A blessing for all who remember / I came across this photo of an old door today that I took on a pilgrimage to Italy several years ago. Something appealed to me. Was it the old layers peeling off? The beauty of the patina? And is the paint peeling from the door or is the door freeing itself from all the accumulated layers of age, seeking its origin and source?
I hope I can have the courage to continually live as the door that is aged, characterized, and has been through the grind! Yes, I will always be making my self new as I grow and expand, but my character and my genuineness will continually be revealed as I shed layers to what is the deepest and truest part of myself! May the door symbolize us all, we are all perfectly worn in perfect timing!
"But what if the layers of the door could speak? Would they tell us tales from former times, of people who walked through the door..." I often wonder the same out at the lighthouse. Years and layers of flaking paint inside and out. I scraped the flaking paint from our interior boathouse doors two summers ago. Not likely as old as Italian doorways, but 113 years of stories and secrets to be uncovered. The more time I spend out there, the more I hope they will be whispered to me.
What an amazing picture, Jill! When you wrote about all the older layers it came to mind that there also some historic layers we better do not expose, especially in this country with all the lead paint. Are they art of the story, too? And how would that translate into such harmful layers inside of us. Do they need some extra care, an expert even?
All these beautiful musings on Almut's post remind me that remembering is a verb. It is something we do. Sometimes we feel as though our memories are imposed on us (the same way we often feel our emotions are simple reactions and not constructions). But we construct our memories. We rehearse those constructions and elaborate them, or fail to maintain them and let them slip away. We cherish some and disregard others. We edit and coax, and shape them like stage directors of an internal play. We are constantly choosing, constructing stories, and fitting the pieces of our memories into them. We ignore this ongoing work at our own peril.
Almut's lovely poetic blessing is a call to be mindful in doing this, to practice discernment, to reflect on how we relate to our memories. It is heartening to know, and to be reminded, that we can do this.
Yes, we often forget that remembering is an active process. It becomes more apparent when we refuse to remember because the memory might hold too much pain. And it is a blessing (and also a burden) that we can do so 😇
I had a dream last night about a new layer of paint flaking off all the walls of my basement. Jung would have a field day with that. It looked a lot like this door. What a blessing to see that aging and "deterioration" can be so utterly beautiful. Thank you!
What an amazing synchronicity here! May I ask you if you had seen this post already before your dream? And are you working with dreams, for yourself or in your practice? I am “dreaming” about starting a “dream group” as I have seen the most beautiful transformations since working with dreams 😇 . Your’s sound indeed very intriguing! Interesting enough it is a “new” layer which is flaking off. Have you seen what is beneath it? And what about the basement? 😎
I don't believe I did see it before, but perhaps I did and my mind drew on its imagery? Yes, it was a new layer of paint that had been applied cheaply and I was relieved to discover that it was such a minor issue because on first sight it had looked more catastrophic. I always assume the basement represents our shadow, in a Jungian sense.
I love the idea of a dream group! At several junctures of my life, dream work has been a tremendous catalyst for change.
Oh, a dream group would be great, especially a group for people in the helping professions broadly construed. This way one could also learn different perspectives on how to do dream work. I for instance developed an existential take on it. So what might look like a symbol for the shadow self in the Jungian sense might stand for the deeper self instead. Surely the basement also holds the process of descending and thus deepening which always also invites us to some shadow work. I love the image in your dream that the new layer which crumbles (which on first sight looks like a catastrophe) actually reveals a deeper (and more robust?) layer. I say somewhere in my blessing that we are often tempted to just paint over when in fact the crumbling might reveal some deeper layers instead. Thus the crumbling paint could stand for shedding some outer layers, a process of letting go of what is on the surface...Thank you so much, Kelly, for sharing your dream with us 🙏
Beautiful thoughts that lead to quiet reflection. Doors and their weathering are like that. My favorite lines are, "Let go of the old which longs to become dust / and cherish the patina of what is beneath." Good memories are such good medicine and I think they are from God's hand.
Indeed. We are encouraged to collect and respect antique furniture (and doors and houses). But somehow we forget this when it is we ourselves who become antique.
Letting go . . . Cherishing. . . I struggle to do the first, and I forget to do the second. I so enjoy the cherishing, though. That action deepens my connection to the person or the nature or the beauty that I'm pondering. I'm so glad you are there to encourage us. Nancy and I were receiving your gift in similar ways!
O dear Carol, so well said! I also “struggle to do the first, and I forget to do the second.” But then there is my little one reminding me of a simple solution: mama, let’s just try again! 😇
If I might suggest an amendment, the layers surely form our lives, but it is more the story that we tell about them. We make them come alive by including them into (and excluding them from) our stories of ourselves. But yes, cherishing them is not easy.
I hope I can have the courage to continually live as the door that is aged, characterized, and has been through the grind! Yes, I will always be making my self new as I grow and expand, but my character and my genuineness will continually be revealed as I shed layers to what is the deepest and truest part of myself! May the door symbolize us all, we are all perfectly worn in perfect timing!
Lovely said, Kevin. Thank you 🙏
You’re welcome!
"But what if the layers of the door could speak? Would they tell us tales from former times, of people who walked through the door..." I often wonder the same out at the lighthouse. Years and layers of flaking paint inside and out. I scraped the flaking paint from our interior boathouse doors two summers ago. Not likely as old as Italian doorways, but 113 years of stories and secrets to be uncovered. The more time I spend out there, the more I hope they will be whispered to me.
What an amazing picture, Jill! When you wrote about all the older layers it came to mind that there also some historic layers we better do not expose, especially in this country with all the lead paint. Are they art of the story, too? And how would that translate into such harmful layers inside of us. Do they need some extra care, an expert even?
All these beautiful musings on Almut's post remind me that remembering is a verb. It is something we do. Sometimes we feel as though our memories are imposed on us (the same way we often feel our emotions are simple reactions and not constructions). But we construct our memories. We rehearse those constructions and elaborate them, or fail to maintain them and let them slip away. We cherish some and disregard others. We edit and coax, and shape them like stage directors of an internal play. We are constantly choosing, constructing stories, and fitting the pieces of our memories into them. We ignore this ongoing work at our own peril.
Almut's lovely poetic blessing is a call to be mindful in doing this, to practice discernment, to reflect on how we relate to our memories. It is heartening to know, and to be reminded, that we can do this.
🙏
Yes, we often forget that remembering is an active process. It becomes more apparent when we refuse to remember because the memory might hold too much pain. And it is a blessing (and also a burden) that we can do so 😇
❤️❤️
🥰
I had a dream last night about a new layer of paint flaking off all the walls of my basement. Jung would have a field day with that. It looked a lot like this door. What a blessing to see that aging and "deterioration" can be so utterly beautiful. Thank you!
What an amazing synchronicity here! May I ask you if you had seen this post already before your dream? And are you working with dreams, for yourself or in your practice? I am “dreaming” about starting a “dream group” as I have seen the most beautiful transformations since working with dreams 😇 . Your’s sound indeed very intriguing! Interesting enough it is a “new” layer which is flaking off. Have you seen what is beneath it? And what about the basement? 😎
I don't believe I did see it before, but perhaps I did and my mind drew on its imagery? Yes, it was a new layer of paint that had been applied cheaply and I was relieved to discover that it was such a minor issue because on first sight it had looked more catastrophic. I always assume the basement represents our shadow, in a Jungian sense.
I love the idea of a dream group! At several junctures of my life, dream work has been a tremendous catalyst for change.
Oh, a dream group would be great, especially a group for people in the helping professions broadly construed. This way one could also learn different perspectives on how to do dream work. I for instance developed an existential take on it. So what might look like a symbol for the shadow self in the Jungian sense might stand for the deeper self instead. Surely the basement also holds the process of descending and thus deepening which always also invites us to some shadow work. I love the image in your dream that the new layer which crumbles (which on first sight looks like a catastrophe) actually reveals a deeper (and more robust?) layer. I say somewhere in my blessing that we are often tempted to just paint over when in fact the crumbling might reveal some deeper layers instead. Thus the crumbling paint could stand for shedding some outer layers, a process of letting go of what is on the surface...Thank you so much, Kelly, for sharing your dream with us 🙏
Love this very much, cherish the patina that lies beneath. Beautiful 💛
Thank you, Emily! Your lovely divider with the writing feather is just so inspiring 🪶!
Bid farewell to the burdensome
🙏
Beautiful thoughts that lead to quiet reflection. Doors and their weathering are like that. My favorite lines are, "Let go of the old which longs to become dust / and cherish the patina of what is beneath." Good memories are such good medicine and I think they are from God's hand.
Memories can indeed be good medicine. And it requires discernment to tell which ones are and how to transform those that are not.
Thank you so much, Henry. I like your line about good memories being medicine. So true. Thanks for being here!
Respect the patina!
Indeed. We are encouraged to collect and respect antique furniture (and doors and houses). But somehow we forget this when it is we ourselves who become antique.
Yes!
Letting go . . . Cherishing. . . I struggle to do the first, and I forget to do the second. I so enjoy the cherishing, though. That action deepens my connection to the person or the nature or the beauty that I'm pondering. I'm so glad you are there to encourage us. Nancy and I were receiving your gift in similar ways!
Cherish is one of my favorite words.
O dear Carol, so well said! I also “struggle to do the first, and I forget to do the second.” But then there is my little one reminding me of a simple solution: mama, let’s just try again! 😇
"Cherish the layers"... Not always easy, but I try to recognize the layers are what make the door, and our lives. Thank you for the reminder. 💛
If I might suggest an amendment, the layers surely form our lives, but it is more the story that we tell about them. We make them come alive by including them into (and excluding them from) our stories of ourselves. But yes, cherishing them is not easy.
So well said, Nancy, the layers are what make our life! And thank you for being here 🙏