Tuesday, January 28, 2014

The importance of faith in inspiring communities to become educated about climate change and protect the environment


A few mornings ago, when greeting the trees as I do each time I arrive at my new property, a voice inside me told me that I would be happy spending my remaining days here.  The land I will be living on is most definitely sacred.  I feel it in my bones every moment.  This area also seems to attract people who are humble and loving caretakers of the environment, which is very heartening.

After discussing my photographs and the environment with fellow artist and Quaker Dick Beardsley, I was invited to an inaugural Interfaith meeting on climate change which I attended in Gainesville on Sunday. Listening to the presenters and sharing with the other attendees was such a moving experience.  The gathering, organized by the Baha’i Center, stressed the commonality of every faith’s commitment to the environment.  Witnessing the energy of diverse groups coming together with a single agenda was both beautiful and inspiring.  Everyone shared ideas freely and no one acted as if their group’s efforts were superior to anyone else’s.  Sitting there, I thought how wonderful it would be if politicians could behave the same way, instead of always acting divisively.  In fact, a major topic of discussion was how important it was to depoliticize saving the environment.  Living on a healthy planet is everyone’s birthright and something we may not pass on to future generations unless this cycle of war on the earth is stopped in its tracks.   Another very important theme was accountability.  Each presenter mentioned that despite having a beautifully crafted statement on climate change, the challenge was living up to the statement.   Elected officials and we are also complicit in this.  It will take both pressuring government and corporations to do the right thing, both locally and globally, as well as living what we preach for real change to occur.

Though I belong to no organized religion myself at this moment, I am deeply spiritual from revelations I have had communing with nature.  The connection between spirit and nature is profound and, I believe, the key to saving our planet.  It does not matter which religion you belong to or which God or Gods you bow to, or even if you believe in God with a capital “G” at all.  What matters is that you recognize there is a life affirming energy or power greater than your limited consciousness and that the sacred exists here and now on this earth, with all its beauty and all its scars.   When you believe something is sacred, whether it is your nuclear family or your larger home earth, you treat it and everything it touches with respect.  You also recognize that if you harm your spiritual home you harm yourself.

I know I have found my physical and spiritual home, which fills me with with joy and hope.  Yet, there are so many issues of grave concern facing our planet.  Though it is admirable to reduce our personal carbon footprints, it is not enough.  I cannot responsibly decide to annex myself from the rest of civilization and grow my own garden and live off the land without a care for what exists beyond the perimeter of my property. We exist in an interconnected web and things happening far away have a huge impact on our present wellbeing and future survival.  Likewise, our actions directly affect the rest of the world. This has both positive and negative ramifications.  Melting glaciers may turn even the north of Florida, where my new home is located, into little islands; and Sarasota, where I used to live, may well be underwater as Miami will undoubtedly be.  When the lakes in Montana are drained to water crops in Idaho, or the water from the Colorado River is pumped over mountains to Nevada and Southern California, water shortages are experienced in areas where water should have flown freely. Yet, if we act as conscious caretakers and reduce carbon emissions in our country, the effect will be felt throughout the earth’s ecosystem.  There will likely be fewer fires and charred trees won’t be swept into rivers increasing silt concentrations to the point of bursting dams, like what happened in Boulder this past fall.

Now more than ever, establishing an ever-widening community of concerned people who are willing to stand up for imposing a carbon tax, strengthening clean water standards, and other environmentally sound policies is essential.  Stemming the war we are waging on earth is bigger than any of us, either individually, regionally, or nationally can do alone, and if we want other countries to follow our lead we must practice what we preach.  We need to check in with each other to make sure we are on track, and we need to support each other by sharing knowledge and educating others who remain doubtful of the severity of the problem.  Instead of attacking people who don’t understand how serious things are, we need to find common ground, communicate, and work together to do what we can to make things better and to dispel the hopeless feeling that it is too late to do anything.  We all know we are going to die one day, but most of us do not try to make it happen as quickly as possible because of this realization.  Rather, if we are mentally balanced and connected to life, we try to enjoy each day and live in ways that will make us healthier and allow us to live longer with a better quality of life.  This is the way we need to think about the earth.  

The photographs below are from a recent pilgrimage to Glacier National Park several months ago to observe some remaining glaciers before they vanish forever if carbon emissions continue at their current rate. 

The first photograph is of Grinnell Gracier.  I hiked up there with Tom Skeele, the former head of the International League of Conservation Photographers.  It was a beautiful hike and we saw many beautiful glacial lakes along the way.  The intense blue of the water was like nothing I have ever seen.  What we encountered after hiking  six miles to the glacier was very disturbing though.  So much has melted it was more like a big lake with a small glacial shoreline.   On the way down, we met two young women who had volunteered to work with climate scientists.  The scientists had said that phase two of their project, during their lifetime, was going to be studying the effects of the totally melted glaciers on the surrounding area. 

Grinnell Glacier ©Lynne Buchanan


On the way back to the car, we passed by Swiftcurrent Lake in the late afternoon sun.  It was so peaceful and the reflections of the mountains in the lake were exquisite, though at one time there was no doubt much more snow and ice on the peaks.

Swift Current Lake ©Lynne Buchanan


The photograph below is from a spectacular hike from the visitor center at Logan Pass.  The clouds, colors, rock formations, and little lakes and streams made for a magical wonderland.  Though the park may not have the glaciers it once did, it is still an incredibly beautiful place and it warrants protecting.

Glacial Pool ©Lynne Buchanan



The final photograph is of St. Mary’s Lake at sunrise.  It evokes my emotional response to life on this planet in the face of climate change. The mist on the water suggests a spiritual presence, which called me to connect with the place and make the photograph.  The water level is clearly low and my eye was lead into the scene by leading lines of the broken branch and exposed pebbles.  This part of the photograph is a poem about the earth and specifically water’s vulnerability, though all the elements are of course connected.  The water itself is still and peaceful with an expansive vista, which is something I frequently envision in the depths of healing meditations.  Then there is the sky, which is filled with stormy clouds with a few rosy hues interspersed, a glimmer of hope within an ominous environment .  The scene is simultaneously calm and turbulent, beautiful and foreboding.

St. Mary's Lake at Dawn


The metaphorical sun is not shining on the earth right now.  Scientists who don’t like to meddle with politics and public policies are urging us to take action before it is too late.  Some people believe we are past the tipping point and it is a matter of how long before we totally make life on earth for the human species impossible.  Yet this does not mean we should give up.  We must look for that glimmer of hope and fan the sparks, by acknowledging the presence of the scared in nature, no matter how hidden it is from some people’s eyes in our technologically driven society.  When we do this we heal ourselves, and when we heal ourselves we have our best shot at healing the planet.  It is our responsibility as stewards of our home…

As a final note, I would like to thank the organizers of this Interfaith gathering for making the sharing of information among concerned people possible and for inspiring me so much with their wise comments and caring hearts.

Friday, January 3, 2014

On Seeing and Being



Sunset Inspiration Point, Bryce Canyon ©Lynne Buchanan
All Rights Reserved, Watermarked by Digimarc


The moment I learned to truly see on my cross-country journey this past fall was in the presence of this amazing group of people I met at Bryce Canyon.  Many of the participants were blind or visually impaired, even the founder of the organization who was from New York.  They had hired a tour company from St. George to experience the geological wonders of the landscape with a couple of guides in tow to point out things they might want to notice.  Happily, the governor of Utah had decided to open Bryce at 3 pm that day, following the National Park closures caused by the government shutdown, and we were all ecstatic that we were able to stand on this precipice overlooking a vast expanse of hoodoos and other strange formations. 

It was an odd experience witnessing this seemingly miraculous landscape that I thought had to “be seen to be believed” with a group of blind people.  What was before my eyes was so strange and open to interpretation.   Some hoodoos looked like animals, others like castles, and the clouds added a whole other layer of complexity.  I knew no two people with 20/20 vision would see the same thing, so I was sure the people around me were perceiving the scene very differently than I was.  Frankly, I wasn’t even sure they were actually seeing anything at first.  I thought how nice it was that someone had thought to bring them there, so that they could still experience the wonders of the world secondhand, though I was sure I was seeing it more completely.  I still didn’t get it.

As I was making photographs, I heard the guides tell them about the various colors the setting sun was painting the rocks, the particular forms before us, the sweep of the clouds, and they would nod and say, “Yes, I see that.”  I was a bit perplexed but gave them the benefit of the doubt.  Then someone would mention an aspect of the light or how a hazy form was melting into something else.   Standing on the precipice, I heard one man say he felt the vastness and commented how small it made him feel.  I realized that though their eyes would never achieve the perfect focus my lens was capable of at the right ISO, F-Stop, Aperture, and focal point using Live View, they were seeing with their whole beings.  They were seeing the connections beneath the surface of things, which has long been the goal of my photography but which has always been a bit elusive.  They didn’t need “Live View” to understand what was being rendered before their eyes.  They were seeing their place in the universe as they felt their way into the landscape.   

This, I suddenly knew, was the whole purpose of art.  I began to squint my eyes and intentionally blur my vision, so I could see tonal values.  I closed my eyes all the way and felt the breeze, the heat of the last rays of sun cutting through the cool air.  I listened to the sounds all around me and when I opened my eyes again, I saw the scene as if I was seeing the world for the first time.  It was so breathtaking in its “completeness” that I had to remind myself to breathe.  The details were almost too much to take in.  I knew my camera could never capture them all yet they were still all there in the image I made, because I was all there when I made it thanks to my “non-seeing” guides who taught me the true meaning of perception.

The Group from Echevarria Travel ©Lynne Buchanan


About the group I was blessed to meet:

Cheryl Echevarria, the founder of the travel agency, lost her eyesight to diabetic retinopathy in 2001.  After a kidney transplant and battling her illness for ten years, she decided to become a travel agent.  In 2009, she and her husband Nelson founded Echevarria Travel.  An article on this amazing woman is included in the April 2012 edition of the Braille Monitor.  For more information on the travel agency, which specializes in independent travel for all, especially the blind and disabled, visit echevarriatravel.com.





Sunday, December 22, 2013

The Importance of Balancing Strength and Warmth

Golden Sunset, Yellowstone ©Lynne Buchanan

The other day my father was discussing John Neffinger and Matthew Kohut's book, Compelling People: The Hidden Qualities that Make Us Influential.  According to the authors, all social judgments hinge on two criteria: strength and warmth.  Strength connotes the ability to get things done through talent and force of will.  We tend to respect strong people, though we don't always like them if they don't seem empathetic enough.  Warmth suggests that people share our feelings, so we generally like warm people.  However, if people are warm and weak, we often disregard them as we think they might not be capable of protecting our interests.  When people are strong and warm we think they are willing and able to look out for us, so the author's contend we naturally look to them as leaders.

The more I thought about this, the more I realized how universally appealing this combination is and how desirable it is to achieve a balance of these qualities in both our lives and our artistic pursuits. In the photograph of the sunset in Yellowstone above, the clouds and sweeping lines of the landscape are very strong while the palette is warm.  Standing on the hillside above the valley, I felt pulled into the scene.  I did not resist, as I might have if the clouds had been threatening and the color of the landscape had been cooler.  The yellows and golds in the clouds and the earth made the scene very inviting and the graphic elements were so compelling that I stood there mesmerized until the sky grew dark.

There is not doubt that I am also attracted to people who seem alive and are pursuing their passions with vigor and intensity.  Yet, if they only seem to care about their own passions and being recognized for their accomplishments, I soon feel insignificant.  Likewise, when I feel strong, I feel more capable of accomplishing my dreams and facing life's challenges.  However, when I feel that this strength must all come from my own will power and ego, it doesn't last very long.  Soon something comes along that I can't handle alone.  I encounter difficult situations that I can't do anything about, because they are beyond my control.  This is the time when I must dig deep and find real inner strength, a strength that is connected to life force energy or spirit, whatever it is for you.  No matter how vivid the fears about my own failures or the downward spiral of the planet my mind conjures up, I must stay the course and keep believing in my ability to land or my feet and the earth's ability to bring itself back into balance.  

This brings to mind a quote by Patrick Overton, "When you walk to the edge of all the light you have and take that first step into the darkness of the unknown, you must believe that one of two things will happen: there will be something solid for you to stand upon, or you will be taught how to fly."  The people who I am most inspired and moved by are the people who are able to remain strong even as their old worlds and sense of security are shattered.  If I am standing on the edge of the known waiting for someone to lead me where to go next, I would definitely prefer to follow someone who believes flying is possible and who would be kind enough to offer me a hand as we left the ground. I also realize that I can't just let someone else take me there.  I have to believe in flying myself and in lending a hand to someone else.  How special it would be to join hands with someone and be courageous enough to go to the edge of what we know is possible and step into the realm of our dreams and begin manifesting them.  Until such a time, I will keep trying to quiet my fears and have faith in my visions of a better, more balanced existence. 

Thursday, November 28, 2013

On Being Grateful for Beauty


Happy Thanksgiving to everyone.  May you walk in beauty, peace, and happiness, as this Navajo woman whom Edward Curtis photographed surely did.  The bliss that is yours that comes from appreciating the boundless beauty in the world awaits you if you open yourself completely to the miracles of the universe.  As the Navajo prayer concludes, when you walk with awareness of beauty all around you, your words become beautiful.  As we all know from experience, your words create our reality...

Today I am thankful I still possess a childlike wonderment for life and all its glorious manifestations.  I am blessed not to be jaded and to still believe in infinite possibilities for growth and giving back.  My gratitude for my wonderful family and old friends and new is so boundless it cannot be expressed in words, except to say, "Thank you universe."

As you go about your day today, walk forward with naive courage, pure excitement, and gratitude that you are here to experience all life has to offer.  And if you happen to have a pink cowboy hat that matches your pink shirt and boots (or a white hat and shirt if you are a guy) like these adorable children I photographed with my iPhone striding to Lake Martin with their dad, you might lift everyone else's spirits too!



Wednesday, November 20, 2013

White Sands Sunset

Golden Sunset, White Sands ©Lynne Buchanan
This evening I witnessed the most amazing sunset in White Sands.  It was the first time I have been to this National Park and I was immediately captivated.  I knew I was in trouble when I saw the dunes from the highway.  It was already 4:30 when I arrived, so I went to the visitor center straight away to get some information about the various areas of the park.  I mentioned something about photography and the ranger said that photographers were usually the people who got lost in the park.  She warned me that they kept looking ahead and never back and soon forgot where they came from.  I went out into the dunes and swore that wouldn't happen to me.  A couple walked out a little ways behind me and followed me for awhile.  I kept looking back to see where they were and where we came from.  then the sky turned all these colors and all bets were off.  The shape of the clouds, the light, specific yuccas kept calling me and I kept following, whispering how I couldn't believe what was happening.  I kept saying there must be a God, or some higher power to make something this spectacular.  I kept thanking the universe, and then it started to get dark and I had only a vague idea where I came from.  I got up on a dune and saw the mountains that were behind me when I started and began walking that way.  Fortunately, I came across a local couple with two dogs after awhile and they pointed me in the right direction.  I thanked them profusely and told them how embarrassed I would have been if I had gotten lost after such a warning.  I can't wait to go back tomorrow morning.  I am already promising myself to keep better track of my bearings, but sometimes it is difficult!

Sunday, November 17, 2013

The Hopis Love of Clouds

A couple of days ago, I visited with two Hopi silversmiths on the second Mesa, the owner of Sewukiwmas Arts and Crafts and the owner of the Rising Sun Gallery.  They both talked to me at great length about the natural symbols they use in their art and their way of life.   Their way of life depends on natural cycles since they practice dry farming in washes or along irrigated terrace walls, utilizing only precipitation from rain and snowmelt.  Clouds, rain, lightening, are all very important symbols, and they particularly love clouds, as they bring the rain that sustains all life.

Weaver, a truly gifted master silversmith and the owner of the Rising Sun Gallery, and I had a very deep discussion about living close to the land and the harm that man is causing the earth through pollution and not protecting water, the veins of life that keep us alive.  Weaver told me that he believes that recent tragic weather events are the earth's way of rebalancing itself to compensate for what we are doing to her.  He said in farming, they clear all the weeds underneath the crops so they can grow better and that he believes this is what the earth is doing on a larger scale when fires, torrential rains, and typhoons come.  His words seemed rather harsh to me when I thought about  all the lives that were lost in the Haiyan Typhoon. Yet,  I felt the truth to what he was saying.  Nature is not intentionally trying to hurt us.  She is just responding to all the harm man is causing the environment and trying to rebalance herself.  As Sandra Ingerman, Weaver, and many others who believe in the wisdom of native cultures repeatedly stress, if we can bring ourselves into better balance with nature, the earth will heal itself and we will heal too.

Living in balance and harmony and working with what nature provides to sustain ourselves does not devastate the environment in the way western farming and industrialization does.  When I looked on line to see if anyone was trying to apply dry farming principles, I learned the Hopi Tribe is assisting researchers at the Crown Canyon Archeological Center on ancient corn-growing techniques.  At the end of our conversation, Weaver said it was so unusual to hear someone speak the same way about nature coming from such a different culture.   When he handed me the bracelet I bought with bear claw marks and a turquoise stone and the tortoise pendant with the water symbol, he said that his prayer for me was a long life filled with courage to live in harmony with water.  I got chills when he said this, as my desire to inspire people to protect water grows stronger all the time.

After I left the Hopi Mesas and began driving to Holbrook, I saw the most amazing cloud looming over the desert that I have ever seen.  I pulled into a dirt road and made this image, so that I would always remember how divine clouds truly are and how important they are to our survival.
Divine Cloud as I was Leaving Hopi Land ©Lynne Buchanan

As I continued along the road feeling how the world smiles on us when we live in harmony and understand that we are just one small being in an interconnected web of life, the light broke through the clouds and lit up the earth, making her glow.  There was a little pullout off the road and I got out to make this photograph.

Glowing Desert Earth ©Lynne Buchanan
Then the sun set and the sky turned beautiful purples and pinks as the moon rose over two formations linked together as one, while still retaining their separateness.  I stopped the car again and was overcome with a sense of deep peace as I made this image with the help of mother nature, the greatest artist of all...
Desert Moon Rise ©Lynne Buchanan




Friday, November 15, 2013

From Mount Shasta to the Mojave and how the Desert Brought Me Back to Life


My friends in Grants Pass told me that I had to go to Mount Shasta on my drive through the backbone of California.  Thank goodness I did.  It gave me the strength and energy I needed to face millions of trucks and other cars.  Every time I drive I-5, I think this is how we are ruining the earth and as more people populate the planet more of the earth will become desecrated like this.  Fortunately, I communed with nature and medicine circles before I set out on the long drive and when I arrived in the Mojave Desert…

I decided to hire a guide in Mount Shasta and was fortuitously assigned Robin, the Mount Shasta Fun Guide.  She is an aspiring photographer and has published a book on the area.  (She is also a naturalist, historian, skier, search and rescue person, and has an ice ax and crampon school.  Prior to meeting Robin, I had always considered myself fairly tough. )  Robin took me to many wonderful vantage points of Mount Shasta, the Serenity Vortex, and Faery Falls.  We had a wonderful afternoon together, connecting with the special energy in the area and making photographs.  I can’t think of a better way to spend a day.


Faery Falls ©Lynne Buchanan

Mount Shasta with Medicine Circle ©Lynne Buchanan

Twin Peaks of Mount Shasta ©Lynne Buchanan

Mount Shasta in Divine Light ©Lynne Buchanan
Then I went to Redding to photograph the Sun Dial Bridge, which is quite amazing. 
Sun Dial Bridge ©Lynne Buchanan
Unfortunately, the hotel I stayed in was horrible, and after I woke up at 2:30 am and realized I could not sleep another moment there, I decided to hit the road and drove 13 hours to Nipton, California, an historic town and access point to the Mojave Desert, the least visited of all the National Parks.  The Hotel Nipton and the train depot were very picturesque in their own quirky way.  Turns out the train still runs and went right by my room, but I was so tired it did not bother me at all.  
Hotel Nipton ©Lynne Buchanan

Heading Nowhere in the Moonlight ©Lynne Buchanan

Nipton Train Depot at Sunset ©Lynne Buchanan
The next morning, I saw the most incredible sunrise.  The sky turned amazing colors all around me and the desert floor picked up these vibrant shades from the sky.  I kept going from one side of the road to the other, because the entire desert valley was glowing.  It took my breath away.  Then I drove on to see Joshua trees, volcanic cones, and sand dunes.  The Mojave Desert has incredible diversity and is teeming with life.  Some might call it a wasteland as it is in the middle of nowhere and the driest place on earth (I went through tons of water just standing there making photographs and could not believe how thirsty I got on the sand dunes), but I would rather be here than on the I-5 corridor in California any day.  I spent until noon drinking in the sights and let the desert resuscitate me, before heading on my way to the Grand Canyon, where I arrived just as the sun was setting.
Sunrise over the Mojave Desert ©Lynne Buchanan

Volcanic Cone Beds, Mojave Desert ©Lynne Buchanan