and charisma.

No, I don't believe it's sweeter

to wait 'til after work.

This is my open thermodynamic system

we're talking about.

It's science baby.

Ipso facto.

It's Latin.

I'm a Roman

from way back

and we knew

what the mind could do.

How beautiful,

the belief

in magic,

in art,

in science

and light.

We walk beyond the impossible,

explorers of life.

Go ahead;

free-fall,

for you never know

the heights

at which you may land;

you never know

where your mind

may take you.

-Gillian Cornwall, c. August 27, 2013.

Plumeria.

Lana'i, Hawaii.

Gillian Cornwall, c. December 2012.

Open

Jellyfish - Lana'i, Hawaii

c. Gillian Cornwall, 2006.

I am an open thermodynamic system moving away from fear, toward love. I am complete and perfect in this moment, thank you very much for asking. :-) In the next moment, I will have shifted with the universe but I will likely have the same answer. I don't believe I will remain the same shape long enough for you to put me in a box and seal it tightly. Please do not rush to place a label directly onto my flesh, it will only hurt when you have to rip it off a moment later, when we are caught up in the inevitable eternity of labeling and ripping, moment upon moment.

I am amorphous and independent but I have a story, a trail, an echo that will lead you to me in each moment. Does independence preclude relationship? I say no, for if I hold no one and no thing, I do not stand alone, rather full, as the universe is free to flow through me, full-tilt and full-time. 

I like who I am. I do not wish to initiate fear in people because of my being, my becoming. I want to stand open, listening to the millions upon billions and trillions of voices on the wind, listening to the ever-changing being of it all. All for one and one for all! Who knew Alexandre Dumas had it so right in that statement in The Three Musketeers? By the way, why were they called musketeers, when they carried rapiers, not muskets? Apologies, I digress.

I'm here. I'm listening. I'm always now, always present, all ways me, you and the universe; all for one and one for all! There is always the same amount of energy throughout that nebulous construct of time; the same amount of energy at the beginning as at the end - but what beginning and what end ...and of what? - all that ever was, is and shall be. Is this what humans refer to as "God"? This is what I understand to be the universe, all of that which can be imagined and all that we have not yet come to explore. It includes that which we have plumbed and that which is unfathomable. 

I am in awe, completely, and never alone, not even in my thoughts as every pulse beats through me, through eternity. I believe I am finding peace in that which we have named "chaos".

-Gillian Cornwall, rewritten August 25, 2013.

Initially produced on April 2, 2011.

Gumby.

"He can walk into any book,

with his pony pal Pokey too."

Hulopoe, Lana'i. 

Photo, c. Gillian Cornwall, 2006.

My Brother - In Memoriam

An Open Hand

G. Cornwall, c. 2013.

I love my brother like the sun, like breathing, like perfect life itself. 

A year has passed since dear Chris left this place, a year since his body shut down and he joined the universal 'all' in spirit. 

While I miss hearing his voice, his unique laugh, his dry humour, his epic scrabble playing, watching Masterpiece Theatre with him and hugging him after a long separation, I know he's been with me every step of the way over the past year. He flows through my every cell, in each breath I take and in every beat of my heart.

I see his smile in my successes, in my every joy and I hear his soft words of encouragement when I falter and frown upon myself.

Dear brother, the inheritance of your life, the way you lived, is the greatest legacy to have left me. I remember your every kindness, your patience with those less fortunate and your perseverance through the injuries set upon you by others fear. You taught me well and I am grateful. I am blessed with the eternity of your love. Thank you.

Let love flow freely

as a fountain

and you will always be full.

Love is energy.

Energy is love.

Let go.

Free yourself.

There is enough 

for everyone

after all.

Let there be peace.

Love,

Gillian.

The Bird.

Chinese Cemetery, Victoria BC

c. Gillian Cornwall, 2013.

The Bite

I was thinking about a time in my life, 30 years ago. This was a time when I lived with an alcoholic partner and allowed her suffering to become my burden - for a little while. I'm so glad I learned from this experience and now let people carry their own baggage, walk their own paths and simply hold up a light to help them see and a mirror to show how beautiful they are, both in the struggle and when they let go of that which burdens them. I suppose this is part of unconditional love. That being said, I am eternally grateful to the friends who helped me and my partner at that time with what seemed like an impossible situation. They gently untangled the web that had held us immobile and we were able to move forward independently and without animosity. Peace to all.


Cool Spring to soothe the fear.
I remember walking through the night.
Not so much homeless I suppose
as unable to go home.

Bandaged where she bit me
when I tried to take her keys.

Ever the comic, I asked the doc
if the alcohol she consumed
would cleanse the wound,
this bloody half moon.

He smiled a half smile
and pierced me with the tetanus shot.

I forgave the bite
right through my shame
walking through the night
to sit on your porch until daylight came.

Bandaged where she bit me
when I tried to take her keys.

No idea how to tell my friends
longing for my own fresh bed
a peaceful place to lay my head
Knowing she can't stop for me.

-Gillian Cornwall, August 4, 2013.

If you or someone you know feels like drinking is taking away life force, if you drink to dull emotional or physical pain, then it may help you to speak with someone you trust, like a doctor or a counsellor. There are many ways to walk a healthy and joyful path, regardless of what the past has held for you. 

I Want To Write

Lana'i, Hawaii

G. Cornwall, c. 2006

What I want to write about is truth, as I know it - the truth as I see it. I want to write the passion, the filth and the joy. I want to write it all. I want to write from where life springs forth in all its mess. I see. I am whole. 

I want to write about how I know that if I remain open and fluid, the chaos will flow through me and I will know where I am in the midst of it. I want to write the perfection of science and art from my open thermodynamic system. I want to write about how one needn't fear love, giving love, if one expects nothing, fearlessly. I want to write from that place I've seen, that place I've been, in which I'm completely connected to everything, where there is no loss and no gain, where everything stands sublime. I want to write about walking through the shit and the quagmire along the way, how I push myself away and pull myself closer in the want and don't want of it all. 

Where are the heart and mind if not in this universal woods of life and story? Who have we created as the Big, Bad Wolf today? I want to write it all and write it again with new eyes everyday. Passion and madness like torn streamers and deflating, escaping balloons at the end of five year old's birthday party where you find gum in the cat's fur and a hot dog in the toilet. 

Passion and madness and sweet release. Chaos. Entropy. Acceptance. A toolkit of heart and mind and nonsense. Perhaps all of it is without sense. That is the sweet spot. Fear. Dirt. Sunshine. A friend told me that if you hit dirt hard enough it will become sunshine. I want to write dirt into sunshine and sunshine into dirt. I want to write.

Gumby and Pokey

Lana'i, Hawaii.

G. Cornwall, c. 2006

-Gillian Cornwall, c. February, 2011

Flow

I have decided to post this piece from 2011 as I feel it warrants a reprise. I hope it brings you joy and peace. 

Buddha - Hawaii 2006

Let love flow through you.

Do not attempt to hold it for questioning.

All will be well.

Walk the path of love rather than the path of fear.

Give what you have to give freely and without expectation.

Make way for those you love to follow their paths without impeding their journeys.

Hold up a light for them when they are in their darkest hours.

Hold up a mirror when they need to see their beautiful perfection more clearly.

Love freely.

This is a good job.

This is a good life.

This is a beautiful life.

All is well.

Blessings to all.

Love to all.

Love and blessings gratefully received.

-Gillian Cornwall, August 25, 2011.

Sarcasm, Irony and Clear, Kind Communication

Fog in English Bay, BC

Gillian Cornwall, c. 2009 

The Art of Language

Sarcasm: Noun. The use of irony to mock or convey contempt. 

More on this word from wikipedia

Irony: Noun. The expression of one's meaning by using language that normally signifies the opposite, typically for humorous or emphatic effect. 

More on this word from wikipedia

While recognized as literary tools, perhaps these should be known as massive bombshells of misunderstanding. 

This is what I am thinking. One has to be an extraordinary communicator in order to know where and when to pepper one's speech with irony. I have seen it used perfectly in poetry, fiction and dramatic writing; however, it is a rare phenomenon to experience its effectiveness in oral communication. In fact, personally, I have no use for sarcasm and find I only use it when backed into a corner and resort to it in retaliation. I always feel disappointed in myself afterward. 

When used in workplace communications or any relationships where there is an imbalance of perceived power, the results can be disastrous. Consider when and how to use these tools -  learn about them. Have you walked away from conversations wondering why someone would say something so unkind to you, only to find out years later, that somehow they were using a failed attempt at irony or sarcasm, alleging an absence of harmful intent? For in truth, all comedy and irony bears a weight of truth and is often used out of fear of the results of straightforward, clear communication.

In our world, language is changing rapidly, particularly with the use of technology. The art of written and spoken communication is in continuous flux. Perhaps this speed and offhandedness with which we can communicate might give us more pause to consider that which we say in advance of blurting. I am trying, though sometimes failing, to use clear and kind communication rather than irony and definitely in place of sarcasm. It isn't always easy but I want to ensure that people aren't walking away from me hurt or confused by a glib, thoughtless remark I have made.

Awareness. Intention. Kindness. Clarity. Let these words guide our path of communication. Do not let fear dictate our words and result in bitter strikes. Indeed, the pen is mightier than the sword but can wound as effectively. 

I suppose what is rather silly here is that I am simply saying something most of our parents taught us when we first formulated speech, "Think before you speak."

I wish you all a beautiful week filled with joyous, kind interactions that ripple out across the world. Thank you for taking the time to read this article.

-Gillian Cornwall, July 14, 2013. 

Open

Gillian Cornwall, c. 2009

Perspective - Creating the Positive Picnic Basket

Picnic Basket

Charmaine's Past and Present

Fort St, Victoria.

G. Cornwall, 2012.

Life doesn't always feel like a picnic but if you are prepared to have one anyway, looking for the positive in every situation, life does become more simple. 

The unexpected turns of life, the potholes, the sinkholes on our path, the barriers of our own creation, can be our demise or our opportunity to shift our thinking, our way of travelling through life, for what are we without these challenges. 

Stagnation may bring us peace, opportunity to rest for a time, but in the long run we must shift in order to grow. Even as my bus driver takes a wrong turn as I write this, there must be opportunity. I see it as extra time to write on my way to work and, as one of the elders on campus once said, "You're not late unless everyone has already gone home."

It is not the perceived errors in our life that define us, rather the way in which we mitigate them. How do we face change or loss? Is there loss if nothing is held tightly? Like all things, like thermodynamics, we will move to where there is space for us to be. This is how we grow and learn and gain perspective.

Do not fear the fall. Prepare yourself for it by living a life of gratitude, in peace, accepting that change will come and that all is well. Accept each breathe as a blessing in which to be present, an opportunity to live and to love with an open heart and an open mind.

A poem on perspective:

I elevate

I reach

beyond that which I believe

the land of exploration

the sensation

the bold and brave new world.

I search

for another way of being

something more freeing

with more meaning

where a hand reaches out 

for another hand.

For if we truly work together 

there is enough for everyone.

If I take away desire

-for stuff brings strife-

and focus on the stuff of life

If I let love be my fire

and make true

the path between me and you,

then I elevate,

I reach

beyond that which the world believes.

If I live a life of gratitude,

not servitude,

If I  feed the world 

with my soul, my light

then I will know

what it means to live free, to live right.

-Gillian Cornwall, c. July 7, 2013.

Big Island - Parker Ranch

c. Gillian Cornwall

Oil Pastel on Paper, 2007.

$200.00

PRIDE

Rainbow
G. Cornwall, c. 2012.

Pride. 

I revisit the word 

each year at this time 

often wish it was another 

mot du jour. 

This year I think of lions. 

This is my pride, 

stretched out, 

across the hot savanna. 

I have pride in my pride of lions, 

you women warriors, 

my band of women. 

Yes, you, you wild creators 

and lovers of life, 

child protectors and friends 

to the end. 

My pride, my pride.

Single mothers I see you

as you march on

I salute you

and you say,

"It's just what I do.

I'm a mom you see."

And I do see you

like a soldier of love

I see you

Toiling 

for the love of the children

through day and night

you fight for their right

to life,

to joy and love

You lift them high

right past you

so they would never know

your fatigue,

your loneliness,

how your love for your young

could break you open -  

it's so big

It hurts sometimes

you love them so.

Women, single mothers 

I see you

I honour and support you

Warriors of love

My pride

My pride.

-Gillian Cornwall, c. June 30

Wherever I Am, I Am Not Gone

The White Rose

West Saanich, BC

c. June 2013

This is a poem about how I believe we are all connected, all one. There is life in energy. As physics states, there is change in the condition of energy but never less nor more of it; thus, we are omnipresent in one form or another and inextricably connected.

Wherever I Am, I Am Not Gone

When I pass from this life

to what we name Death

will you cry and miss my presence?

Will I know 'missing' then?

I hope to ride the waves, 

the ocean of your cells,

to rise with you completely,

on your molecular tide,

receding in your dreamworld

as you fall to rest.

May I live among you,

rippling through life,

through eternity

as the wind upon the sea.

Open your soul and I'll flow through you as love.

No need to hold,

no need to fear,

for I am with you 

as you are with me,

across the miles,

across time,

in your arms

or in your thoughts. 

Live well.

I offer you my love,

my only gift in life or death.

I am as much your heartbeat 

as you are mine,

we are one,

always.

-Gillian Cornwall, rewritten June  23, 2013.

Frivolous Musings

A scene runs through my mind on replay. I hope you will allow me the frivolousness of the text and images - a simple wandering through time and imagined lives based on this island in the Spring and far too much Jane Austen.  

A man is walking through a verdant wood at dawn, a time when light appears as fragments, a kind of fairy dust, a zillion Tinkerbells who will create daylight upon holding hands. 

 

This man high-steps through knee deep bluebells. His skin has taken the waxy, blue-green hue of the surrounding vegetation as though he had popped his head through the loam this very morning. 

He leans into his destination, his pant legs damp with morning dew.
 

He pushes forward to his love in her country manor home.  

 

This woman waits in a dress the colour of robins eggs, her hair a strawberry blonde, with long curls cascading across porcelain skin. Delicate shoulders support her gown and the weight of the world as she frets over the unknown arrival time of her forest wanderer. 

Her eyes, the blue of tropical seas remain slightly red at their rims. She has no more tears to shed and will confront him on sight, after he dotes on her sufficiently.

He pictures her and the comforts of home in his mind's eye. He cannot tarry long in the woodland depths for fear of a misstep, a fall. Fraught with tension and weak with exhaustion, he must arrive whole in body if not yet so in spirit. He will tell her she is the hero of his story and he the fool. The blood from a recent wound stains the colour of his singlet to a deep crimson and he presses on with the determination of a warrior. The heart of the lover pushes him forward.

-Gillian Cornwall, c. 2013.

Open

 

Chinese Cemetery

Photo by Gillian Cornwall

Victoria, BC  c. March 2013

Sometimes our greatest strength

rises from the ashes

of our vulnerability.

Today, I have two examples of vulnerability. The first is vulnerability without choice and anyone who lives in Victoria, BC is likely to experience this if they walk down Cook Street in the late spring or early summer. I hope you find it entertaining:

Dear Crow God,

I humbly request that you ask your disciples to stop flying at my head. My hair is not nesting material and what the hell would I want with a crow baby? Rest assured, very few humans, as twisted and cruel as we can be, have use for a crow baby!

My understanding is that your kind are not even good eating. The only time you may have heard us speak of this is purely idiomatically:

          1. Eating Crow: Humiliation by admitting wrongness or having been proven wrong after taking a strong position 

I would imagine that actually consuming one of your kind would be, well, foul. (Yes, I really did make that pun.)

To return to my original request, please inform your ilk that, while I am renowned for my good nature and sense of humour, there is nothing sporting nor dignified about running down the street willy-nilly, gesticulating in panicked madness, terrified at the prospect of having my eyes plucked from their sockets by your kin.

Certainly, I wish you the very best with all of your other crow endeavours, not the least of which is your attraction to, and collection of, bright and shiny objects (let it be known here that I am not a bright and shiny object), your affinity for playing 'chicken' in traffic and your tasteful black outfits. 

Most sincerely,

Gillian Cornwall

Homosapien

What is Underneath?

G. Cornwall c. 2010.

My second example of vulnerability comes in a poem from 2010. I post it again today in dedication to all of the women I know around the world and right here at home, who put themselves out there everyday, working, raising their children (often on their own), taking care of their significant others and their parents, persisting no matter the weather, the day, the exhaustion. I see you and I love you. Together we are stronger. 

This is Not a Poem, It is a Series of Waves

I come to you with my self in my own hands

like a clam shell.

I say, "Look. This is what I am."

and I open.

This is my language.

This is my culture. 

This is my truth

in this moment.

This is my ability to speak with you

from my heart.

My fears,

my scars,

they are here too.

Touch them;

know this part of my terrain.

Read me like Braille

in your hands.

Read the shapes I take. 

Read my amorphous shapes.

Keep reading.

I am here.

I am changing.

I am able to be touched by you

and read again.

I am the story;

shifting like dunes on the wind.

-Gillian Cornwall, c. 2010.

Gillian Cornwall

c. 2013