motivation

On Seasons and Enlightenment

/ Gin Getz / 5 Comments

~

spring 2

~

Spring. The season of letting go.

 

So begins the natural year.  Rebirth.  New life.  Last years’ leaves enrich this year soil.  Last year’s blossoms have become this year’s seeds.  Nourish them. Give them room. Allow them to take root. Tend to them wisely and they will grow.

 

Now is the time to get grounded. We can start with Spring Cleaning.

 

~

 

So it’s Spring. Here in the high country it comes in small doses.  Rations.  Little tantalizing tastes. And then another snow storm hits and your world is white and you wonder if that bright green grass was just a dream…

 

Now’s the time of fixing fences, dragging pasture, shoeing horses, getting the stock (and ourselves) in shape for the work of the upcoming season, clearing trail, and up here, always gathering fire wood.

 

All that fun stuff aside, this is the time of year I’m Cabin Cleaner Extraordinaire. Not really the most romantic part of my position in life, but the true meat-and-potatoes. The part that makes the rest of it not only possible, but worthwhile. The part that’s about giving, sharing, gratitude and humility. Without which, well, what’s the point?  Self-indulgence only gets you so far.  It gets old fast.  At least, one can hope it will.

 

Anyway, we run a guest ranch. Six rental cabins. All sitting shut down, unused, gathering dust and cob webs and muddy prints and dirt from who-knows-where but there it is, for the past six months.  Each one to be transformed into spic and span, and warm and welcoming with the touch of my magic broom.

 

See?  Plenty of practice in the spring cleaning department.

 

So here I am, with a bucket and mop and wet rag, and I get to thinking…

 

~

 

About enlightenment.

 

What does cleaning have to do with enlightenment?

 

A lot!

 

First, let’s considered this. What is enlightenment?  For definition, look around at those you might consider enlightened.  Are they in one place and remaining there stagnant?  Or are they involved in a process?  I think we often look at (are told) enlightenment is one single state rather than a way of being and an ongoing journey, an evolutionary existence. Like the seasons, a continuum of birth, growth, death, transformation, rebirth.

 

We look to authorities for the answers, when they are within us and around us all along.  Learn to listen. Quietly. To the sound of rain on soft spring soil and the rustle of newly emerging leaves.

 

What do you believe?  Not what you were told, given or born into, but deep inside yourself if you dare to take the time to look.  Tell me about those truths.

 

I see enlightenment not as some final product and divine state, but as the simple process of conscious being… which begins with letting go, lightening up.

 

So, lighten up!

 

No, it doesn’t end there. It doesn’t end. But that’s where it starts. So let’s start.

 

~

 

Enlightenment need not be something exclusive and elusive.  We give it high airs and think it’s out of reach, some unobtainable state reserved for the special few.  The term is often misused or over used, as in, “I am,” “He is,” “She is,” and, “You, sorry, are not…”

 

That’s not true enlightenment.  That’s ego.  Let that one go too.

 

Enlightenment is within us all. It is without judgment. Without expectation, assumptions, demands.  It is without heirs, pretentions and prejudice.  And it is not like a light bulb that once we flick the switch, it’s on for good.  It too needs tending.  It ebbs and flows like waves and wind. We don’t get somewhere and remain there. It is not one place.  It is a never ending process. It is life and beyond life.

 

It’s all of us, all the time. It’s do-able It’s a state we all are in, any time we change and grow and even try to understand.  Any time we make room within us to open up and clearly see and be.  It’s not always big stuff.  Start small. Start with cleaning. Cleansing. Letting go. Opening up.

 

This is just the first step. The first season.

 

Cleaning, cleansing, clearing yourself of what you no longer need.  Getting rid of old baggage.

 

Yes, it’s that simple. And that hard.  Because we all know how hard it is sometimes to just let go.  We’re quick to cling, to hold on tight, and define ourselves by things we’ve had or happened in the past.  We’re slow to see how bound we are until we begin counting and releasing our attachments.

 

So, we start by letting go, lightening up. Get rid of that stuff.  Shed.

 

Enlighten!

 

~

 

The path to enlightenment is different for us all.  I live in and with nature. So for me, it’s easier to see life as a natural process. Here’s how I see it work around me, and thus within me:

 

  1. Spring:  Clean up.  Let go. Lighten up. Enlighten.

 

Spring cleaning of the body, mind and soul… and cabins and land.

Take care of them all.

Everything matters; nothing matters.

Consolidate.  Prioritize. Pare down to the basics. Get rid of the baggage.

Clear yourself of judgments, expectations, assumptions, demands, criticism.

Just be.

Be curious about the beautiful world around you.

Be a part of it, not separate and detached.

Fully connect.

Get to know yourself. Unadorned with ones past, possession or pretenses.

Let go of the ego, self definition and social status.

What are you left with?

Fresh soil on a raw spring day.

 

  1. Summer:   Work. Give.

 

This is the season of plenty.

Expansion.

Of growth and abundance and long days and clear connection with heaven and earth through sun and rain and rich soil and the brilliant colors of wildflowers and soft embrace of the wind.

Now it’s time to replenish, fill your self with positive stuff.

Nourish and nurture.  Our body, mind, soul. Those around us, the world we live in.

What matters most?

Whatever works for you, but not just for you:

Pray, meditate, practice, tend to your body, the Earth, give, do and care for others?

We live in the days of choice.

Consider widely.

Choose wisely.

 

  1. Autumn:  Remain. Complete.

 

Autumn.  Settling in, stocking the pantry, storing up for the long winter ahead.

This is the time of completion:  fruit ripens, seeds form, leaves are released and branches laid bare.

This is time of bringing the life blood back to the roots where it will remain for the long cold season ahead.

Here’s the one thing often missing. The key to making the equation work.

It’s called commitment.

Sticking with it.

Completion of a task well done.

Commitment is not a four letter word.  It won’t bite.  Try it.

Commitment is not a popular word these days.  Old fashioned.

As in, “Oh, really, you’re still working there?”  “You’re still doing that?”  “You’re still with him?”

Yes, yes, and yes.

And this what allows us to become really good at something, get stuff done, complete what we start out to accomplish, be true to our word, deepen our relationships, complete one thing so we can move on to  the next, and know for sure we can get more done.
Not to say it’s about accomplishment. That is not the goal.  But accomplishment as part of the natural process.  How can you grow and move beyond without completing and concluding?

Are we as flighty as the wind or as solid as the earth we stand upon?

Are we above this earth or a part of it?

Depending on your beliefs… and respecting others for theirs.
I see the cow elk running through the woods with her calf and the red-tailed hawked soaring above screeching her return to the mountain and the purple heads of the monkshood coyly emerging and hear the song of the Mighty Rio echoing on the cliffs.

This is the world around me.

And I am honored to be of this earth.

My ego does not place me greater than this, but connected to it all.

 

  1. Winter:  Dormancy.

 

Here in the high country in winter, in the vast whiteness that it is,

Just be.

Nothing more.

This is your time of stillness,

Of being,

Until you must, for you will, because life moves, we move.

We are neither static not stagnant.

This is the secret of the seasons we are not told

But we observe

In winter.

The time to settle in and go deep and in our quiet slumber, find our inner truths.

This is when change happens, we become.

We are constantly evolving, growing.  We are not inert beings (read:  stick in the mud?)

Change is a certain part of our human existence.

No, this doesn’t mean bag the commitment and try something new at every whim.

It means complete, release, and evolve.  Flow with the process.

It means to take the time to consider.  Where are you? Where did you come from? Where are you going?  Where are you  here and now?

Understand the seasons and be a part of them.

Let one blossom fade and fall off while a new bud begins to form, and a blossom opens.

Don’t get stuck in the mud, but know where to grow strong roots.

Are we meant to rise above our human existence, or make the most of it?

Transcend from this beautiful world, or be humble and grateful of the world around us, find our place and understand why we are here?

 

~

 

And so the cycles of the seasons continues.

 

Are we ever in just one stage?  Only for brief moments. Like the seasons, we are ever changing.  Because the nature of life is movement and change, and so we flow. This is our evolutionary existence.

 

~

 

Well, back to the beginning.

 

Spring.  Mud.  And cleaning.

Enlightening.

 

So there you have it. Spring cleaning.  It’s not just about dust and cobwebs. It can be a first step to enlightenment.  But instead of cabins, it’s our heart, mind and soul.  Dust of those cob webs.  Get rid of the tracks that came in from who or where we don’t even remember. Clean up the old pile of old news in the corner that’s been there since last year.  Make room for new stuff. Good stuff.  Allow yourself time to breathe, and create a space to expand.

 

Oh, and speaking about those cobwebs…

 

~

 

I leave you with this story.

 

Okay, I know a lot of you don’t like spiders and find them really creepy, but for the sake of this story, try to forget that for just a moment and hear me out.  Think of them as “natural.”  And there I was, out in nature. So, spiders have their place.  Believe me, I’m not big on them in my bedroom either…

 

Out on a walk in the woods yesterday, I came across a spider web tucked gracefully under a tree with speckled light illuminating the fine silks and a small gray spider the color of tree bark poised in the center, resting.  I stopped and stared and considered something beautiful from this simple sight.

 

Think about the correlation. She starts with nothing. Air. Space. And into that, she spins her web,

Perfect, beautiful, intricate, with care, symmetry.

 

How long did it take her to create this? She gives it everything she can to create it.  Now it is.

 

And when her hard work is done, she sits and waits.

 

In due time, into that web that she so carefully formed, comes exactly what she needs.  She doesn’t plan or act or lure or try any fancy tricks.  She just creates, with hard work, commitment and care. And then with patience, she allows and trusts and knows…

 

~

spring 6

~

Shared today on Conscious Life News.

~

How to Be Happy

/ Gin Getz / 2 Comments

This article is shared today on Conscious Life News.  It is something I shared here a while back, and a fun reminder (I, for one, could use!).

Happiness may not be the most essential or fulfilling element to our life, but it’s a great place to begin. Why not choose happiness?  It is a simple start.  And then, we develop and grow from there.

I hope you enjoy!

~

gin and bob having an evening in the backyard

~
The five essential habits of positive people (or how to be happy in five easy steps).  

Here’s a great way to start your week on a positive note:  Be happy!  This article will show you how easy it can be.

For most of us, most of the time, in this beautiful world we live in, happiness is matter of choice.  Our personal choice.  And like most everything we choose to manifest, it takes a little work.  With everything we have ahead of us this week (and in our lifetime) to work on, happiness is a simple, easy start.  Give it a try!

~

Imagine if there were a few secret ingredients to a happy life.  You know, inside information, words of wisdom shared by the happiest people. The tricks of the trade for the happy. What works for those people who smile a lot, seem comfortable with who they are, love their work, like the people around them, are nice to be around and nice to those around them.  And imagine if we could learn from these people. Because who among us does not wish to be happier?

 

Say there are a few specific “rules” we can follow to find ourselves happier, what would they be?  They would have to be inspirational, happy, humorous, fun, not preachy, not perfect, things to try for with room to grow and plenty of forgiveness, because we’re human and we always have to try.

 

It’s all about choice.  We can choose happier habits.  Ultimately, we can choose our thoughts, rather than have our thoughts (and emotions) choose our direction.   Not to negate these things – thoughts and emotions are of great value!  It’s just that most of us need to learn to live with them, keep them in line, keep them in their proper place. (Down, Boy!)

 

We can start by following the example of people we admire. People who are trying, against odds, to make the world a better place and find a better place within themselves.  I’m not talking about the happy go lucky folks for whom life’s been just fine and they get through just fine – but never do anything great. What’s wrong with wanting great?  I want to be all I can.  I want to try it all and experience life to the fullest.  That means ups and downs. Good times and bad times.  Make mistakes.  If we don’t fall on our face, we haven’t tried to run.  Life’s too short to walk through.  So, every once in a while, run!  Flat out. And maybe you’ll fall. Get back up, dust yourself off, and when your wounds have healed (if you really must wait that long) try again.  “Only those who have had, can lose,”  I once was told after a great personal tragedy.  Sure, you can go through life playing it safe.  Make it through to the finish line. Slow, steady.  Nothing fancy, no fan fare, no bells and whistles or even a lot of cheers along the way.  Or you can dance your way through life and sometimes stumble.  If you don’t try to dance, you don’t have to worry about making the wrong moves.  But, man, what you’re missing. Oh come on. Give it a try. Dance!

 

Sure, you can’t be happy all the time. Nice idea, but not possible.  Life isn’t that simple or steady.  But you can be happier more often.  It’s up to you.

 

  1. Start your day on a positive note.  Here’s one we learned from Zig Ziglar.  Before you even get out of bed, clap your hands and say something wonderful about yourself, your world, and the day you’ve got ahead of you.  Then this one from Louise Hay. Tell yourself you love yourself.  Look in a mirror if you have one, and say it out loud.  I don’t have a mirror, need glasses to see my own eyes if I did, and I live in a small one-room cabin.  If I woke up clapping my hands and talking in the mirror, I think my husband and son would really worry.  At the very least, I’d wake them up, and those who know me know this: don’t mess with my mornings. This is my sacred time. Do not disturb. So, I keep it quiet, let them sleep, and try to say these things in my head.
  2. Patience.  Learn to slow down. Let go. Boy, this is a hard one for me.  For so many in society we are both judged, and judge ourselves, on how busy we appear to be, how much we claim to accomplish, and how jam packed we fill our days. Social status and self value are thus based on the number of hours worked (though do we stop and think how much we actually get done during those hours?).  The more we can justify being busy, the better people we think we are.  Or so we are told. Fortunately… things are changing.  That worked great to develop the modern world, create fast food and Wal-marts, capitalism and consumerism. But it didn’t bring us closer to happiness. Now it is time to try a different way. Try meditation, walking, yoga, breathing.  Watch a snowflake fall on your hand and melt.  Sit and wait in the early dark to see the moon clear the horizon (or nearest building).  Listen to the wind or the water or the waves.  Find a tree and hear the leaves rustle.  “Learn to let go. That is the key to happiness.”  –  Jack Kornfield, Buddha’s Little Instruction Book.
  3. Life’s short – eat dessert first.  Why not? Instead of dwelling on all these excuse for why not, think of all the reason why instead. Chances are, you’ll be enticed!  Look at all these wonderful things you can do, right now! Next thing you know, you might give it a go. Learn to do something new every day.  Never say never.  Don’t let yourself (or someone you love) say “I can’t.”  Go ahead, give it a try.  Now. What are you waiting for?  Don’t bother telling me.  I don’t want to hear.  I want to hear what you want to do, and what you’re doing to get there.  Even better, I want you to show me.  Do it.  Come on, dream! And dare to do something to make your dream real!
  4. Give. Practice – and expand on – compassion.  Do random acts of kindness. Do something for someone without strings attached every single day.  It doesn’t have to cost money.  It doesn’t have to take much time.  Just share the gifts you already have. You have a lot.  As a writer, I like to share my words.  A cook shares food, a photographer images, a mother comfort – these are the gifts we share, not just to make a living or get the job done or for self importance, acceptance, acknowledgement or reward.  Simply to give what we can. Share your gifts. What gifts can you share?  We all have something special. Creativity, prayer, song.  Think beyond the box.  Or look deep inside. There’s lots there.  Open it up and share it.  I bet there’s plenty to go around.
  5. Have fun, smile, dance.  This is as simple as it gets, and still one the hardest to do. Lighten up and laugh.  I don’t have TV but last month I finally saw the Ellen show while staying at my sister’s house.  Apparently she dances every day.   Right on.  Then there is a dear friend of mine, Ginny, who at first may appear to be “stuck” in a wheel chair.  But take a closer look.  See those arms flying and shoulders swaying and big broad smile that you can’t resist? There she is, even in her wheelchair.  Dancing.  If she can, I can too.  Do it.  Dance.  It feels really good.  And if you dance like no one’s looking, you can’t help but find yourself be smiling like you mean it.  And yes, chances are, you’ll feel happy.

 

A brief greeting from the Rio Trocoman

/ Gin Getz / 6 Comments

~

argentine bling

~

chippay channo and colts

~

estancia trocoman

~

A brief greeting and I return to silence.

My words are engaged elsewhere. Being used to write the story for which I came here. There will be time later to share this all with you, and so much there is to share! For now, communication is challenging. It is easy to do without, and easier still to forget I have a life beyond the here and now. Except for a sadness I feel when I think of my son, so many miles away.

For now, the occasional trip will suffice, computer packed into saddle bag, and a horse ride across river. From here where I write, with the river to my south and sun to my north, far enough away from electricity and internet, wood for making matέ and meals, candle light and stars, a sandy beach for our bath, and the only trail in is by horses. I could stay here longer than I know I should.

Please trust when I tell you this much. The story is emerging. Coming to life. Birthing slow and steady in the heat of mid day with note books and binder, pens and tea cup spread out before me on Ginny’s antique drawing table surrounded by her painting and ponchos, antiques and photo albums. Not always in the direction I thought it would lead. Like a river cutting into soft gravel in a sudden downpour and changing course. Yet to where the water leads remains the same.

Until next time. I send love and light from here where both are so bountiful.

~

gunnar bob and buck

~

in between butta and trocoman

~

victor and horse going gaucho

~

A turning point

/ Gin Getz / 9 Comments

~

rainbow gin 2

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

~

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.

~

jorge and mares (640x483)

~

jorge and tornado (640x427)

~

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.

~

ginny riding 2 (640x427)

~

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.

~

group shot (640x427)

~

The introduction

/ Gin Getz / 12 Comments

~

sunset

~

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.

~

frozen snow

~

Withdraw

/ Gin Getz / 9 Comments

 

Stripped stark

Barren trees

Allow more light to penetrate

An insatiable hunger for the withering warmth

Mid day light diffused by the soft sky overcast

It is only a matter of time before the snow settles in for the season

White world we know here for half our days

Until then longer shadows leave a vague pattern

As if something man made like an endless cattle guard

On the edge of the dying meadow

 

The thermometer has risen to twenty.  I postpone a longer walk and return quickly from feeding the horses, the dog from chasing off the magpies.  I am not yet used to the cold, too soft, still holding on tight to summer ways of forgoing long johns and tall boots. The cold has barely begun.

Horses at the water trough pawing through the ice.

The doves are down to four.  I see them now settled on the fence by the one big Blue Spruce that provides protection.  There is literally a pile of assorted small birds behind the house, all having been run into the windows.  Even the cats can’t claim responsibility.  The falcon flies by and creates another fury and another bang on the window.  A feather and dusty impression of wings remain before me.  A clear, hard wall one can barely see.  The crystals I hung in every window have not helped.

The little dark mare turns from the water and snorts. I see water dribbling from her muzzle like a silver spray of shining beads, as she stand tight , tall, alert, neck and tail high and ears forward. The language of the horse.  The moose is again in the willows.  Or at least, that is what she fears.

The wind rouses, rips up the remaining thin brown leaves of the bush.  No lurking sent is stirred.  The little mare lowers her head, relaxes her back and slowly returns to the herd.

A great horseman once told me that to learn to be a great horsewoman, all I needed to do was listen to the horse.  They have all the answers I seek, he said.  His wife reminded us both that this theory only works AFTER one has learned the language of the horse, and not all of us were “lucky” enough to be born into a world of great horsemen as our parents and peers to pass on such information.  A disadvantage on one hand. I had to learn it all from scratch.  An advantage on the other, for we learn to speak ourselves, with our own voice and manners.  After the magnitude of mistakes levels out, we are left with an understanding that is ours, between the horse and me, built from the ground up like a stone castle.  This is more solid, strong and real than if it was handed to me.  That is at least what I tell myself.  Might as well.  I cannot change how nor where I was born and raised.

Not everyone is lucky enough to be born where they belong later in life.  I say that on one hand yet I have heard to those that say there is a great burden that comes with “being born into…” Or are we the lucky who have the blank canvas before us and paint the picture as we will?

No matter. We can choose who, what and where we are.  And we can change it all too.

Can’t we?

Bird of prey

/ Gin Getz / 23 Comments

 

Wind strips away the last of the leaves and sucks the heat of the woodstove out from between cracks in the log walls before warming the room.  The wind chimes rattle ceaselessly on the back porch.  Bare branches wave wildly as if saying their final farewell.

I sit in the cabin and stare outside at the browning hillside.  Flocks of geese on the Reservoir flats joining up to prepare their journey southward as the tourists already have done.  Those of us that remain prepare for departure or hibernation.  I will do the latter.

“The feast before the famine…” Or so the saying goes. But this feast is bittersweet.

Now is the season of birds of prey.

In the sharp shadows of early morning, from the kitchen window I watch a falcon fly through the flock of mourning doves. They are slow.  He is agile.  A fascinating combination, confrontation, obvious he will be victorious, and of little surprise when after I count one less dove scratching at the seed by the hay shed.

Late afternoon looking out the same window.  High above the field the Red Tail hawk dances in the middle of a whirlwind of what appears to be golden birds, whirling, swirling, fluttering, flickering in the lowering light.  At first I think he flies among tiny birds, a flock larger than I’ve ever seen here and strain my eyes to identify.  But it is only freshly fallen leaves caught up in the twisting air, a wild dance of nature, the bird of prey participates in what seems like a joyous display of fervor and wind.

So the season blows away, leaving the last of the orange leaves to glow like rare pale sentinels in the high hills, while the rest of the mountain fades to grey, silent and peaceful as a monk under a heavy hood. At once comforted and burdened by the weight.

It is time for me to withdraw. To give in to the brown and grey and barren wind.  To write.  I begin with letters I have put off for months.

From a letter written earlier this week to a friend who probably wished he never asked:

 

This will more than likely be way too long and rambling, or way too short and say only a fraction of what I want to say.

I’ve been going through an odd adjustment with Bob working in town a few days a week, Forrest off to college and trying to figure what his future holds, and myself trying to find more of my own self through work and business or lack there of. Not a big deal, just little life changes. And too much time to think. At this stage in the game, I should be doing more than thinking. Giving more than taking. I’ll figure it out. Just an adjustment period.

Where to begin?

I’d like to begin with the financial matters we first discussed back in August, I believe it was. Crazy the power money holds over us, even when we try to live so simply. I appreciate you sharing a bit of your story. Your honesty and openness have always been refreshing, though a harsh reality at times. You are right about the burden debt holds over us. Walking away (though of course I know, walking away still brings a tangled thread dragging behind) for us is not an option at this point. We are oddly in a state of having to wait it out. Let me explain.

Our debt is created by having to fight for ownership of part of this land, the part with the cabins and business my husband built, separating him from the “Evil In-Laws,” the part of the family that fought all the rest of us for no better reason than because they could, to stir the waters, or because conflict and confrontation are a way of life for them. Fighting to own what we have worked for was worth it on principle alone, though a hard fight, and a personal struggle, as family matters, you know, often are.

Fighting for ones land does one of two things.  It can turn you off and chase you away, or draw you closer like a mother and child.  For us, it has been the latter.  Only at times I know not if I am the mother to or child of this beautiful land.  I have only learned it does not matter.  We are connected now by blood, the blood I have shed upon this land, as sweet and rich, wet and warm as my tears.

But alas, “moving on” is this odd carrot before my nose. I grab but can never reach. I know it will happen. At least, most days, I know. Other days, I wonder.

And what does “moving on” entail?  For moving on does not always mean a physical move.  What it can mean is staying right where you are… only you are changed.

Here is everything my husband ever worked for, and what I have helped build and gave all I could for the past eleven years. It is not a miserable place to be, just rather “status quo.”  I prefer change, growth, adventure. My insatiable curiosity for what lies over the next peak of the mountain drives me. I just want to live life as full as I can, in my own quiet way.

But what can I do? What skills do I have now besides running a little business, raising animals (and a child), cooking, cleaning, riding, training, gardening… nothing of value in today’s world. I am lost.

We’re not operating the guest ranch in the same capacity we were, and we’re not outfitting any more.  This is hard because I so love horses and riding and even sharing the knowledge and experiences.  And both Bob and I have considered working with horses as such an integral part of our identity. We are still relying on our horses for work at the ditch, which involves riding and packing into Wilderness, back and forth, for 20 – 30 days per summer; and using the horse for dirt work. But it’s not the same, and not quite enough for me. So I’ve been compensating by doing these big, extreme, crazy rides trying to fulfill my horse time, miles, and unsaturated soul. It’s almost addictive. How hard/far/long/challenging a ride can I do today? And then return home grateful to have survived.

Horse time is almost over here. As soon as the snow begins to fly, and the north sides of the slopes and in the trees begin to ice up, it’s over. It will be soon.

And still, fun as it is, it is not enough. One can only “play” so much, enjoy ones down time so much. That point and purpose, direction, meaning I’m longing for is still so far away.  I am no closer today than I was yesterday.  Or is this a path I cannot see, and shall I wake one day and find myself… there?

Once again, you see I have foregone short and sweet and tended towards long and drawn out.  Stay with me if you’d like.  I will be here, and I will share. Though the season of withdrawing and crawling deep inside the cave is coming.  And I intend to use that time well and wisely…

 

Big Haus

/ Gin Getz / 17 Comments

(a rare photo of the three of us, thanks to Tomek, in honor of our anniversary, today…)

 

We sit before the campfire, just my honey and me, the big cabin behind us empty but for three old cats.  The house looms large.  Unused.  Wasted.  Too big.

I’m calling it Big Haus, for big is how it feels.  Approximately 2,200 square feet.  The Census Bureau reported the average size of a U.S. house in 2011 to be 2,480 square feet, a slight increase from the 2,392 square feet in 2010.  Looks like we’re pretty close to average.  Funny. I’ve never considered myself much a part of the norm.  This fact somewhat frightens me.  So much for being different, breaking barriers, stepping outside the box.

2,480 square feet, and still I hear a heck of lot of complaints.  The same old stuff.  Things like the price of gas being too high.  A fact for which I hold little sympathy. Seems to me you don’t HAVE to drive around alone in that big fancy truck or SUV.  Your God Given Right, you tell me.  Whatever…  What on earth matters most?  Cheap gas?  Get a life.

Bigger is better, or so I hear.  I’m not biggie size person.  I like small, simple, old-fashioned and conservative of natural materials.  What a concept.

Just last week there were two other people with whom we shared the house and the size seemed just right. But today, the upstairs is looming, the downstairs seems hollow, and the space in between is too much.

I think about heating it this winter, trying to keep it clean, wasted firewood and a full morning twice a week to keep the dog and cat hair in check.  I should have better things to do.

Is this the empty nest syndrome, grumbling about too much space to heat and clean and collect clutter?  I thought “empty nest” referred more to the sadness one feels when the children fly the coop.  This year I feel no sadness or loss, only excitement for the positive current and future life of my son. Dang, I’m happy for him, proud of him.  And sure, I won’t deny, a bit of excitement already for Christmas break when he’ll be back home.

Lessons I send a young man off with this year.  Same as last year.  Same stuff every year.  This is what matters to me.

1.  Live life fully.  Live each day with passion and purpose.

2. Be involved.  Take a stand. Stand up for what you believe in, who you believe in.

3. Be yourself.

How dull a life if lived without passion. How shallow a world if we stand for nothing.  How boring a person if not unique.

What else is there?  Half Life.  Living life without meaning, integrity, point and purpose. Direction and belief.

To live without a backbone along the backbone of our continent.  Spineless, drifting slowly to grave.

We are surrounded at times with a leisure class that cares more about cocktails than kids, more about gossip and rumors than building, growing, giving, sharing.   And heaven forbid, caring.

Like jellyfish, turning to mush in my hands as I squeeze my fingers to a fist.

The more they hold back, the more I want to push forward.  Suppression in the air stirs a strong desire to bust free.

Ah, yes. So there we are, out by the fire, our backs to the house that seems so big, so empty, so underutilized and perhaps even unnecessary.  And we start planning.  For the next house, you know.  Of course.  The one by the river.  Because although we’ve got the Little Cabin there for now, there will be THE house, our house.  Not a big house, not too little.  Just right.

Because life is not about yesterday.  Holding onto the past won’t build your dreams.  Take a chance.  Make a change.  Step out and stand up.  Participate in life.  Build it better.

And in the meanwhile, I’m here.  Big Haus.  Stocking up a lot of wood for winter.

Under a rainy spell

/ Gin Getz / 5 Comments

 

Rain.  And somehow we know it will soon be snow.  I take great comfort in that, awaiting the days, yet savoring the mild meanwhile. The long cold winter peaks coyly around the corner.  Lures me with promise and intrigue, a sweet melody drawing me in to the dance.  I am unable to resist.

Our season.  Our half of the year.  Farewell to the fair weather folks.  Then it is our time, our place, our mountain, and we learn to breathe again.  We flourish like winter blossoms, brilliant of color and rich of fragrance. The dormant season in which we awaken, spread our petals to the glaring sun and soak in her soft white wash of snow.

How comforting to say it is finally mine.  My home.  The place where I belong.  How many have told us that this summer.  So glad to see us back.  Their map of the world somehow more complete knowing we are here to stay.  I am jarred by their comments, flattered and frightened at the same time.  Accepting of the truth.

It often takes walking away to realize what matters most, leaving to find your place.  If we had never left, if we had not had to fight for what is ours before then, if all the drama and trauma had never happened, the deep binds that I now feel clamping tight to my toes while roots grow deep each day from heels, bare feet becoming the soil, allowing the dirt to become me, between my toes, whilst I can still adorn naked feet in the field.

This is my home.  Not what I had expected it would be.  Where are the gentle brook and shade trees and hot summer nights and cow pasture I used to dream of?  This dream evolved.  Still evolving.  As if every day I rub my eyes and see the world before me more clearly.

And still I am confused. I don’t fully let go, give in, accept.  Perhaps one should not.  One should always put up a bit of fight, keep the claws sharp, though let the tongue soften.  For you never know when you might need to charge into battle again.  I have proven this if nothing else.  I am willing to fight for what matters most.

Though now I see.  It is because of the battle we defined our space.  We became this land.  We found our home.  If it was easy, it wouldn’t be mine.

I’m ready for a little easier.

Scattered thoughts like early autumn seeds.  Does any of this make sense to you, dear reader?

The brass ring

/ Gin Getz / 6 Comments

Spent the better part of today dealing with mice and maggots.  Tomorrow I’m off to the ditch for the week.  Right now I have this to share.

We hear what we want to hear; read what we want to read.

Read between lines.  Really listen.  There’s more to it than you think.  It’s deeper.  Not as shallow.  Not if you take off your blinders and are willing to take in the truth.

Listen to the rain on the roof and dive into the place where you are.  In you car commuting to work.  In your trailer on a week’s adventure.  Home.  Same rain, same sound on all these different metal roofs.  Listen; really listen.  Such a sweet sound, no matter where you’re coming from.  The point is, be where you are.  And if you want to be somewhere else, change it. Do something about it.  Dream, and go for it.  Dreams are for creating reality, not hell.  Figure it out.  If it matters that much to you, risk it.

But don’t whine.  That will bring you nowhere but farther from the dream.

I wrote a reader a letter a few days ago.  A response to her upset, trying to cheer her up.  She took from it what she expected to read, deleted it, and asked me to resend.  Why on earth would I do that when she didn’t really read it the first time?

Don’t ask a question if you don’t want to hear the truth of response.  How many of us are guilty as charged?  My hand has been raised from time to time.

So here’s what it comes down to.

Dreams.

And the excuse of money in place of balls.

Pardon me for being so blunt, but the truth can hurt, and I’m tired of being hurt because you don’t want to hear my truth.  Don’t want to hear it?  Then don’t ask.  Delete my messages and don’t ask me to resend.  Otherwise, here I am, letting it all hang out, with nothing to hide.

Here is my truth.

Money has nothing to with it.  In fact, wake up and smell the coffee (yes, the cheap kind, as even Folgers is a splurge for me).

Those who know me know how important money is to me, what a driving force it is for me, and how much I have had.  And the answer to all is NONE.  Yet I still hear quite regularly, “Gosh, you’re so lucky and live the life I wish I could.”

So I ask you this:  Why don’t you?  You’re the one with a college degree, a stable job, car or truck, health insurance for you and your kids, some sense of financial security and/or at least a plan on paying your way through the next nine months.  Good for you.  I don’t have any of those things.  But that does not stop me.

Those who know me know.  Money has not enabled me to do what I do, be where I am, live the life I have chosen.  Quite the contrary.  It’s my lack of money and my refusal to allow money to hold any level of importance.  Yes, I’m the most impractical person I know when it comes to money.  I have no stability and security.  The bottom line is this:  I have none, never have, and it’s never stopped me from doing/being what I want.

Check out my story.  A condensed version.

So there I was, in New York City, where I wandered around holding down odd jobs from receptionist to bartender sleeping in an odd assortment of slum apartments until I found a way to get a full scholarship to art school in New Mexico.  A crazy move which had nothing to do with luck or talent but far more to do with hard work as I woke up at 3 or 4 am to put together a portfolio of work all winter long before my 9-5 job, and doing a drive-away driving someone else’s sports car from Jersey to San Jose only weeks after getting my driver’s license because I couldn’t figure out any other affordable way to drive cross country.

Worked my way through school earning minimum wage doing simple wood work while living in the parking lot of college in a 25 year old Dodge Dart and later upgraded to an equally old Volkswagen microbus.  I dropped out of college to be a self supporting single mom.  Moved around a dozen times and took more odd jobs to feed and house (including a couple ones self built and without plumbing or power) my self and son.

Finally found (and this part could be called luck) an awesome position being the caretaker of a remote kids camp in some beautiful mountains with horses, cows, chickens and pigs.  I could call it all mine, treated it as such, but none of it was.  Didn’t matter to me.  Stayed there six years, during which time I started to hear that I was one lucky lady and living the life.  I felt I was. I owned nothing but the clothes on my back, not even a vehicle for several years, but gave them my all and got to live in “paradise.” When said paradise turned a bit south, I took a crazy risk and moved to Colorado with only enough money to pay for the trip, a kid, dogs, cats and bunch of baggage stuffed into a room between two creepy guys I was supposed to work for.  I quit, willing to be homeless and hungry instead if need be, but met this guy named Bob who needed a wrangler for the summer.  This part I guess is luck too.  Meeting the “right” person is not easy.  It took me until I was 36; Bob was 45.  It was worth the wait.

The rest is history.  Prince Charming and Cinderella?  Hardly.  Above and beyond dealing with cleaning up after tourists and burying foals and trying to keep hands and house warm through six months of sub zero temps, we’ve had to deal with the most horrible and horrendous family crap you can imagine and legal battles just to keep our home and business, all of which got us hundreds of thousands of dollars deep in debt.

That’s where we are now, only we quit our job which wasn’t paying the interest anyway and we’re figuring out the next dream to start building on.

I’m not complaining.  It’s important you know that.  In fact, I’m pretty darned proud of all this.

What I want to do in telling this story is prove a point.  Figure it out.  It’s never been about money.  Not stopping me.  Not enabling me.  I’m motivated by my dreams and willing to take some crazy risks.

Stop playing it safe. That’s definitely something I have not done.  For better or for worse, I don’t know, but I’m not the one clinging to safety and security and wishing I was somewhere else.  I’m trying it, living it.  Broke, every day deeper in debt in seems, but giving it a shot and enjoy the adventure along the way.

Stop using your lack of money as an excuse.  I bet you have more than me.  I bet you always have.  But you’re there and I’m here.  So, what’s your real excuse?

There is no brass ring waiting for you to grab and get the dream come true.  You gotta get out there, mine the metal, weld the ring, and hang in front of yourself like a carrot before the horse’s nose.  You gotta walk away from the safe and simple and fall on your face time and time and time again.

Remember the advice my vet gave me after I lost another foal?  “Only those who have, lose.”  Be willing to lose.  You’ll never really gain if not willing to let go.  Leap!  And the net appears.  Only some times it doesn’t.  So dust yourself off, and get back to the drawing board.  Only make sure the picture you’re drawing is really, really magnificent.

Yes, I remind myself this too as I sit before the drawing board once again, skinned knees and all.