Prickly Pear Cacti, Brittlebush (yellow wildflowers), and Emory's Globemallow (orange wildflowers).
That's about as lively as it gets, in terms of natural landscape.
Painstakingly tended Hyacinths in the garden.
Purple Croquis. The blooms last for a few hours, before wilting.
Even with lots of tending and care, the intensity of the sun is often too much for non-native plants.
The Four Elements: Reflections on Nature by John O’Donohue explores the grandeur of the natural world in relation to spirituality and the human experience. There are sections on each element – water, stone, air, and fire – as well portions explaining the interactions and bonds between the elements.
Understanding the elements of the earth is fundamental to attaining a grasp on spirituality, ancient wisdom, and meaningful living. The author’s dialogue is poetic and a uniquely creative look at the seemingly mundane, yet intricately beautiful details of the natural world that surrounds us.
Along with lovely reflections on Earth’s elements, O’Donohue includes some of his ideas on human nature, behaviors, and beliefs. The combination of insight and euphonious prose creates an exquisite and subtly affective narrative.
“There are certain people who work very committedly, who slog meticulously toward their goal, but without one stitch of inspiration. Then there are inspired people who never get a line on their gift – they lack the patience and discipline to bring the possibilities within their gift to form. The ideal is when these two extremes come into balance in the life of the artist.”
This particular quote especially resonates with me. Life truly is about find a balance between passion and hard work, creative inspiration and self-discipline. As with the four elements, ostensibly unrelated concepts can work hand-in-hand and complement one another. Often times there are connections and relationships that we would recognize if we simply paid attention. The Four Elements is a wonderful reminder to observe the world around you, as well as the world within.
I received a complimentary copy of this book in exchange for my honest review.
“I would feel more optimistic about a bright future for man if he spent less time proving that he can outwit Nature and more time tasting her sweetness and respecting her seniority.”
– E.B. White
A few months ago, one of my best friends and I went on a day trip to Black Canyon Lake in Payson, Arizona. We had a wonderful time and the scenery was absolutely stunning! I’d like to share some of my favorite pictures from the trip, which were taken by my friend. Enjoy!
A phenomenal clip composed of footage from BBC’s Life: Plants and experimental music by Galapagos. Enjoy!
Galapagos – Where I Am from Cool Things I Find on Vimeo.
Today begins the last semester of my undergraduate career. In other words, four months from now Tucson will become one of those friends whom I look back on fondly, but never want to see again. Getting out of this sleepy pothole-riddled city is exciting, but leaving school is terrifying. Other than the fascinating classes and wonderful professors, the thing which I will miss most about the University of Arizona is the drive between Phoenix and Tucson.
Every two to four weeks I drive 100 miles to visit my family and friends back home. Those 90 minutes are always an incredible experience.
Arizona is a desert. People often associate “desert” with the Sahara - vast expanses of blistering hot sand, a lack of water, and a constant struggle to survive. Yea, Arizona is hot. But it is absolutely beautiful nonetheless.
Towering mountains trail behind me, the mountains ahead beckon me home like an unyielding siren, and mountains surround and embrace me on every side. The overgrown hills are as majestic as the pyramids of Egypt. On overcast days, I can see the low clouds sink and mingle among the peaks, tickling the cacti and lifting the chins of the resistant little plants that call the mountainside home.
Although I am a bit envious of cities that actually have seasons other than hot, hotter, and monsoon, I have come to appreciate the subtle nuances in Arizona’s plant life. For most of the year, the roadside is littered with sickly shrubs and leafless trees. However, for a month or so in the spring, delicate purple and yellow flowers are sprinkled along the entire drive. It’s an amazing sight. Around this time, those bulging monstrosities that keep me company on my long drive transform from a dull gray to a bright and lush green. For a minute or two I wonder if I’ve absent-mindedly taken a wrong turn and ended up in Southern California or New Mexico. But no, this is my home.
“Erin, please leave before the sun goes down. That’s a dark stretch of road. I worry.”
Sorry mom, but the sunset is the best part of the drive!
“The sky, at sunset, looked like a carnivorous flower.”
- Roberto Bolaño, “2666“
The sunset that Bolaño was referring to was observed in the fictional city of Santa Teresa, which was modeled after the city of Juarez, which is located in northern Mexico, just shy of the Arizona border. I think Bolaño understands why I purposely delay my journey until the late afternoon. Although “carnivorous flower” is not the first thing that comes to mind when observing the lustrous flare dangle in the sky and then slowly descend behind the mountaintops, seeing the sun illuminate the sky and scatter rays of every color is an indescribable experience and the abstract metaphor seems to suit the phenomenon perfectly.
Sunsets occur all over the world, all around the country, and throughout every state. So what make this Arizona sunset so sensational, so breathtakingly magnificent?
For me, I think the experience serves as a form of meditation. My mind is always racing and the traditional “shut your mind off and just be” just doesn’t work for me. Observing nature, especially its beauty and all the natural phenomena occurring continuously helps me to slow down – both literally (I try to keep my eyes on the road) and figuratively.
An appreciation of nature lends to an appreciation of life and of everyday miracles (see my earlier post about miracles here). Shutting my mind off is near impossible, but conversing with shrubs, cacti, and the overshadowing pile of pebbles rather than myself is a freeing experience. Observing the beauty of nature and momentarily forgetting the concrete-colored skyscrapers, the 9-to-5 desk job, and the endless demands of everyday life must be a form of mediation. If it’s not already, I might need to patent the idea.
I might miss the university, the routines, the professors, and the friends made. I might even reminisce about Tucson on occasion. But what I’m going to miss the most is that transcendent drive, my monthly meditation, my escape from and re-entry into reality. The introspection, the thoughts, the new perspectives.
I have a feeling that when time and money allow, I may succumb to my yearning to make that trek, to not only witness, but also experience the overwhelming influence of that carnivorous flower that hangs so prominently in the desert sky.
