Green-Backed Night Heron
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When I was a young girl, my family moved often for my dad’s career. This meant that we lived in lots of interesting places and I got a taste of several different kinds of habitats, all of which imprinted themselves upon me. Finally we landed here, in northern Illinois. It is a land of water. Rivers and streams criss-cross the area, and there is a liberal sprinkling of lakes, bogs, marshes, swamps, fens… all gifts from the last glaciers. Paradise to a barefoot kid who found she quite liked mud and frogs and turtles and sunfish. So when this beautiful heron let me get close and look at him I knew I wanted to paint him. I don’t go plunging into muddy water anymore, sadly, but he does. Just watching him brought back that feeling of wonder~ what amazing creatures are lurking under that floating duckweed?
I’ve been reading about the benefits of wordlessness. As an intellectual endeavor I find it difficult to achieve but sometimes I find myself sinking into it without trying and then I remember I spent much of my youth in that state. I would head out the door in the morning, meet up with a favorite tree, say, or pond, and just lose all my words. It happens when I am painting, too. In fact I found it impossible to teach because whenever I tried to demonstrate a technique my words would sort of tra ..i .. l .. o f f … I’d “come to” to find my students studying me with concern, waiting for me to finish a sentence! Ha! Not so good for teaching. But great for sorting problems or simply being. I’ve read that our wordless mind can process considerably more bits of information than the part that is busy narrating our story to us. All those words get in the way of truly knowing. When the words fall away I’m left with a sense of energy connected and flowing between me and, well, everything. Have you experienced this? Give it a try~it’s pretty fabulous :)