jillian doughty

my power animal may be husky and inaccurately perceived.

jd — Tue, 21 Feb 2012 06:09:49 +0000

i had a dream last night that i didn’t remember until this evening. that happens to me often. i will be in a moment and have a sudden memory of a dream and have to wonder for a moment whether it was a dream, deja vu, or an exaggerated memory of something tangible.

this isn’t the dream; for two mornings i’ve woken up at 6am, wide awake. this morning i read for about twenty minutes before falling asleep again. when i woke up again the birds that live noisily in the tree outside my window seemed louder than they’ve been in months.

the birds outside my bedroom window are chickadees, small song birds that sing in shrill but pleasant chirps and whistles. chaotic but still harmonic and pretty. this morning they reminded me of my grandmother, and i remembered being in her house as a girl listening to similar birds as they visited the feeder placed outside near her dining room window. the similar sounds that came from birds outside my bedroom this morning reminded me so much of her, it felt as if she may have been there with me. i don’t believe that she was there with me this morning, although it felt like her. i’m so different from when she knew me, i don’t think she would recognize me anymore. i also don’t think she would come see me in portland. she had a lot of grandchildren and most are probably more in need or more worthy of a short brush of her spirit. still, it felt warm and for a moment i was seven years old, in her house, feeling the sun spill through giant farmhouse windows, toast and coffee notes lingering in the air, and those familiar shrill but pleasant chirps and whistles. the same beautiful sounds that pulled her spirit into mine this morning were an unexpected gift which allowed me back into an era I am unable to recall easily.

then later tonight i remembered a dream from the same night previous.

this is the dream; i was standing near a tree in which a large fat solid dark blue bird was perched. the bird was sitting low enough in the branches that it sat directly in front of me. we were staring at each other. i don’t know how i came across the bird, it seemed really out of place. wasn’t sure where i was, or why i was there at all. the dream was just this one part of a scene. to be honest, this was/is a boring dream. as if sensing the lack of plot, the dream takes a turn when a young boy and his mom approached the tree, close to where i was standing. i heard the woman ask the young boy if he saw the cardinal. i looked at her and said “i think it’s a bluebird.” they looked at me strangely and quickly walked away. i looked back at the enormous bird, which was still not a cardinal. it was remarkably plump and i wondered if it could actually carry it’s own weight into the sky. but it didn’t matter because the bird didn’t seem to need to go anywhere. i apparently wasn’t needing to go anywhere either because the entire dream was me and the bird, just staring at each other. wondering how we got there to begin with.

update – after writing this, i google searched bluebird totem and found these insightful notes from Cinnamon Moon 1 over at spiritlodge.com

paradigm gifts

jd — Sun, 19 Feb 2012 05:52:41 +0000

Thirty-two carrier pigeons were awarded medals by the United Kingdom for their meritorious service in the World Wars. Of course, they probably would have preferred sunflower seeds and peanuts as their prize. Let that lesson guide you as you bestow blessings on the people and animals that have done so much for you, Virgo. Give them goodies they would actually love to receive, not meaningless gold stars or abstract accolades. It’s time to honor and reward your supporters with practical actions that suit them well.

- virgo horscope free will astrology, february 16th 2012

I realized, a few days after reading this, that there are a handful of people in my daily thought process who are very much deserving of a practical action form of thanks.

The best gift I could think of was more symbolic than practical. I’m not sure if there’s anything like practical symbolism. but if there is such a thing, this would make a fine example.

This is, however, the perfect gift for me right now. I believe those on the forefront of my physical and manifested worlds are nothing if not a direct reflection.

TheParadigm Shift Kit – Intermediate

left to right: 1. the paradigm shift kit (intentionally unassuming exterior) 2. voodoo/hoodoo spotted owl feather - for when things just get weird 3. silk and paper fan – decedent rest 4. & 5. select your own weather/season moment 6. & 7. secret to everything accordion book 8. the paradigm shift kit (interior) with handkerchief 9. bottle of luck in which contents are surrounded and protected by the mountains and state highways of New Mexico.

40 Second Film

jd — Wed, 18 Jan 2012 19:19:10 +0000

Last December, I saw a Facebook post for the Northwest Film Center that was asking for 40 second film submissions to kick off their 40th anniversary. The deadline for the submissions was about three weeks from the day I saw the call for entires. I was excited to participate but the first three ideas I had were too hard to coordinate on such short notice. I didn’t think I would be able to do something with such a short time frame, but I ended up bringing my dslr along for a family/holiday visit in my hometown of Orondo, WA. The day before we were leaving Orondo to go back to Portland, an idea was formed that technically could work.. We only had an hour to film before we lost the afternoon sun and get ready for my parents celebratory 50th wedding anniversary dinner. I called my beautiful niece Olivia and she instantly was on board without knowing anything about the project. With nothing but a concept and a consumer level dslr on 1/2 battery life, we shot this in 90 minutes. The next day we added the scenes with Olivia’s brother Clay, which took about 45 minutes.

This was a fun film because it was an invaluable learning tool for me in so many ways. In the end, the two scenes I needed most were ones that were shot in a single take, and they weren’t very good. This made editing a lot more difficult, had I realized how important those scenes were at the time; I should never overlook the importance of storyboarding no matter how small a project is. I also learned that editing a film an hour before the deadline, in my car, while waiting for my son at the bus stop, is not exactly ideal conditions for focus, comfort, or syncing audio.

The screening was last night and mine was one out of 120 entries that ranged from the bizarre to outstanding. I was quite pleased where mine stood with the rest of the entries and most of all I am excited about creating more fun things like this. I may even try to find a project that has a reasonable deadline. Although, I’m sure I’ll still be editing it somewhere completely inconvenient, just hours before deadline.

trail fiction

jd — Sat, 31 Dec 2011 18:21:46 +0000

There isn’t a real trail in these foothills, just places where deer have navigated exactingly and repeatedly, forming lines of trampled grass leading to higher places. Their droppings are heavy, indicating their frequency into the orchards for tree bark and fruit. You can also see the paw prints of coyotes, but left only under moonlight where they gather in loud secret groups of nipping and howling. Echoing sounds bouncing between rock walls translating into a melody, sounding like a summer cocktail party a half a mile down the river. We were careful to maneuver our feet to avoid stepping on droppings and scrap metal from the farm equipment discarded years ago. Metal frozen in ground, rusting into the earth with colors that held remarkable contrast to the natural growth surrounding it.

There’s this moment that happens whenever I wake up from a bad dream. This moment, in the dark, when I realize it is just a dream and a wave of relief comes on so strong, it is like a warm blanket that soothes the transition back into sleep effortlessly and without hesitation. The episode is easily forgotten, until hours later in that same day, another world away, when those frightful feelings are more shallow fictions of afterthought than hysteric unrest so strong they startled me awake in the first place.

Then there’s a less dramatic moment when you realize that a reality, be it in waking life or a dream, is not anything like you imagined it to be. Like walking in on a conversation when the plots and subplots are unknown to you. Or to realize people have been talking ill behind your back. How to respond to that is startling and there’s really no wave of reality to make those feelings change. It’s heartbreaking and regardless of your response, there’s nothing worse than realizing you’ve trusted the wrong things. Or more accurately, found yourself comfortable with the wrong things.

There’s something discarded about each of these moments I’ve described. Not as symbolic relics but frozen in the ground as something significant.

The day after we walked through the trails they were leveled and graded, into an ocean of rich brown earth. A wave of relief covering up the trampled trails, droppings, rusting metal, as if the last fifty years never happened.I’m not sad it changed. I didn’t even know it was going to change. It was luck and timing that I was able to be there at all. What’s remarkable to me is that after the hike I had a notion and went home to pick up my camera and hiked back to take pictures, and did so until the light left. Those who know me already know about these kinds of notions and rarely question them. Not because they aren’t willing, it’s mostly because there are too many notions and it’s frustrating to receive reason without logic. Being comfortable with somebody else’s notions takes character beyond understanding, and a sort of faith that isn’t easily convinced otherwise.

The first hike was walking into the conversation I wasn’t supposed to hear. Except I didn’t know that I walked in on it and didn’t know I heard it. Then it’s metaphor translated cleanly into other aspects and I walked into a million other conversations and saw the differences in each of them.

possible intention

jd — Sat, 24 Dec 2011 10:29:10 +0000

a few weeks ago somebody saw one of my tea sets at an auction and tracked me down to commission a set of illustrated cups, a holiday gift for her wife. she sent me this poem for inspiration. it wasn’t until i was re reading the poem for the fourth time that i was overwhelmed with the delicate and honest beauty of it.

i thought how nice it would be to make this poem a personal mantra for 2012. then I thought it would be even nicer to pass it along.

whatever intention awaits in the new year, i hope it comes delivered with the same grace as this.

Morning Poem by Mary Oliver

Every morning
the world
is created.

Under the orange
sticks of the sun
the heaped
ashes of the night
turn into leaves again

and fasten themselves to the high branches —
and the ponds appear
like black cloth
on which are painted islands

of summer lilies.
If it is your nature
to be happy
you will swim away along the soft trails

for hours, your imagination
alighting everywhere.
And if your spirit
carries within it

the thorn
that is heavier than lead —
if it’s all you can do
to keep on trudging —

there is still
somewhere deep within you
a beast shouting that the earth
is exactly what it wanted —

each pond with its blazing lilies
is a prayer heard and answered
lavishly,
every morning,

whether or not
you have ever dared to be happy,
whether or not
you have ever dared to pray.

As if the Sea should part by Emily Dickinson

jd — Mon, 19 Dec 2011 23:44:33 +0000

As if the Sea should part

And show a further Sea –

And that — a further — and the Three

But a presumption be –

Of Periods of Seas –

Unvisited of Shores –

Themselves the Verge of Seas to be –

Eternity — is Those –

I think she’s hinting at infinity with limitations and contradictions. How eternal the reality of these contradictions are, how the spritual holds the same contradictions.

It amazes me how such a beautiful dark creature could be kept a secret for so long. how in her death, she met the great poets and writers of her time and the time before, and a number of times to come. She was holding her own own death for some time during her recluse. It became her companion and grew with her for a number of years.

I imagine what we interpret as her darkness was, in fact, the light from within her darkness. And in many cases, possible dialogues from a place we won’t know for some time.

rex’s blues

jd — Wed, 07 Dec 2011 08:17:47 +0000

i took these pictures en route to a photo location in early november. after i noticed the birds on the power lines, i turned the car around took a couple of pictures. there was something about that moment that needed to last longer, and i wanted to remember wanting that.

a lot of uncertainty in the fog & landscape. void of warmth and movement, even the birds aren’t ready to give themselves back to the sky.

what was so special to me was that everything felt so heavy in that moment, it was hard to believe that it all would burn off and move on (in less than 30 minutes) from when I stopped to take a picture.

i was listening to this song.

Pear by Zia

jd — Tue, 06 Dec 2011 05:44:43 +0000

zia began her Gustav Klimt phase this evening.

holiday musings

jd — Mon, 05 Dec 2011 06:36:26 +0000

i can’t decide whether i’m industrious or lazy to the point at which a strange phenomena occurs; i create a punishing type of project that requires a high amount of time and attention, followed by detailed clean up. mostly because i don’t want to go to a store and pick something out and then pay for it. not because i’m thrifty as much as it’s not something fun to buy like clothes, boots, or records. paying money for decorations is silly when i can cut into the 8 hours of time i’ve set aside to sleep on any given night.

if you took the average price of something i wanted to buy and then took a minimum wage value of the time spent and resources used in my attempt recreate that item, i would say that each project saves me no money whatsoever and in most cases, i spend more money had i just bought what i was trying to achieve in the first place.

however, this year i was especially thrifty because i wanted to take my son to the nutcracker, a new camera is on the horizon, i’ve my eye on a ukulele…..

so far i’ve spent less than $20 in total on anything holiday related (not including nutcracker tickets)

tree – last year’s crafty wonderland holiday display (conveniently stashed behind garage) free

beads and stars – $1.50 for 3 garlands at thrift store

modern art doe tree – free (kind of) metallic stand (white elephant gift) prints were created by me, printing an illustration on vintage piano sheet music (free – results of strange phenomena project 2009)

peace garlands – $3.00 (red hemp twine and wee clothespins)

white lights – $5.99 at target

2 vintage advent calendars (gifts from bronwyn)

2 new advent calendars w/candy (gifts from grandma)

snowman rudolph craft board : craft store $1.99

angel ornament : thrift store $.99

ceramic deer : free (gift to kian from aunt jeannine)

skinny ceramic santa: free (gift from aunt sally)

egg nog : $3.99

the boy woke up a bit ago and took a look at the tree i set up this evening. he put up a couple of ornaments, then asked if we could get a normal tree next year. he thought this tree looked too much like a tree for people who don’t have kids.

i told him he could pick the tree next year, but i get to pick when and where we get to see the nutcracker.

november

jd — Mon, 28 Nov 2011 02:22:47 +0000

november has always been a transition month for me, separating the beginning of the school year from the middle of the school year, separating the lighter evenings into the darker ones, and marking the beginning of a swirl of contradictory feelings appearing from nowhere. it’s a contradictory month, delight and anxiety pairing with harvest and preparation. this november offered sepia and overexposed landscapes guarded with frozen sunlight. I saw the most beautiful moon I’ve yet to see; a hovering soft moon, heavy and full holding all the saturation from it’s surrounding landscape, which explained why everything underneath faded in the daylight. a handful of days later I saw yellow tamaracks set fire along the cascades tree line, each tree glowing from the inside. that night I saw a crisp white moon sharpened into perfect shape, a million miles away. the moon’s color had to have been hiding in the trees that were glowing beneath it. the dormancy of november also has unexplained passion in it, it’s where I think longing was invented. it has always felt lonely to me, but also heavy with connection from family and celebration. november is hopeful in that it has collected all the remains of the earlier seasons and discards them, allowing room for the new ones.