BEAUTY Archives - Page 38 of 56 -

Snuggling with Manatees

By Simone Lipscomb | January 14, 2015

Whistling wings of a cormorant flying over distracted me from watching the osprey perched on the sailboat mast. The quiet of the evening, the still water filled with reflections of clouds, boats, buildings, birds….all of this brought me to a place of deep reflection. There was no separation between me and life around me.

Manatees always touch my life profoundly when they choose to interact. Today I had babies playing around me, whistling after their mamas, trying to find something to entertain them while their mothers slept. Some are shy, some are playful and all represent a very gentle, docile species.

More than once I had larger manatees swim up to me, stop and snuggle against my side and then stay there. Having an animal much larger than me…by about 1000 pounds…. snuggle and whisper through their whiskers sweet manatee sonnets is quite profound. I don’t initiate anything and simply lay still at the surface. They come to me. I observe passively and sometimes one decides I’m worth knowing. If they approach I don’t move, if they snuggle I don’t move….but I do giggle sometimes.

I cannot help it. Laying here, tired yet unwilling to let the experience fade without writing about it, tears of joy flow.

It’s not just that they are cute and cuddly. I see deep scars from propellers on almost every adult. I think of the over 800 that died last year due mostly to red tide created from human septic systems emptying into Indian Lagoon…harassing humans, mean humans…so many reasons they shouldn’t trust us and yet, in this protected place, they find a human now and then to befriend. And I never take their trust for granted.

Studies have shown that their behavior toward humans is different here than in other, non-protected places. Perhaps we provide entertainment for those that wish to learn more about this gangly, clumsy species that enters their watery home. Always, always I want to be a good ambassador, a friend and a protector. And yes, even a snuggle buddy if they need that.

On Being Real

By Simone Lipscomb | October 28, 2014

Masks make me uncomfortable. Not costumed masks but those invisible masks humans create to hide the truth of their being. I suppose that’s why my photography has almost exclusively focused on nature and wildlife…until a couple of years ago.

A conversation with fellow photographer and Frog Pond Sunday Social attendee about photographing musicians made me laugh and understand something about myself. I made the comment that I was much more comfortable with animals and nature and had never photographed people too much until I began focusing on portraits of musicians. His reply–“Well, they’re not that different from animals you know.” He said it to be funny and we had a good laugh but what he said is very true.

When musicians are really in the creative groove and are connected to their source of inspiration, they appear to be in an unmasked state of being. They seem to invite the audience to witness their journey and meet them in that place from which they bring forth beauty…and magic.

SimoneLipscomb (15) — Will Kimbrough, Corky Hughes & Grayson Capps

I’m basically shy and much more comfortable alone in the woods or underwater with my cameras. I discovered, while listening and photographing Robert Randolph, why I like photographing musicians.

I connect energetically with musicians when they bring forth their gifts through performance. It’s as if I can see beyond the outer appearance to their true essence and meet them there through my photography. It’s as if we make an unspoken agreement to share that space of truth.

When I photographed Robert, I squirmed my way to the stage to see the energetic and amazing performer who had a huge crowd of people dancing. He was channeling lightning, or so it seemed. He is a pedal steel guitarist and bringer of a dynamic force to all in attendance willing to meet him. Me? I stood there with a huge smile on my face. How could I not? His smile rocked the festival. As the intensely-loud music bounced through me (I was in front of massive speakers) and I focused on him with my camera, I understood my love of photographing musicians while they are playing.

Live music is one of the rare experiences where we can see humans engaged in the creative process. Musicians that are truly in their happy place allow their masks to fall away to expose a truer self. That’s probably what separates the really great musicians from the good ones…a willingness to tap into a higher expression of who they are in front of an audience. That’s no small thing. And that’s probably why I think of these same musicians as being like ministers….leaders who invite us all to a deeper yet higher place.

When I am standing in a river photographing elk headed straight for me, I feel a similar emotion as I do when photographing an expressive musician. I am much more comfortable with elk and other forms of nature but that’s because I don’t create a mask when I’m in nature or surrounded by animals.

Musicians are teaching me to shed my masks and meet them in the truth of the moment, where music melts walls of division and creates harmony of spirit.

Finding Peace in a Broken World

By Simone Lipscomb | September 14, 2014

This morning I read a Facebook post that included a long list of what politicians and oil companies have planned for the Mobile, Alabama area. After reading about the super-tankers that would carry Canadian tar sands oil from Mobile to China and all that would be done to accommodate these carriers of dirty, poisonous, toxic nastiness, I felt myself…my entire being…sort of give up. It was as if something snuffed the light of hope out. How can we continue on the path we are on without disastrous and dire consequences? The all-too-familiar question bounced around in my head.

There was no answer, no comfort–no warm, supportive, comforting arms to embrace me and no voice saying, “It’s gonna be okay.” Alone with my despair, grief and frustration I turned to a tool I use to unravel confusion…writing.

I grabbed my laptop and headed to the hammock swing on the back porch. The grandmother oak tree stands silently yet filled with life: birds twittering, squirrels hopping and leaping, insects droning. Water is splashing in the little pond where a large, quartz crystal sits in the center holding a quiet presence among the ferns and flowers and banana plant. Live oak tree leaves shimmer in the morning light against a blue sky and rays of sunlight find their way through the thick canopy, illuminating moss-covered pavers. Birdsong fills the air…cardinals, wrens, titmice, chickadees all bringing me back to this present moment, this sacred moment.

Living only in the darkness of the possible, disastrous what-ifs is a sure way to drive myself crazy…or at the very least isolate from everything in a quiet corner of a deeply wooded, protected (is there such a place) corner of beauty. While the idea of being a hermit is enticing, it would be self-serving. And let’s face it, this is not the time to hide our light. This is the time to sparkle and let our inner light shine brightly.

While it is easy to become overwhelmed with everything that’s wrong and could potentially destroy life as we know it, we must balance that darkness with good, with light…with what is right. Now is the time to share our voices, our talents, and skills with the planet. There is no more precious gift we can offer than our own light.

This day I am grateful for birdsong, the grandmother oak tree who shelters my home, my cat friends, the wind gently moving the wind chimes to song, my recent re-wilding retreat to the mountains and the awareness that others create in their efforts to let us know what is happening to our beautiful planet….to us.

We can balance the darkness with light, the sadness with joy, and fear with courage. We do this through consciously caring for ourselves and finding peace within our hearts…even when it’s not easy to find in the world.

Coyotes and Deer and Bears…Oh, MY!

By Simone Lipscomb | September 10, 2014

This morning’s visit to my sacred grounds was off-the-chart with good soul medicine. With better light today, photography was easier. And I suppose the animals liked the sunnier weather as they were out and well-represented at dawn.

I had a nice visit with a white-tailed buck who cared less that I was photographing him. There were other deer and a doe that showed off her jumping skills as she cleared two fences in apparent nervous flight. I’m guessing the star of my morning, a wily coyote, is what spooked the little girl. Not long after she cleared the second fence, Mr. Hilarious trotted out of the field and got in front of my car and escorted me down the gravel road.

He finally angled off the road and was headed into a thicket of trees. I had just caught up with him as he entered the woods so made some little whooping sounds. He sat down and started scratching. I hurried to set the ISO, aperture and shutter speed on my camera and got a few nice shots. He stood up to leave and I made the same funny whooping hoots and he sat down again and scratched. It was probably coincidence but it made me laugh just wondering if I accidently discovered a secret coyote sitting spell.

Later, after visiting a beautiful little roadway in another part of the park and finding my bliss in photographing and sound-recording water, I went back to Cades Cove. The traffic was a bit trying (code for: I lost my patience) and a bear jam didn’t help matters. I managed to catch a glimpse of a mother and two cubs as the park volunteer scared them up a hill. I’ve seen people act completely stupid with bears, forgetting that they are not tame, cuddly creatures but very large mammals with four-inch claws. However, those are stories for another day….and they do explain how the gene pool gets cleansed on occasion.

The wildness here, even with many visitors, is what calls to me. I find quiet places where few people go and spend a few moments completely lost in the creative process of capturing the essence of a stream or flower or dew-soaked spider web. In the quiet, when it’s just the crickets and birds and wind singing the story of this place, I am at peace. I am connected to something grand, magnificent. I am home.

Listening to Earth

By Simone Lipscomb | September 9, 2014

It’s quiet here. Or perhaps I should say it’s still here. In the pale, pre-dawn light, the soothing sounds of crickets and other night-singers serenade me as I sit in the car, waiting in line with anticipation for the gate to open and allow a visit Cade’s Cove at sunrise.

Blue-gray fog hovers just above tree tops. Drops of moisture slide down tiers of leaves and finally on to soft, rain-soaked soil. Staccato drop….drop….SPLAT! Cool air caresses my face as it tentatively enters my open windows, soundless but equally pleasurable.

Softly, slowing the morning arrives. There is no place on Earth I would rather be than in this wild and protected place. I too feel safe here, protected and free to connect with wild acres of forest, meadow and stream…and resident wildlife.

Finally the gate opens and the line of vehicles slowly disperses, each of us going to our own sweet spot. With no particular plan, I am guided to the Primitive Baptist Church. It’s down a gravel road and sits, front door open, welcoming me.

I walk in timidly, checking to see if a bear family or, even more scary, a skunk family might have used it for their morning napping place but there is nobody here except me and the beautiful spiritual presence of this place. The potent nature energies weave through the building and invite a balance of human and nature.

As is my custom, whenever I find myself alone here, I sing. Today I notice how the notes and words roll through the large room, how the sound moves in waves…wave upon wave reverberating through old rough-hewn lumber.

I move on as other humans began to arrive and find myself, once again, alone.

This time I am sitting on a large rock, with a large fuzzy-covered microphone in hand and headphones over my ears. I am recording nature sounds–specifically…rushing water. I explore how sound bounces off of large rocks. It seems some rocks hold sound and I find myself intrigued and hold the mic beside a beautiful moss-covered gray rock sitting on the edge of the creek. I’m listening to Earth, I think. How sweet it feels to connect so deeply with Her.

At the end of the day fatigue from lack of sleep and long travels has disappeared and been replaced with an inner calm that is profound. Vision usually guides me in my explorations into the wilds but today sweet sounds of Earth were the guide. Something within me that was asleep has awakened and I feel more alive, more present…simply from listening to Earth.