healing

On Thanks and Giving.

/ Gin Getz / Leave a comment

 

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tall grass and shallow snow

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transformation

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In consideration and reflection of the year long intensive study of midwifery, spirituality and life of which I have been consumed.

I have recently been coming to a very strong and beautiful understanding of the teachings within my own heart. For me, as with most things in life, this did not come without resistance and a little bit of kicking and screaming.Mostly, however, it came through letting go, dropping both veils and armor, and seeing the truth within myself which these studies have forced me to look at.

We are not meant to blindly follow nor be anything we are not meant to become, unless we find contentment as sheep in a flock. Not all of us do. Some will question, some will quest. For us, by diving deep with open mind and open heart, we grow, like an in-breath, and with time are filled with a greater understanding and clarity. How could we not? Or do we resist change and refuse the view before us? Remain closed, comforted within the past, heads safety tucked within the wool.

Inevitably, we are challenged to look at truth, within and around us. The truth may be a little different for each of us, but for all of us, the process of finding the way is not always easy, often somewhat painful, frustrating, and frightening. Such is the process of awakening or becoming. It is expansive, and in the course of expanding, we are often left with uncertain boundaries and in the confusing state of seeing how much we do not know. At some point, the bottom drops out, and we are left to… fall or fly. And then, in that ethereal state, there is where the work is done, when all else has been stripped away, deep down within our souls, in the dark corners we may not have dared to look before.

The more healed, whole and understanding we then work to become, the more healing, wholeness and understanding we can give. This is the greatest gift. For ourselves and in turn for others.  Are we becoming better, or are we simply becoming more? If the answer is “more,” we will inevitably find ourselves surrounded by more choice, and more community. As we become, so we belong.

Funny how a solitary path can eventually bring us closer to others. Simple as it sounds, perhaps it is because of more love, starting with ourselves, and then feeling we have more to give to others. In the absence or weakening of ego, we are left with weakening power of fear, defensiveness, judgment and anger. What can replace that void, in time, but love and knowing? And so, we open our hearts, and find them full and connected. Our community, far away as they may be, is revealed. Although we may be drawn together initially as strong, self directed (wo)men, because of our connection, we find ourselves even stronger, though possibly with a more gentle touch. Such teachings, such shared wisdom, and such support in time help us come face to face with our own unique formula (and thus practice and offerings) for care based on truth, compassion, bravery, and love.

Listening to each other’s stories, and being a part of the community, are powerful reminders and confirmations of this understanding, and living proof of this growing feeling. The comfort of community is the staff upon which we must at times lean. For any form of growth for the sake of found truth, not given truth, and then any resulting following of the natural choice of paths to pursue these truths (in my case, this is midwifery) is a political act. Whether we wish it to be or not, all of us following this calling will at times be up against the conforming, controlling majority, and will be labeled the rebel, risk taker, black sheep, and of course, the witch. Almost amusingly when you see the irony, we may be called ignorant and irresponsible, though our knowledge and understanding may be far greater and deeper than those pointing fingers. Most may not have to endure conflict and condemnation, though in time, all of us will have our challenges, our story.

At 49, having lived and continuing to live an untamed and unconventional life, I still feel I am just beginning. To understand, to know, to belong. And the more I learn, the more I am aware of what I still need to know.  Likewise, how can we know what we need if we have never see these things before?

And so we must trust. And so must learn to let go, like the essence of the Tao. And that, then, is when truth is revealed.

“When I let go of what I am, I become what I might be.” ~ Lao Tzu

So thank you, my dearest ones, for extending the community and allowing me to be a part of this sisterhood. I am so honored to be with you on this journey. May we continue graciously joining voices – expanding in our hearts and in our circles – supporting each other in supporting others.

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gunnar von getz

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he's back

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On love and healing.

/ Gin Getz / 31 Comments

On love and healing and crazy connections from opposite hemispheres with similar souls.

Written by the Two Virginias

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ginny and gin

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Healing is different things to different persons, as matters we seek healing from are different for us all.

Life’s lessons learned in healing from hard times.  The power of reaching out.  Helping others through care and compassion.  Oddly enough, we find wonderful capacity of healing when we turn our attentions from own troubles, be they physical, mental or a combination thereof, towards someone else.  In helping others, we do in turn help ourselves.  But finding the authenticity in our motives is essential.  When our caring becomes complete – fully for the pure good of the other person – magical things happen.  Depression may be lifted.  And we may walk again.

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In the past, we both have found the power of healing from horses and creativity.

The healing power of horses is deeply powerful yet beautifully simple.  Perhaps it is our compassion for these mighty and gentle creatures, the nurturing we give to them, the essence they impart with us when we do no more than stand beside them and burrow our noses into their warm musky sides, or sit proudly upon their backs and move in wondrous ways. We are stronger, more complete, more humble, more full.

As for creativity, Ginny is a painter, Gin a writer.  The expression of any art is an inner release. Paint and the written word can be forms of bleeding forth, purging ourselves, enriching others.  From Ginny’s passionate gesture drawings of horses before her to her painting of a radiant spine after hers was broken, to Gin’s writing of the drama and trauma of family feuds and the loss of foals on the family ranch in her recent memoir, The Color of the Wild, an intimate look at life in an untamed land. (2014 NorLights Press).  In our art, we both have learned too that healing it is not just in the creation, but in the sharing.  Art is meant to be seen, books made to be read.

A combination of the two stories and two women is passionately shared in the upcoming memoir/biography, Dancing in the Wind, a Tale of Two Virginias. “Two wild women, one debilitating disease, and the adventure of writing in the Patagonia winds. This book is based upon the life of a remarkable woman, Virginia Tice Neary Carrithers, and our time together in the wilds of Patagonia.  A tangled web of a tale as seductive as the Argentine mountains in which the story takes place. Intended to be biography of a wonderful, wacky woman who has lived with Multiple Sclerosis for nearly forty years, this tale turns into unique take on telling a story, told by a writer who becomes a part of the world in which she set out to write.”

It is this process of healing and sharing that brought us together and now is bringing the book to fruition.

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A third essential element of healing is found in the pure giving of oneself for the benefit of another.  This is probably the most powerful of all.  And probably the most difficult to learn and practice.

Ginny (Virginia Neary Tice Carrithers)

Currently, I am working on healing myself from the effects of Multiple Sclerosis which I have been living with for nearly forty years.  At times, like now, I am wheel chair bound but don’t give up on being up and dancing again.  Soon!

In the process of working on the healing of my body, I continue to try to heal others through reaching out, listening, offering inspiration.  For many years, I worked to organize and inspire fundraisers and awareness events for the National MS Society, then focusing on my family and my art. Now I continue to do what I can to reach others and help them through the healing process in part through my website CreativityHeals.org.  The greatest gift I can give now is my story.  Hopefully you will find inspiration in that (as well as some entertainment!).

Gin (Virginia Tone Getz)

My troubles have seemed slight in comparison.  For years we struggled with dividing lands and trying to find a place to call home.  Now I have claimed a mountain in Colorado as home (though have a part of me waiting in Patagonia) and my struggles go far beyond the personal as I watch the wilds outside my window first turn from green to brown with the mass infestation of the Spruce Beetle, and now suffer the devastation of tremendous fires and floods.

Distracted by the destruction of the natural world around, I found myself in a great depression.  It’s pretty amazing how debilitating our own minds can be.  And then how brilliant.  As the illness was created in my own mind, so there would I find the path for healing.  At some point, I realized it was time to “get over it.”  I returned to working on the manuscript of The Tale of Two Virginias.  Part way through, I came to this section of being on the rocks above the wild river with the blinding sun and twisting winds and after months of searching, finding myself finally on the rock that was Ginny’s intimate place of prayer.  I felt her presence there at the time and the resulting feeling was… well, I describe it in great detail in the book.  Powerful.  That’s it in a nutshell.  So here I was back in Colorado and just reading that brought me back there, along that river, and in the presence of Ginny.  And suddenly, I felt the warmth of the sun and the passion of the wind and the exhilaration of Ginny’s beautiful energy.  And I began to heal.   Starting with returning to the power of giving what I can of myself, my writing, to help others.

The fourth essential element for healing, and the greatest of all, we must remember, is love.  Love for each other, the land, animals, and our personal spiritual beliefs.

I think Ginny had been trying to tell me this all along.

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ginny y gin

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Into the burn.

/ Gin Getz / 6 Comments

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into the burn 16

 

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Yesterday we went into the burn.

Down Box Canyon, along and on top of the Rio Grande, from the River Hill Camp Ground all the way through the Box to the road on the lower side of mountain where the hills are speckled by vacant subdivisions and within sight of a paved road, though we saw no signs of so-called civilized life stirring. That’s not what we were searching for. Though I sincerely thank our dear friends and summer neighbors for helping make this possible by bringing our truck down the mountain so we could get back up. What a welcome site that was to see rattling down the road towards us when we made it through.

Eight hours, about as many miles and it seemed like we each hauled that many pounds of food just to keep us going.  My husband, my son, my dog and me.

Today I’ll share only my photos, not my words.  I hope the images speak for themselves, each to all in a different way, but words of truth. These images are completely untouched, only reduced in size to share with you.

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into the burn 17

 

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into the burn 15

 

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into the burn 18

 

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into the burn 14

 

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in the burn 3

 

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into the burn 13

 

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in the burn 12

 

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in the burn 4

 

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in the burn 11

 

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in the burn 10

 

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in the burn 5

 

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in the burn 6

 

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in the burn 9

 

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in the burn 8

 

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in the burn

 

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looking back up box

 

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from box canyon trail

 

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from our mailbox

 

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littel squaw

 

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on road home

 

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in the burn 2

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A turning point

/ Gin Getz / 9 Comments

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rainbow gin 2

(photo of me taking photos of this beautiful land, by Golde Wallingford)

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A shift in the winds.  Perhaps it is the smell of horses.  The grounding ritual, if I may be so bold to give it that name, of shoveling manure.  The smell of a horse’s neck and soft touch of the silky spot under the mane. Doesn’t matter where you are. That side of the equator or this one.  The smell remains the same.  It does not bring me back there.  But lands me here more solidly.  Funny such a simple thing like smell or shoveling can complete you.

Arrived.  Adjusting.  Settling in.  A beautiful world.  Beautiful people.  Overwhelmed with love and light, tears and laughter, constant noise from early morning roosters to the late night barking of dogs, people buzz about like harmless flies, music, crickets, birds sounding like a pond full of  frogs, the pounding of horses feet on packed gravel, and a language I am trying so hard to understand.

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jorge and mares (640x483)

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jorge and tornado (640x427)

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At times I am a window, looking out, quietly absorbing, soaking it all in.  Let it shine.

And then the gift of rain.  Smelling of a different earth.  Patagonian soils.  Old and rich and proud. Arid mountains, expanding views.  Here at the casca, so safely tucked into the trees as a home in winds should be, shading arms enwrapping. Sweet, sweet rain.  Cleanse me of the past and pour me into the future as I float on the languid waves of here and now, these rolling hills as big and wide and open as the sea.

Rain, the song as sweet as the smell.  Fat, swollen, heavy drops falling by the bucket full, each one dancing to its own wild rhythm upon the metal roof, rolling together to the puddle on the sandy earth just before my dusty boots, kicked out before me as I sit on the stump of wood under the eve just outside my new front door.

How funny to finally check in on the computer and remember back “home” there would be snow.  It would be cold. How funny to consider how little time I have looked back. My apologies to those I love.  Change is both overwhelming and self absorbing.

If it were easier to post, I would share more with you.  The trip, tips on travelling with a dog, beautiful new friends beginning with Barbara in Buenos Aires, and here our dear Ginny, like the sister so many ask if we are, and Golde and Jorge and little Milton who is happy to play with my dog, the horses, the air, the culture, the language, drinking mate and taking siestas (I have learned are the best time for finding a rare moment quiet enough to write).  The hardest part is losing my solitude.  That is hard indeed for the intentionally lonely soul.

I am not big on looking back, though I want to share stories and details and parts of this story that I think you might enjoy reading.  Where does each day go, as we sit down for dinner at the hour I used to turn in to bed?

It will come in time.  Patience is the greatest lesson here.  At least the most obvious.  There are others.  There will be more.  More important?  I try not to judge, only to learn and do.

The internet may or may not be working, and the power outs regularly.  A reminder of my adoration of living off grid, and gratitude that we can connect over the internet at all, in Colorado and here in Patagonia.

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ginny riding 2 (640x427)

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This is what MS can look like.

To watch Ginny up on the horse today.  Exhilarating to see.  And to imagine the joy, the cup overflowing within her, being in a place she belongs, comfortably, confidently. Seeing her energy rise. Her posture resume. One could say a queen upon her throne, but without the airs and pretention, and in fact, a most earthy act indeed. The Phoenix with wings which the horse has given to us.   Beautiful indeed.  An awakening.  A slow and gentle healing, if for no longer than the time in a place this woman feels a home, her self.  In the saddle.  And yet, I feel it is longer lasting than that.  There is more.  She is brighter, more alive.  I see an improvement already in her, and I wonder how far she will progress in this positive directions.  I am pushing her.  Doing less for her on one hand.  Standing up to her (I say with a smile, for we are two strong women that at times will butt heads in the most graceful way, with power and words, as we women are known to do).  Forcing her to find more strength within, for I know there is plenty.  Challenging her creativity.  Encouraging her to walk more.  To focus more (how like changing winds she can be).  To keep direction and keep it positive and get things done. There is so much to do.  I am thinking she should draw.  Where is that peach with the leaves?  She wanted to draw that.  Creativity heals, she says, and she knows.

Enough.  For now I sleep.  I cannot absorb it all.  Sleep allows time and space to soak it in.  So here I am, typing away as my sweetie breathes deep and warm in the early stages of the deepest of sleep beside me, and I prepare to close down this fantastic tool called computer, and return to the most primal state I can. Sleep, wrapped around my sweetie.

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group shot (640x427)

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The introduction

/ Gin Getz / 12 Comments

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sunset

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Three months ago we met, though still not face to face.  A strange coincidence.  Those seem to be the best kind of meetings, have you noticed?  Something about the things we cannot explain.  She told me there are no coincidences.  I don’t know what I believe, but I do believe getting to know Ginny has been somehow magical.  I wonder how much more so when we finally meet.  In a way she’s turned my world upside down already.  Because of her, Bob, Gunnar and I are heading to the other side of the world.  Patagonia.

Let me tell you a little bit about Ginny.  Oddly enough, I know a lot.  I have spent these three months pouring through notes, writings and information on websites that she compiled over the past several years covering her life stories, from birth to present.  What a life it is!

Gin and Ginny.  You might just get confused.  Don’t worry.  You’ll get used to it if you stick around a while.

I am Gin, and just the writer.  Working to put the pieces of the puzzle together into hopefully one beautiful  picture.  A memoir manuscript with consistency, interest and intrigue, capturing the essence of this remarkable woman.

The story is Ginny’s.

The adventure, well, that’s all of ours.  Even yours if you’re ready to go for the ride.

Tomorrow, we leave our mountain and begin the journey south.

The fun begins.

And so, now.

Finally, an introduction.

For those who have been wondering where I am going and why.

For those who would like to “meet” a truly remarkable woman.

Tonight, I share this treat.  An introduction to Ginny Carrithers.

Following is a rough draft, a condensed bio of Ginny Carrithers, and an introduction to her memoirs.

For now, we shall call this “Dancing in the Winds of Patagonia”

One remarkable woman’s inspiring adventures of living life fully with MS.

Welcome to the world of Virginia Tice Neary Carrithers.  Welcome to a world that covers two hemispheres and spreads wide across the worlds of the Aspen art scene, Thoroughbred horseracing, jet setting and a fairy tale world where  Prince Charming still sits at the head of the table.  This is the story of life as wild as the land she chose to settle in, and as fast the winds that now embrace her.  Ginny’s is story of extremes and challenges.  Beginning with a childhood laced with trauma, Ginny has confronted, overcome and learned to live with physical and emotional obstacles throughout her life, and managed to come out laughing.  Her drive and passion led her to the highs that are hard to keep up with, and lows that would be devastating to so many of us.  Hers is a story of living the high life and ultimately choosing the simple life.

On the surface, this is a fun, fast and racy story of one woman’s wild journey generated by her own strength, positive outlook, and brilliant, shining character.  It is a story of the power of creativity and nature.  Deeper down, this story is one of personal growth, healing, and inspiration that the reader (viewer) will want to cheer, cry, scream and ultimately hug and rejoice for the celebration of character that Ginny Carrithers is.

Her story begins in 1949 in New Orleans, Louisiana. From the beginning, her strength and resolve are challenged with life threatening bouts of the croup.  Hers was an odd and lonely childhood on private island with a psychiatrist father, and mother that had her first nervous breakdown and was institutionalized when Ginny was only nine.  From her earliest days, art, horses, and nature where her consolation and inspiration.

Life begins to bloom at age 15 as her body blossoms.  Her world widens and begins to speed up with boys, cars, and wild rides to Aspen with her best friend, Janice.   Yet again, Ginny’s world is severely shaken by her brother’s car crash which left him forever in a wheelchair, her father’s suicide, and her mother again institutionalized.

With her great resolve and joy of living, Ginny continues to create her place in the brilliant world filled with wealthy and powerful men,  painting,  and horse racing in New Orleans where she lived  the young beautiful life.   Her notable accomplishments include  becoming the first licensed woman in Louisiana to train Thoroughbred racehorses, commissions for her equestrian art, modeling and acting and being a body double/stunt woman in a James bond movie.  This woman was indeed living the “racy” life, with a whirlwind of travel, power, passion, and fame.

In 1976 at the age of 27, Ginny has become paralyzed and is given the diagnosis of MS.  A chronic, progressive, disabling disease. And still this woman is not slowed  down, does not back down.  For Ginny, it opened new doors.  After a year and half of paralysis, Ginny goes into remission and begins her work for the National MS Society, becoming a world-wide spokes person, creating and donating her own artwork, raising millions of dollars over the years, creating promotion and awareness with her talents of horse racing and art, and inspiring so many, not only those affected by the disease, but so many touched by and finding themselves in the embrace of this exciting woman.

It is during this time that Ginny meets Ashley Carrithers.  The year is 1986. Another one charmed by this lovely and vivacious woman!  It is because of this connection that two new worlds are opened up for Ginny.  The first is Patagonia.  The second is motherhood.  Ultimately, it is the combination of these two that transform Ginny to the next stage of her life.

As their relationship begins, Ginny is living the Princess Dream come true, continuing the jet set lifestyle though now between hemispheres.  There she is on the Estancia, riding her white Arabian, continuing to evolve with her artistic endeavors. playing polo, flying out on their private airstrip.  She is on one hand the wealthy Patrona, juggling baby, paintbrush, estancias, a challenging marriage, building airstrips, buying land, travel, travel, travel…   Yet all the while the darkness of MS follows her about like an uncomfortable shadow.  A shadow that at times can be fierce and cruel and painful and all consuming.  And  somewhere between those two extremes, she is learning  about healing.  She sleeps outside alone on the ground.  Builds her fire, drinks her mate.   She finds a deeper, stronger place of visions and medicine cards and animal guides.

After the divorce, Ginny continues the back and forth between North and South America, and ultimately chooses to remain in Patagonia. She is drawn to remain because of her daughter.  Because of the simpler life.  The grounding.  Nature.  What matters most.  She finds her own strength, learning to live without the Prince Charming fairytale and become her own woman. Still the artist.  The artist of life.  She is continually challenged as she deals with the progression of her disease, her broken back, her independence and loneliness, her desire to continue to give and reach out to and share with others, her connection to the earth, her creativity, her horses, her limitations, and her broad and beautiful spirit shining possibly stronger than ever.

This brings us to The Present.  This brings us to Ginny, today, dealing with a debilitating disease while living in the dramatic setting of Patagonia.  And still finding ways to give, motivate, inspire.  New ways to share beauty and life.  This is her spirit.  Brilliant and warm as we all have seen or are seeing.

This is Ginny Carrithers.

On the surface one sees a beautiful woman and talented artist living a dream come true complete with fairytale lifestyle, world travel, wild adventures, fast horses, and elite connections.  The high life.  Look again and see the lows of trauma, drama, loss, and the side of the same passionate, vivacious, driven woman learning to live with MS.  Multiple Sclerosis for some.   Messenger of Sprit for Ginny.  MS became her call for transformation and inner growth, for waking up and living her life real, strong, self guided, empowered.

The greatest element of this story is still just beyond my reach.  It is within Ginny. Her true essence, her spirit if you will, which you can read so much about on paper or the computer, but no doubt will change me and complete this story.   After months of becoming relatively obsessed with the life of this remarkable woman, we will finally be meeting.  And there, my friends, lies the missing link to this story.

And so it is that the rest of the story, in fact the part we will begin with, starts there.   Next week in Patagonia.

In the meanwhile, I can promise you this.  Ginny’s story is a wild ride.  Hold onto your hats, sit back, buckle up, and enjoy the ride.  Ginny’s story will take you first to places you’ve only dreamed of, and then to a place and space within that you secretly long to be.

(for more information, please see Ginny’s web site at CreativityHeals.org)

Well, sorry to leave you hanging. You’ll have to read the book to find out all the juicy details.  In the meanwhile, stick around and enjoy the adventure as Gin meets Ginny, the Mountain Man leaves his mountain again because of his woman’s crazy whims, and the Pup heads to Patagonia.

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frozen snow

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Where is this going?

/ Gin Getz / 3 Comments

 

 

My apologies for the incomplete post sent to subscribers on Monday.  Seems the pictures made it, the text got lost in cyber space.  I am sorry for the mess up.  Fortunately for me, I saved the text in a Word document, and was able to make the corrections.  If you have not seen the proper post, please click here.  Anyway, a good reminder to self:  Back up, back up, back up…

 

Today our country heals.  Months of negativity and division, for what?  Really, I don’t get it.  Enough!  It’s over, folks. Our country spoke.  We spoke.  Accept it.  Live with it.  Love it or leave it, but stop complaining.  I’m done with the negativity, and opinions and beliefs that are better kept private.  (What you do behind closed doors is YOUR business.  Please, can we keep it that way?  I really don’t want to know…)

Time to move on.   To good things.  If you want them better, make them better. Stop whining.  Bottom line.  Wake up, smell the coffee and see the sunshine.  Life is good.

Back to where I was before The Detour.  Today, I share with you this:

 

Where is this going?

 

We turn within.

This is the season of solitude.

Darker days.

Coldness descends.  Slowly.

The trees stripped. Exposed.  Nothing to hide.

Barren.  Gold fades to brown fades to grey.  We await what we know will come, when our world becomes swathed with white.

It is coming. Winter.  When our chilly cocoon enwraps us, cuts us off, shuts us in, draws us together, those of us that remain. We’re in this together.

Times are changing.  The weather faster than the people.  November is not what it used to be. Eleven Novembers and I’ve yet to see a storm stay, stick around, and shut us off this time of year, but the threat chased the people off long ago.  Stories of the one that gotcha.  Vehicles caught and stuck and buried and remaining until the following June.

No longer.  Seems like late autumn is becoming a lingering of summers end.  Giving us glimpses only of early winter.  Tempting, teasing, eluding.  Broken promises.

Fifty degrees at ten thousand feet mid day today.

Elk in tall timber at high noon as we ride above tree line, southern slopes completely clear of the last little storm.  They are not seeking solace from hunters, who have left long ago, but needing the shade.  Comfort in the coolness of trees.

Where is everyone, we ask each other, just the two of us, outside on another crisp and cool November morn?  Lunch on the deck, afternoons in shirt sleeves.  Sun leaving a line on exposed flesh where the leather of my worn work gloves ends.

Someone else should still be here.  We feel selfish.  Our little secret.

Too much good weather.  It’s exhausting.  Just when you thought it was due time to take it easy and work inside.  Balancing my books will be very late this year.

We take a break and drive to town.

Quiet streets and empty sidewalks.  Every face is familiar.  The few that remain, hard core, cold blooded, solitary in camaraderie.  Silent understanding.

Driving through Creede at winter’s dawn.  You know every truck and every driver.  You wave.  That is my favorite part.  No more anonymity of summer.  No strangers remain.

Front row parking outside and the only one shopping inside at Rare Things and San Juan Sports.  Room at the bar at Tommy Knockers.  Tables to choose from at Kip’s.  Time for hugs.  For catching up.  For another beer.