Creative Spark from Jenifer Cartland

I recently had the opportunity to tour the ruins of an ancient castle on a Greek island. The views of the Aegean Sea and the surrounding hills were spectacular. But I was instead attracted to the castle walls themselves, and drawn to ‘play among the ruins.’

The walls are hundreds of years old, decayed and complex — with plants growing out of them and smaller stones, sloppily applied concrete, and even pebbles and slivers of brick (now worn and rounded) used to repair them. It made me think of graffiti and how it can be chaotic, desperate and beautiful all at once. And I wondered about the souls that repaired the walls over the centuries, shoving and pounding in all sorts of stones to reinforce walls that would one day fall down regardless. Did they see their work as an act of love? Were they changed by it?

At a deeper level, the castle walls drew me to reflect on strength and vulnerability — how those two together are part of resilience, and how as we each go through life, we nurture both our strength and our vulnerability so that we can bring joy and love to the sometimes hard challenges we face.

The words of spiritual writers began to wander through my head. Two came to mind who seemed to understand how fruitful it could be to ‘play in the ruins’ of difficult things :

Within our spiritual journey … suffering becomes something that has been given to you to show where your mind is still stuck. It’s a vehicle to help you go to work. That’s why it is called grace.  (Ram Das)

Whatever your fate is, … say, ‘This is what I need.’ It may look like a wreck, but go at it as though it were an opportunity, a challenge. If you bring love to that moment — not discouragement — you will find the strength is there… This is when the spontaneity of your own nature will have a chance to flow. (Joseph Campbell)

When I returned home, the idea of ‘playing in the ruins’ came back. We had rescued a birch tree a few years ago that had been overtaken with invasive vines; it is much healthier now, though still carries some of the injuries from the vines. In this poem, I reflect on the suffering and resilience of the birch tree, as well as how caring for the tree became part of my own growth.

Nursing Gray Birch

You lean now
having had your soft wood bent hard
by straining vines
at an age too late
to grow around the scars. 

Each morning without fail 
I wish you did not lean so
but then I remember 
the way you simply bounced back 
into almost-place

when we cut the vines from your branches. 
And I was sure as we released you
I heard a sigh of joy
from deep within 
your heartwood. 

Now, today, you sway freely,
though leaning and humpbacked.
You carry whatever shadows fall upon you,
whatever animals climb through you
or peck into your fragile cambium.

Now, today, I reflect on your shape,
your ease and your burdens,
and find  
that in this work of nursing 
and being nursed --

unexpectedly and contrary-wise --
my own faltering, my own enduring
draw a sigh of joy 
from deep within 
my own heartwood.