Mar 30 2010
I finally did it!
This declaration can apply to several things this spring–I’m finally taking time to blog again! We’ve gotten our new book, The Circle Way, A Leader in Every Chair, both into the office and out the door into the world, and I’ve fulfilled a long-standing promise to myself. With great delighted I invite you to our business website to check out the new books, both our co-authored legacy work on circle and Ann’s legacy work on Keepers of the Trees. There will be other stories that follow from these book launching months, what I want to celebrate here is the promise I kept–from the time I wrote Storycatcher.
Only after Storycatcher was published and I was reading through the book did I realize I had told three versions of “the same story.” In three different actions, I described leaving something in the earth for the future to find. In Chapter 4, I tell about burying my journal during the Cuban Missile Crisis; then in Chapter 9, I talk about what it meant for a community to decide to bury The Dead Sea Scrolls; and in Chapter 10, I wrote about putting a letter under the kitchen counter during a remodel that will be decades before rediscovery. And the idea wouldn’t leave me alone. I have remained haunted by the question “What of my life do I leave for the future to find?”
Books. I think about my immense gratitude for the words that have been passed down and down that carry meaning both ancient and modern. I love stories like Thomas Cahill’s, How the Irish Saved Civilization: The Untold Story of Ireland’s Heroic Role from the Fall of Rome to the Rise of Medieval Europe. In this book he speaks to how the monks and scribes of Ireland spent several centuries preserving the foundational texts of western philosophy and science hand copying and hiding them until Europe had restabilized politically and could house its own wisdom again. Sounds a bit like the destabilizing going on today in the US with its far-right flare ups…
So I began thinking about taking another banker’s box, as I had in 1962, and filling it with books and burying it again–this time “forever.” I bought a metal box at the thrift store, bought several rolls of cellophane wrap and aluminum foil and began wrapping books in layers of waterproofing, and then putting them into plastic bags taped shut with duct tape, and then placing these book bundles into the box which I then also taped shut with duct tape. I inscribed each book “deposited by the author, March 2010.” So there is now a collection of my writing, Ann’s writing, and a few things I thought might be of interest, including The Chronology of Human History–year by year from prehistory to 1990, buried in our yard.
A few days ago Ann and I took pick-axe and shovel, dug a hole and buried the box. Then the contractor who is designing a patio off the front of the house further buried it under the stair landing. Dirt–>box–>dirt–>cobble stones–>rebar mesh–>four inches of concrete–>stairs. It’s going to be a while before anyone is reading those copies! And in the climate of the region this is about as dry and safe a situation as I could devise. So, I’ve done it at last, and for the lasting. And I am surprised by my emotion, a tenderness walking by that spot. Here lies…
Here lies my life work–or at least the part of it that someone can find in a hundred or more years. They can read about journal writing and circle and story and the seven whispers of spiritual guidance. They can read about how much I loved nature and this place and the people of my life. And I can pray that they too will love nature and this place and the people of their lives. I can imagine someone eventually finding the box: I cannot imagine what life will be like at that time. I hope when they will sit down and unwrap this rusted container, they will find something legible that connects us across time.
Who I am will be immaterial by then. Like the craftsmen who, stone by stone, chiseled the walls of castles and cathedrals each brick providing the raw material for inspiration. That’s what I am: a craftsman who chipped some bricks into books in the Information Age. Whatever will be built from this, I truly do not know– I only dream. And for the rest of the time that I live here, I can step confidently down the new patio stairs knowing that something is under there– waiting.
What might you leave in the earth for the future to find?
Copyright ©2009 Christina Baldwin. All rights reserved.
Oh, Christina! I’m so glad that you came back with another entry! I was no more than 5 seconds into reading it when the wheels in my head started to spin! I “moderate” a journaling “salon” and your thoughts will be the first things I share at the April meeting. Thank you…again!
Christina and Anne,
Thank you for this and for the love that inspires you to act on your truest desires. I have been riding with the same urge, the urge to leave some story for the future, as well as leaving a sense of place for the future. I am restoring a quilt that was originally made in 1903 by grandmother’s mother and grandmother (on Whidbey Island BTW). I am devising a way to write the story of the quilt and its makers and fuse it to the back. I have already willed it to my grandaughter so that it will continue on. I live in the Rocky Mountains - and there is a reason they are called rocky LOL - so burying isn’t in the cards, but preservation and passing on will work.
Christina,
Thanks for the wonderful suggestion. I was asked to lead a group at the senior center. I think l’ll have it be a legacy workshop. What would they leave behind? What have they contributed thus far.
I can see it now. Some space being finding your box lying in a crevass. They open it, dicipher the code for the writing and lo! The writings of goddess Christina are preserved for eternity. You will be the goddess of circles and fire and goddess Ann will be the goddess of the trees and all forest dwelling creatures. I wonder what they will look like? :0)
Christina,
I met you some years ago in Virginia….and now live in Portland, OR. Your idea of burying your legacy spoke to me as well…it affirms so much when many of us are feeling and thinking about these times and the need to leave something for the future. So I enclose my own version of this as an essay I wrote the other night …in the middle of the night caring for a medically fragile child.
Soul of Paper
I just love paper! Well, not just any paper. It needs to have a good feel—not the shiny stuff that ink smears on—but paper that has texture or some sort of character all its own…you can just hear it begging. It’s up to me (or you) to listen carefully. Is this one piece of paper begging, or politely waiting, or coming off the pad demanding words, or colors, or marks? It has a life to live and it just can’t come alive and do its job until it’s been chosen! (I’ll just bet it gets all this from the DNA of the original tree that gave over for this “product.”)
Paper can be quite precocious or so patient it becomes a curmudgeon. Yet either way it soaks in the ink or pencil or color like a parched landscape. Then the magic takes over and it secretly imagines itself as an oasis or even a lost treasure for a writer’s story or an artist’s impression.
Paper just loves people like me…
people who hunt and collect paper like those who mine precious stones.
The stone collectors got nicknamed “rock hounds” but so far I haven’t heard tell a name to single out and identify paper collectors. I’ve met others and when we do meet we can see it in the eyes. There’s a certain glow when one touches a paper and immediately begins traveling. It’s sort of like when I see a chef come upon a rare spice or a musician catching a tune on a breeze. Sure they may use paper too…but then paper is the object and NOT the subject of their affection.
The Paper Affection Ado takes pleasure in the touch, the sorting, and the sound of crinkling. There are solids, prints, and specialty papers. Paper is overjoyed that its time of Renaissance has come again. It heard tell of those parchment ancestors. “They” are preserved in museums, castles, and monasteries…immortalized for holding such legends as the Book of Kells and even the Constitution. Today’s more evolved aspirants are purported as “acid-free” or linen or cotton rag. Then you have the common classes of college-rule or cardstock or deckled edge. The secret papers yearn to be hand-tied and bound or made of natural fibers like banana or hemp so they can be mainstreamed with the ecological green movement. They fear, and yet would be proud, to be part of the last line as the roads of progress roll on to “paper free.” They already see the signs…e-cards, paper-free college enrollment and courses, hospital and banking records on-line, and text, twitter, and e-harmony. They grieve the loss of spit balls, notes passed in classrooms and long sermons, and long love letters delivered 2 months post dated from faraway places.
Paper understands both urgency and slow simmering for the heart. It knows how to hold up and hold on and just Hold…when it brings either bad news or the message of new life. It takes it seriously…that need to hold and be held both the first time and each and every time the reader needs. It offers itself to soak in the tears and transform the message layer by layer until the receiver can grasp and tuck it all into an open or a broken heart. It knows how to stay safe in a drawer or a box for years! It keeps a secret until a daughter or grandson, or a widow asks it to speak the message held sacred by their loved one so long ago.
The paper has become a bridge between times, between generations, between cultures, between…
Yes, it is all about BETWEEN.
Between a sender and a receiver
The sacred land of the heart
And of memory
Paper bears witness.
Laura Piedmont
“a storycatcher inspired by you”
Thanks for sharing this, Christina—and you others as well! I respect the wish to leave something of value for the future, and I, too, became thoughtful upon reading of your care to pass your legacy on to generations yet unimagined, and have been pondering my own stance in regard to a personal legacy.
My own written work has largely faded from view, being out of print and probably largely out of mind for the audiences for which it was intended. I have experienced some grief about its fading, yet I remain hopeful that what I have thought, written and done is having and will have some influence on people and events that come after me. I can identify trends in my profession and in the larger society that I have helped to nurture, some of which I am glad to have been a part, and others, like the ascendance of individualism over community, which have had some unexpected consequences that I now regret.
In the past I have aspired to make more of an impact than I probably have done, but all in all, I think I’ve had my share of influence in the world. I feel content to leave the eventual fate of my thoughts and actions to those who follow, though I suspect I shall continue the endeavor to nudge events along paths I value as long as I may.
I appreciate your having stimulated me to think about this, Christina.
[...] Storycatcher: I finally did it! [...]
Sweet, Christina! I would probably bury the very first tarot cards I ever bought at age 12, the 1JJ Swiss deck, along with my wisdom harvesting journal (the book in which I write the “best of the best” from various journals), a teacup, a circle of friends candle holder, and a couple of CDs (one of Goddess Chants and one of the music of Healey Willan). These items would be placed in the earth beneath the trees beside my balcony for someone to excavate one day. My hope is that they’d dust off the circle of friends, light a candle in its centre, put on some tea and music, read the best of the best of what I learned in this life, and pull cards to respond to questions that emerge for them as they read. What is remembered lives. Blessed be!
Greetings Christina,
I want you to know how inspiring you have been to me in my life’s work.
A decade ago I had read and loved Calling the Circle. Shortly after reading I facilitated a team mid-way in it’s challenge, a team of angry and hopeless yet optimistic leaders. I used the circle work to convene dialogue. The team met and spoke for over a year and then created the opportunity for their organization to have a future inspiring and healing many.
I remember the first night of meeting with the team. I told my husband I couldn’t send the invoice and I was in over my head. But the team did the homework I recommended and were bright-eyed and hopeful the next day and the next month. They continued to ask me back. When the conflicts arose, I asked for the question underneath the conflict that needed time and attention. Over the course of the meetings we covered the walls of the room with newsprint where we had written the ‘Powerful Questions’. And ask you know, over time as the creating began, the disagreements were either resolved through deeper understanding or just feel away as no longer important in the face of the new that was being created. Yes, a good question and a listening ear will go a long way toward healing the world.
Now, 10 years and many lessons later I am excited to begin my own publishing/blog celebrating the questions of our eldering. I’ve posted your question, “What of my life do I leave for the future to find?” on the home page, with all due credit to your site. We’ve only begun, but do check me out at ‘costaricagaiaretreat.wordpress.com.
Looking forward,