Light Archives - Page 2 of 4 -

Making a Difference

By Simone Lipscomb | October 20, 2013

Several weeks ago I met my friend in the Smoky Mountains for an afternoon photography shoot. As we drove through Cades Cove we caught up with each other and shared a bit about our lives. We are both committed to our paths and want to make a difference in the world and shared our frustration at not really knowing how to do that or if what we are doing is really positively impacting the world.

A friend in Japan has been exploring how she wants to work to help make the world a better place and is frustrated as to how she can do this. She has volunteered in an elephant sanctuary and in the past has worked with marine mammal rescue but she, like others I know, wants to make a difference every day.

Over the past couple of days another friend and I have been in contact about the desire to make a difference in the world. It feels like the HID light was just turned on deep in an underwater cave. His clarity encouraged me.

A funk, for lack of a better word, has been dominating my life for the past several months. I am not sure of the origin of this downward turn. There is so much negative everything happening and the environmental issues coupled with atrocities humans perpetuate on each other have made it difficult to know what to do. After working with vigor and with passion documenting the BP Deepwater Horizon Oil Spill and before that, in creating books of beauty and inspiration, all with the goal of making a difference, I find hundreds of books in boxes in my home…their message of beauty and hope sitting tucked away from the world. A perfect metaphor of how I feel. Despondency and feeling a loss as to what I’m really supposed to be doing with my life has been the question that occupies my mind.

The heart-friend I recently wrote of retired from over thirty years of service to his community. He was a leader as a firefighter and trained in many disciplines so he could be excellent in his work. Rookies and seasoned firefighters alike looked up to him and his valuable skills. His career of rescue work is truly inspiring. Upon retirement he wasn’t doing what he wanted to do…making a difference. It was a terrible adjustment for him as his heart is huge and his intention of service matches the size of his heart. It wasn’t until he followed his path to serve in a war-torn country that he once-again fulfilled, in his mind, his goal. He has found what he was looking for–making a difference.

We follow little breadcrumb thoughts which lead us to decisions. We act on these decisions and make changes in our lives–some are huge, some are small. We direct our energy toward the slow-growing momentum and then hope for the best. But how do we know our efforts really are making a difference? How do we maintain trust in ourselves and in our decisions? Here’s a cave-diving analogy.

Photo by Ed Jackson of me and my buddy Ray and his light in the distance

When cave diving a diver knows that caves are dark. It seems a silly statement but I cannot count the number of times I’ve been asked the question: Are underwater caves really dark? Think of the darkest, inkiest, blackest darkness and then think of it as flowing and moving around you. Yes…underwater caves are dark. So a diver takes redundant equipment into a cave–air and light. Three lights are required equipment–a primary light and two back-up lights. The primary is a very bright, strong light and the back-up lights are smaller and always contain fresh batteries.

So if I’m diving in a cave and for some reason my primary light fails, out comes a back-up light. If that fails, out comes the other back-up light. If we apply the analogy of cave diving to our lives, think of our life’s path as the primary light. We are born, we develop and learn and find our way to our path. A natural light is emitted from it as we progress. But there comes a time when we lose faith in our path, we find ourselves far from those we love, and who love us, we retire, or move to a new area, and that light wavers and then blinks out. We are left in the dark.

It’s not a happy place, this darkness. It’s difficult to orient ourselves, find our way. Which way do we go? Where is the line? Which tunnel is the way home?

When this happens we can contact a friend, one of our back-up lights, to help light our way. Sometimes the path we tread must have light from another source. When our own light seems dim, there are others who can help us see the path we have chosen. Their light can help us stay true and move forward when we have lost faith in what we do. We may come to a side tunnel in our underwater cave and the extra light may be necessary to see which way leads us home.

Some may think the primary light in cave diving is the most important but ask any cave diver who has had to deploy a back-up light or two. Those little lights are the real life-savers.

I am grateful for my heart-friend that reminded me to keep working on my path of service. His light encouraged me to stay with it, even when it feels like I am not making a difference. Sometimes I stumble along in darkness and then a ray of light comes forward to illuminate the way.

May we all be lights unto each other.

Thanks for reading. Please comment or share as you see fit.

Running Toward the Light

By Simone Lipscomb | October 15, 2013

When I opened the curtains and door to the porch off my bedroom this morning the light was a soft, deep orange. I peeked out and looked around the corner to the east and the sky was a palette of brilliant color. To add to the dramatic beauty, fog hugged the ground beneath the oak trees.

I hurriedly threw on shorts and a hoodie and sprinted upstairs to get my tripod. I couldn’t find the ‘L’ bracket and hex wrench that attaches it to my camera. Dang it! Where is that thing? I said in a not-so-gentle-voice. I couldn’t find it so I grabbed an attachment for my old tripod and ran downstairs, tripping and nearly falling on the stairs.

My camera was still in the kitchen where I left it last night when I came home from a music event yesterday afternoon so I quickly attached the tripod foot and headed outside, grabbing my old tripod from the garage. As I was walking to the pasture fence I was attempting to extend the legs of the tripod. Of course, the legs wouldn’t extend (the reason I replaced it after a busy summer of salt-water shooting last year that basically ended its life). The sun was rapidly rising and the brilliant blue and orange and yellow hues would be gone within minutes.

Screw it, I mumbled and threw the tripod to the ground, adjusted the camera settings and started shooting. It was frustrating because I love very long exposures in light such as this as it enriches the colors. But this morning, I was doing the best I could given the time constraints and equipment snafus.

Challenges like I experienced at sunrise today are really quite funny. A part of me was calmly watching myself scurrying and hurrying and I knew that all of the effort might be for nothing….I could miss the sweet light. But as beautiful as the sunrise was, I had to make the effort.

Things in life that are beautiful are indeed worth the effort.

A Sensitive Heart

By Simone Lipscomb | October 13, 2013

“I have sea foam in my veins, for I understand the language of waves.” Le Testament d’Orphee is a movie I’ve never seen but this quote from it touches me deeply. It was quoted in an article I read this morning during my hammock time with my ginger cat, Stanley. It was a piece about sensitive souls…the traits and behaviors…the feelings. As I read it a mirror to my soul seemed to open. FINALLY! There are others out there. (Deep sigh).

My first memory of my inner life being at odds with the outer world was when I was about eight years old. My father and I were watching a movie about an old man who saved up hard-earned money to purchase a pane of glass for the only window in his shack. He installed it and it had only been in place for a brief time when his mule kicked a bucket that went crashing into the window–which shattered. The man beat the mule. I cried and my father laughed at me for crying. He asked why I was crying. For the mule, for being beaten, of course. It was then that I begin to learn that my sensitive heart was in for a rough ride.

The article states, “You absorb sensation the way a paintbrush grasps each color it touches on a palette. The ethereal beauty of a dandelion, the shift of a season, the climax of a song, or the scent of a certain fragrance can sometimes move you to tears…Basically this means if you are sensitive, you have the ability to see colors and feel energy the way others hear jet planes.” Victoria Erickson, the writer, goes on to quote research that says sensitive souls make up about 20% of the population. People who are super-sensitive have nervous systems that respond easily to stimuli which can be overwhelming and exhausting. “Sometimes your sensitivity makes life extraordinarily painful and you want to shut down and hide your raw self from the loud chaos that accompanies this earth’s continual rotation.”

Victoria lists six ways to stay balanced….create, enjoy the company of animals, seek out water, recognize what is only your energy and emotion (its easy to absorb other’s energy), surround yourself with people that understand your nature and nurture that connection, retreat, replenish and rejuvenate. Her advice was so good that I saved the article to my desktop so I can review regularly.

After I finished reading I sat in the hammock chair with my cat buddy and pondered the eye-opening information. There have been many times I have been laughed at, made fun of, and generally put-down because I am sensitive. And I know there are others who have experienced this treatment. When this happens we close down, little-by-little. Our experience of the world narrows as we deny the very ability we have that feeds and nurtures us.

When my daughter was born, I begin to reawaken to the part of myself I had closed off, lost even, through my childhood, adolescence and young adult life. Her arrival into my life was a catalyst that pushed me onto my spiritual path and steered me deeper into my heart. When she was born I suddenly knew what it was like to truly love someone.

Everything didn’t change overnight. It takes an immense amount of work to learn to stay open to the beauty around us and not close down when the rest of the world seems to not notice. There were many, many rocky years and times when the dichotomy, of what I knew to be my truth and what the world told me my truth was, was difficult to sort out. I carry many battle scars.

About eleven years ago I reached a very low point in my life when things literally fell apart around me. It was as if everything I cared for shattered and shifted and I was left feeling completely beaten down and also, oddly enough, feeling incredibly open. At that time a man came into my life that helped nurture me so that I could put my life back together, in a more harmonious way. His was a sensitive heart, even though he didn’t like to admit it. The light he shined into my life helped me believe that I could be myself and live fully. At first he kidded me about talking to trees but before our relationship ended, I caught him talking to trees….although he would most likely deny that now.

I was blessed to have someone who believed in me, that stood beside me as I lifted myself out of the rubble of my life.

What does the world do to a sensitive heart? How do we survive the challenges, the fears, the chaos we encounter simply by living on this planet? This fragile beauty, this light within us can be so easily destroyed, snuffed out. The magnificence of a sensitive soul can be chased into hiding by the stresses of daily life. This, to me, is the greatest loss we all experience. When we lose our brothers and sisters whose sensitive hearts and souls bless this place, then truly we have lost great treasures. I know there are many whose light has been diminished or hidden by the stresses of life. May we reach out in understanding and love and stand with them as they work to find peace and wholeness.

When these lights go into hiding it’s not simply a personal loss, but a planetary loss. We need more people now than ever before who are in touch with their hearts and in communion with the beauty..and who are unafraid to show it. May we support each other always in finding and staying connected to our true selves.

Light Along the Path

By Simone Lipscomb | June 18, 2013

Trying to define what I do for a new business card has been challenging. In my spiritual path I am constantly going deeper to discover more about myself and the path of service I have chosen…the path that has called me. But it doesn’t mean I know what the heck I’m doing. Not really.

Funny as it may sound it feels as if the past several years have been a game of Blindman’s Bluff. I ask for guidance, listen, clear out inner debris, listen more, have flashes of inspiration, get a little glimpse but continue walking with just glimmers of lights illuminating the way.

Determined to not only listen but to hear clearly, the steps taken are small. Sometimes its as if I’m treading water in a darkened ocean with starlight the only source of illumination. Support is there and I can float if I need to rest but there are times when I really want answers. Direction!

In my quest to find a name for my work I stumbled upon a website that made me light up with excitement and I found myself crying, “YES, YES, YES!” I shared links on Facebook and Twitter and emailed myself a copy of an article written by the author of a book and website. Finally I linked to the book because I knew it would be an awesome tool for the work in which I find myself immersed.

Spiritual Ecology….OH! The book I ordered before it was printed which just arrived last week! The book sitting on my bedside chest. When I discovered that this book was already in my home, awaiting my attention I laughed and knew that something big is clicking into place within me and others on the planet.

There has been a lot of hopelessness of late with endless lists of sins against the planet and even against those who protect it.But this treasure discovered today gives me hope. The light along my path just got brighter. I cherish these moments and for the reminder that support is present, the path is unfolding and all is not lost on our beautiful water planet.

Turning Point

By Simone Lipscomb | May 11, 2013

The dark, heavy energy has shifted. I’ve been sitting on my back porch listening to the rain, listening to distant thunder over the Gulf and to wind chimes slowly moving in the slight breeze, their deep tones filling the courtyard with celestial music and serving as background sound to drops splatting and thumping on the metal roof. Frogs sing occasionally, adding their baritone to the soprano whistles and trills of birds darting to and fro.

In the distance, the sounds of children laughing and playing in the rain provide nurturance to the joy taking root within the dark recesses in me that have stored grief over bad new– environmental reports this week that seemed endless. Swinging in my hammock chair with my buddy Stanley Kubrick purring contentedly on my lap, I realized that I have ridden the wave of grief to the other side.

A spark of light ignited this shift. A favorite musician posted yesterday on his FaceBook page, “So happy to be playing music. There is no finer place on earth today than Oklahoma.” Ben Taylor’s post planted a seed of light. I nurtured it by having a session of Thai Yoga yesterday afternoon that helped stretch me out of my funk. Then the morning of rain and gentleness helped me grow the light seed and expand it like a candle igniting a thousand inner lamps.

Being present in the moment and happy to be doing something I love to do is something to celebrate. Finding joy within a storm of bad environmental news gives me a stronger foundation from which to work and helps me gain footing on the Path so I can take the next step in my work. With my inner lamps rekindled I move forward with joy, in celebration of this beautiful water planet.

Stanley Kubrick and I celebrated this delicious, rainy, soft morning by dancing on the back porch while listening to Jolly Holiday. “Ain’t it a glorious day? Right as a mornin’ in May, I feel like I could fly….When the day is gray and ordinary, <Stanley> makes the sun shine bright!”

Staying present with grief, with joy…with beauty. It’s all part of this turning point in which we find ourselves on our Earthly planet.