Weekend Getaway: The Adirondacks and Vermont. Part 1

"To go into solitude, a man needs to retire as much from his chamber as from society."

 -Ralph Waldo Emerson

This past weekend I took a trip to see my very good friend Carrie, who lives in the Adirondacks. We've been friends since our Freshman year in college and have maintained this relationship over the years. I'm a city girl by birth, but there is something so wholly unique and beautiful about nature that at times I wish that I could spend more time among the trees and the mountains. Last year I visited my friend for the first time. I was swept away by the shear expanse of green, the rolling mountains of the Adirondacks and most astoundingly, the silence. It was everywhere. I could feel my heart settle down, my fears slip away from me. It was such an amazing moment in my life. I will never forget it. I will also never forget the views, which more than once, took my breath away. 

 Even now, as I think about the trip last year, my heart grows calmer and I become happier. I hiked a mountain trail. I let my feet guide me as something deeper took over. I was no longer this lost girl in the city. I was a woman finding her way again, navigating the earthen trail while climbing higher and higher. My spirit was soaring. There's something about being in nature that can move a person to peace. It is organic and true. It is powerful and spiritual. I needed to feel that again. 

This year I had already resolved that I would visit my friend again. She is such an amazing and gracious host. She is also one of my very good friends and I truly enjoy spending time with her, even if it's for a little while. I spent weeks counting down until my mini vacation. I went to work, navigated the city streets, dealt with the city stress, breathed in the city air, all the while my mind daydreamed about mountains and green and nature once more.  My friend and I spoke about what we would be doing. She suggested that we visit a place called The Ausable Chasm (pronounced Aw-Say-Bull, not Aw-Subble as I've been pronouncing it). She also mentioned that since we had walked the Champlain Bridge last year (she's so close to Vermont!) that we should really go into Vermont this time. I happily agreed. 

I packed my little bag and waved goodbye to the chaos that is New York City and ventured into the spacious world just hours away called the Adirondacks. The bus ride was long. The baby crying made it seem longer. But I played Candy Crush and dozed (and drooled) until I reached my destination. Albany. Where Carrie picked me up. We ate at an Albany restaurant called The Ginger Man. The service was really great.  We caught up on the events of the last year and then headed out. A while back, she had mentioned that one of the cows on her family farm had given birth. She said that she named the cow after me and that when I came up again, I could pay the little calf a visit.  

(I think Lorna the Cow likes me. Or my cardigan at least)

I saw a plethora of other animals as well. Pigs and goats and cows! It was fun. And they were no afraid to get up close which I found really surprising. And a little alarming for me. Lol.

(This little calf was all up in my armpit lol).

 (Cows!)

 (This pig had no shame in its dirty game lol).

 (I believe these goats were so friendly because they believed we came with food. We did not.) 

I've never been on a farm. At least not in recent memory. Maybe I've been to one as a child, but I doubt it took my breath away like Carrie's farm did. Maybe it's the mountains that did it.  Or the solitude. Or the fact that I experienced this incredibly majestic and beautiful moment with a friendly horse that allowed my unworthy self to touch its beautiful mane. I don't know. All I know is that dusk was setting on her farm and I was in love with the whole experience. I didn't want it to end. 

We spent the night at Carrie's place, eating junk food and watching Robin Williams movies (may that amazing man rest in peace). The first night we watched One Hour Photo. The creepiness of the movie still lingers. When I slept that night I dreamt of nothing. My mind was at peace. When I woke the next morning I felt renewed and ready for a new adventure. That adventure happened to be the Ausable Chasm. I was ready for it.

Early Morning Musings

Lately, I've taken to Instagram to share some of the early morning poetry that comes into my head. It's been a really cathartic experience for me. I allow my sleepy mind to settle and flow and whatever comes, comes. It doesn't matter if it's perfect. It only matters that it's my words and emotions.   

Everyone should have a ritual in the morning that helps make their life a bit more beautiful. Sometimes there is so much chaos in the day, it distracts you from the beauty and the gift of simply being alive. There's so many moments that I forget how lucky I am. But these morning musings help me to center myself. I feel a bit more receptive to the beauty in my life and I share it with others. 

I will share some of my favorite early morning poetry pieces here. :@) 

You can also follow me on Instagram by the way. My name is Loloroxxx (check me out!). 

(I felt very romantic today. Perhaps it's because of the blue skies and the soft clouds). 

(There's something about the moon and the night that intrigues me. I love the nighttime). 

(I see a pattern with my early morning poetry. The sky is a beautiful mystery to me. I embrace it). 

I hope you've enjoyed the poems that I've shared here today. I'll be sure to share more in the future! 

The Tears of God

Last night the sky opened up. I was asleep in my bed when I heard the loud rumble that indicates thunder. But it was the bright electric flash of lightning that actually opened my eyes. It burst through the blinds in my bedroom, and through my closed lids and I almos gasped with how sharply I was taken out of sleep. But then I calmed down and still dreary I watched the storm through my window. 

Because of the blinds I could only see the sharp blue flash illuminate pieces of the sky and then recede into darkness. The shadows in my room unfurled, their jagged edges stretching across my walls, climbing along my ceiling and then folding back into the blanket of black. 

When I was a small child I was told that the rain were God's tears. I didn't understand. Why would God be crying so much? With selfish, childlike understanding I thought He was crying for my pain, when I got a scrape or bumped my knee. Then as I got a little older I believed that His tears were not just for me, but for the pain of others, the world. I couldn't help but think, God must be sad a lot, it feels like He cries all the time. 

Now as I lay awake watching, listening, I recall my childhood thoughts. I wondered what I would have thought if I had experienced this storm when I was young. This was more than mere sorrowful raindrops falling to the earth. This felt...angry. As if God were opening up the heavens to scream at us all. Maybe he was angry about the wars, about our descent into the comfort of our ignorance and intolerance. Maybe He would scream at us to look at ourselves, to see that we have divided ourselves based on the flimsiest attributes that make us different, rather than the majority of similarities uniting us all. Maybe this was a warning. 

Or a plea. 

Lightning flashed in quick succession. I watched blue crack through black. I watched the sky brighten for the second before darkening. I thought to myself, eons of darkness crumble with just a flicker of light to shine through it. Thunder rumbled, I could swear I heard a cry beneath it. 

Art as Release.

Lately I've discovered the wonderful feeling of expressing myself through painting. I'm a writer, I've always loved the written word. There's something cathartic about taking a pen to paper or even the rhythmic sound of the keyboard tapping under your fingertips and watching words come to life on the page or screen. I love the books and their ability to weave words and worlds. It's my first love. 

But lately, while writing I've had a desire to try something new to exercise my brain and help my creativity flow. So I took a brush to canvas. And I fell in love. I'm no Picasso by any means. But creating a visual image with the colors available to me gives me a sense of pride that I find to be really powerful. And the act of brushing along the canvas, creating lines and shapes and making something coherent or emotional moving with the direction my brush is gliding on the surface is exhilarating. I look at each piece I've made with great pride. It's a happy experience. I'm gonna share some of the paintings I've made right here with you! 

I did Van Gogh's "Starry Night" for my older sister. She wanted a triptych painting (which is a three part painting) so this is part one. 

And here's part two: my "Starry Night Cityscape". 

And here's part three: my "Starry Tree". 

What do you think? Personally I love them and I'm proud of my creations. I'll definitely be doing more in the future. I feel like they are beautiful pieces of me painted onto canvas. They make me happy. 

A Visit to The Cloisters

So a few weekends ago I was able to take something off of my bucket list that I wanted to do before I turn 30. I visited The Cloisters. Ever since I've heard of the place two years ago I've been obsessed with going there. I'd look it up online. I'd tell friends about it. I wanted to experience this place that houses medieval religious art. It was set up like a kind of monastery and I knew I had to go. 

So finally on a beautiful Sunday afternoon my boyfriend and I took the trip to Washington Heights and visited The Cloisters. We walked a bit through Fort Tryon Park (I will revisit Fort Tryon in detail and talk about it in Project Parks. The place is beautiful) and soon we were on the path to The Cloisters. 

Even though it's part of the Metropolitan Museum of Art, it's not located anywhere near it, which was a little confusing. However, upon entering the place I could see why. All the artifacts and sections of monasteries needed a place all of it's own. There's a good deal to see here. I'll show a few things that I loved about this place. 

I think some of my favorite parts were looking at the various gardens and outdoor space The Cloisters provided. There's nothing more amazing to me than the feeling I get when I walk through a pathway or architectural structure and it's as if I've stepped into another world. It's like I've fallen through the rabbit hole 

Again...

And again.

Look at this doorway. All the detail and care is just lovely to behold! 

When I saw parts of the building from this angle it reminded me of a castle. 

And then there was the sunlight shining through the windows. So mystical. 

And the stained glass was quite a treat to look at. 

This is another garden area in The Cloisters. For some reason it reminds me of ancient Egypt. 

The Unicorn tapestries were intricate (some were graphic with scenes of the unicorn being attacked) but each tapestry held its own beauty. 

Another outdoor area!

When I saw this dragon paiting I nearly fell over. It's gorgeous! Look at the colors and the serpentine bend of it's tail. 

The Virgin Mary and Jesus. 

This triptych painting took my breath away. The colors were so rich!

My experience here was calming as I surrounded myself with all the artwork and sculptures and beautiful gardens. If you've never been to The Cloisters, please do yourselves a favor and go. 

To Be Carefree

I'm trying to remember what it meant to be carefree. It seems like an act of pure will now to exist in this world and just let things be. I just can't seem to manage it. It's like something that only children can master, the art of enjoying everything in the moment as it is without fear or worry or the burden of what the next day brings. I envy those little beings. They are able to laugh and cry without any shame. They don't care if you're staring at them or judging them. They live. And in that living there is something freeing, because they don't let the things of this world worry them. They are in the moment. This moment. Right now.

My moments consist of memories. Every single act I make reminds me of another time. It's like constant deja vu. For example, reading in the sunshine always transports me back to my childhood where nothing existed except for me and my books. I could remember the smell of them clearly, earthy and deep. The feeling of anticipation as I turned the page back then felt almost haunting as I'd turn the page of my current book in the present. It was as if I've been transported back in time and I was 12 years old again, with nothing but the end of the story stretching along those hot summer days.

Or I'd walk through a neighborhood in Brooklyn where private houses stood on either side of the street like quiet soldiers and I'd remember the many walks home from school. I'd find myself staring at the shadows of the trees on the sidewalk, jumping on the patches of sunlight that the leaves permitted to shine down. For a moment, I was weightless. My life is constant nostalgia, constant parallels. I live in this world and the next, the next being a world of events already gone by, already lived. They appear like mirages in my vision and I succumb to them, aware of how this life mimics the one of long ago. Except for one main thing. I've forgotten what it means to be carefree, to skip in the patches of sunlight that the trees provide or to laugh and be silly without the self consciousness that comes from caring what others think. Always, always I would turn and look around, worried that someone had caught me in a moment of reverie. I've forgotten how to let things be. Even though the memory sits upon my heart pulsing with each action I take, a mirror of a childhood that follows me wherever I go.

Burden for the Sake of Love

Nobody's perfect. It's something that we tell each other over and over again, reminding the people in our lives that to err is to be human. We make mistakes. We falter. We fall. We worry and stress and we struggle. And many of us do this alone. We keep our problems inside, believing that to let them out or to share our feelings will do no good. Or maybe we are afraid of people seeing a part of us that may be less perfect than the persona we put forth. Many of us find it safer to deal with our burdens by ourselves. But in love, what was once solitary is no longer. That includes our feelings. 

Recently I realized that in a relationship, my worries and fears were no longer just my own. It became the problems and worries of the person I was in a relationship with. It bothered me, seeing that my problems spilled over into his. I'm essentially a solitary person. I deal with my worries as I've always had. Alone. And yet here was this other person asking me to let it go, let it out and talk. And when I refused, believing that this was the right way to handle things, I'd see the hurt on his face and know that it wasn't. It wasn't. So I'd talk and cry and feel very exposed and vulnerable. And he would reassure and gently offer solutions or advice. Or he would just listen because that's maybe all I needed at that moment, an ear to soak in the anxiety plaguing me at night. and I would feel a little sadness bloom in my heart because I've just done something I didn't want to do. I've burdened him. 

But let's switch this around. Let's say I was paying him a visit and I noticed that he seemed withdrawn, sad, distant. Maybe he was talking less or when he did respond it would be with impatience in his voice. I'd wonder what was wrong. I'd want to know. I'd ask him and maybe he would say it was nothing but I would know otherwise. So I'd give him a little space. But in truth I'd be waiting for him to talk. I'd want him to let me in and talk to me about what's bothering him. And if he did I would comfort him and reassure him and offer some advice or a solution if I could. I would listen if that was all that was needed, just so he can get these feelings off his chest. I would willingly accept his burden, that emotional weight that he has been carrying with him. And the reason I would is simple. 

I love him. And because I love him I am willing to accept some of the weight of his burden. When I think about it in those terms I realize that the reason we allow the people we care about to vent or to cry on our shoulders is because we love them. And allowing them to let go is a way of showing them that we accept that they are not perfect, that they falter; and we offer our arms, our shoulders, our ears, our hearts in support. This is something we do willingly, not because we are forced (though if you are being forced to be a receptacle for all of those powerful emotions or if venting also coincides with emotional/physical or any other kind of abuse then there is something very damaging happening in that relationship and I would advise you to seek help).

It is like the sculpture of Atlas, holding the world on his shoulders. We can see how the weight of the world burdens him and yet he doesn't drop it. The world is beautiful. The world is filled with some much to love. It is worth the weight and the struggle. And so he keeps holding on. 

That is the nature of loving another. You are each other's wings. You keep them from falling. You are the shoulders that carry their weight. And they are yours. Together you find balance and all that may try to bring you down, is lifted up.