Loving Lupins

The first things that caught my eye at the accommodation in Kinloss were the lupins. Majestical and noble, they were standing guard at the entrance of the path up to the house. Although their spines looked very straight, they were far from stiff, with their delicate, pea-like flowers growing in dense whorls around a tall spike in a soft apricot abundance. ‘Welcome!’ they waved to me as I entered further, and was pleasantly distracted by a group of bright red Papaver orientalis surrounded by at least five different colours of aquilegias. “This looks good!” I exclaimed. “I like this little garden.” 

The owner of this temporary home, at the moment in Canada until mid July, immediately recognised the herbaceous perennial plant on the photo I sent. Last year his woman friend had taken some of its seeds — which come in a pod as fruit— to sow in her own Canadian garden. Two gardens, two people on different sides of the earth, connected by lupins and love. Most likely they grow very well there.

There are many species of the Lupinus albus and perennis, and they grow everywhere in Europe. For thousands of years they have been found around the Mediterranean, as well as in North and South America, where, it has been discovered, especially in the Andes, the legume seeds or beans have been grown for food for 6000 years. From my agricultural years in the Netherlands, I remember that farmers grow them as green manure, to nourish the soil. A meadow full of these yellowish flowers looks astonishing. Nowadays the lupin bean is increasingly popular as food again, as a healthier alternative to soya beans. Full of protein. An antioxidant and a prebiotic. And gluten free!

I would start to grow them in my veggie patch right away. Lupins. And more lupins. Partly to nourish and heal the body, partly as an ornamental flower to heal my heart and to brighten my days.

Now bring me that garden! As that is still missing. With a house, my long-term home to be. Yes, please!

© Blog 46, photo and text  9th June 2016, Kinloss.  © Adriana Bijman    

This is a shortened version, the whole version will be in the upcoming book!

Rain and more rain

We write the end of August. There were other deadlines to catch, health to attend to and balance to gain, so that I forgot to write a blog-story, to choose a photograph, one way or the other. Finally here it is, simple this time. But no good news, sorry.

I liked to photograph the rain, as that did not seem to stop here. From a drizzle to pouring waves. We are in a part of the world  (northern Scotland) where there is a bounty of water coming down, actually like in some parts of India and South America, where rivers are flooding this August.  I have not seen it on the news, but learned about it during my studies (world) Spanish. Like the flooding of the immense river-basin which is said to be the most polluted in the world, the Riachuelo-Matanza, situated in a densely populated and industrious region, north of the Río de la Plata in Argentina. It worries me.  In other parts of the world they suffer from drought. I think until now we have underestimated climate changes.

As Climate Central reports: “Even if the world manages to limit global warming to 2C — the target number for current climate negotiations — sea levels may still rise at least 6 meters (20 ft) above their current heights, radically reshaping the world’s coastline and affecting millions in the process.”* This is no good news.  And will we manage? The reality might even be worse than all predictions, especially for the ‘underdeveloped’ and poor areas on our planet.

And it continues to rain outside.

Blog 40, text & phtoo ©: Adriana Sjan Bijman

*Brian Kahn, 2015, Guardian Environmental Network, www.theguardian.com/environment/2015/july  

AIR: I believe in Angels

After the grounding ‘earth’ story of my last blog my attention was drawn to some lines of a Spanish poem; in my translation it says: “Roots and wings. That the wings may take root and the roots may fly.”*

The first music I danced to, on my visit to an Experience Week at Findhorn more than 20 years ago, was the song ‘I believe in angels’ and from that moment on, I actually did. Or rather I started to believe, but it was about believing in a different kind of angel to the Roman Catholic guardian angels I had grown up with; now I opened up to the idea of intelligent beings existing in nature - the kind that Dorothy MacLean* calls ‘Devas’.  They over-light the flora, the fauna, landscapes, cities and even to us, people. They are not like faeries or other existing ‘little people’ in the natural realm.

This was all new to me then, but it made so much sense! I can now see angels as part of the metaphysical realm, being present in the air and of vital, integral importance to all life.  It helps me to know that there are higher beings or universal forces out there, beings that see me, love me, know me and give support, inspiration and encouragement. We are not alone! I repeat this every morning and thank them. It makes a difference and I can recommend it to you.

Dorothy says that every place has its own ‘Landscape Angel’. So I imagine Findhorn beach has  one too. And on a beautiful day during a walk along the beach of sand and pebbles at Moray Firth, I suddenly looked up into the bright blue sky. There I saw this shape or figure appear, in between the clouds; like a heart, like an angel…. Do you see it in the photo? 

Here at Findhorn we knew Frances Ripley as a remarkable woman and community member. She made many subtle drawings of the Nature Spirits. In her book ‘Visions Unseen’* she writes how “they have the capacity to show themselves in a variety of forms, or else as formless swirls of colour and light”.  Wow. Well, yes… that’s what I saw…..!  So I sat a bit more on that beach enjoying ‘my’ angel. Until the wind took her away….

It is all in the air, all around us, to give us life — with every breath. The Breath of Life.

Text and photo: © Adriana Bijman, February 2015. Blog 34 

 * "Raices y alas.Pero que las alas arraiguen y las raíces vuelen.” by Spanish poet Juan Ramón Jiménez,  ‘Diario de un poeta recién casado’, Madrid 1916

Being young and visible, my ‘Youth @ Findhorn’ project.

Youth. Young people. Gosh, it’s easy to forget we’ve all been young ourselves, as every generation seems to express this period in life in its own, new way, don’t we?  Before last year, when I saw youngsters at the bus stop, hidden under their hoods, it sometimes made me feel uncomfortable. It is easy to imagine some people even being scared of them. Then I remembered my own teenage years, which were the worst of my life. I was a girl living in the countryside, going to school in a small village. I was so unhappy, so insecure, so damaged and I tried to hide it by acting the opposite way. I remember a photo made when I was 15, and now I feel a lot of compassion for the girl I was then. Without judgement or rejection. When you have children, you often relive these years during their adolescence, but I don’t have nor live with young people myself here.

So this all made me want to get to know more about the young people of nowadays. The modern youth around me is living in a rural area like I do. I felt curious (and courageous at times) to photograph and interview them and make a project of it: ‘Youth @ Findhorn’.

Many people around me in Findhorn know my photographic work of landscapes, flowers, seascapes; they know my community event photos and books. Why suddenly people? They ask. But In the past I photographed —in waves— nature (non-human part) and people. Activists, female farmers, 50+ women, habitants of a rural village, and some of these projects have become books. Working with people can be intense, satisfying as well as demanding, I tell you; a flower does not commend or resist being portrayed. Humans or nature, in either situation I have to connect from my heart with them to get the best results.

The young people I contacted I then interviewed with questions about their situation at the moment, at home, education or work; their hopes and aspirations for their future; how it is to live in a village, especially in Findhorn? I had to have the written agreement of their parents, who also, like the portrayed themselves, read back the interview, and together we made corrections if needed. They were involved in the choice of the end result photograph and they saw the edited summary of the text. In most cases this was a graceful process. Some people did not want to be part of the project and some others withdrew during, alas.

Looking back I think the young people shown in the series were very brave. The series shows their hopes, their sometimes insecurity but often their strength and wisdom. It felt like an honour to make them visible and to help other people to get to know this group better. As some visitors at the exhibition at the Moray Art Centre wrote as feedback  “Extraordinary & deeply inspiring work. Mesmerising” or “Thank you for giving a very interesting insight into this unusual and privileged group of children.”

I indeed wanted to allow these wonderful young people to be seen and heard. Last September (2013) I showed a small part of the series in the Universal Hall, these two last weeks I exhibited an extended series in the Moray Art Centre (24 September – 5 October 2014); which was part of the 1^st Findhorn Bay Art festival last weekend. In the Scottish newspaper Press & Journal there is an interview (Monday 29 September).

October 2014, photos & text © Adriana Sjan Bijman

Day and Night, Dark and Light

Tree blossoms at Findhorn - Dark & Light

We’re living the longest days of the year here in the northern hemisphere. The nights feel too short to rest from the at times overwhelming intensity of the light. Some friends have put up extra curtains to be able to sleep in the dark.  A song, well known here in our community, says, “Be still and know that day and night, that dark and light, are one holy circle.”

During these two weeks three community members left their body to rise into the realm of the Light. Well, after a challenging end in the physical, I believe that’s where they’ll be going. To the Light.

For this month’s entry of my Light Scribble I chose an image of young trees still in blossom in my garden against a dark background, a play of dark and light. 

The Mother, in one of her guided messages about white flowers tells us in ‘The Spiritual Significance of Flowers’ that “white light is the light of the Divine Consciousness in its essence. In this white light all other lights are contained and from it they can be manifested, for this reason white also indicates integrality, completeness and totality, especially the integrality of the being in all its parts, from the physical being to the true self.”

So take a deep breath. Inhale the light. Let the white flowers enter our heart and trust their light will shine on the darkness. 
To know this brightens my day.

© photo and text: © Adriana Sjan Bijman, June 2014

Moving, dancing, swirling around

This month’s favourite is a dance image. Look at those odd movements made during Scottish Ceilidh dances! What is it all about?

We’re fortunate to have lots of dance performances, shows and workshops here at Findhorn. Since the start of our community creative expression has been important. In 1975 Bernard Wosien brought the sacred circle dances to Findhorn. Here they received a home, developed and later on circled outwards using the Findhorn’s way of attunement, sharing and blessing into the rest of the world. In the 90s the Celtic Festivals with Peter Vallance brought a new kind of dances. Nowadays there are a huge variety of dance practices, from Biodanze, 5 Rhythms to Astroshamanic Trance Dance.

It’s all about moving, dancing, swirling around and around…. And this is how my life feels at the moment. Spring has arrived, securing new beginnings. But where did the idea spring from that those beginnings only would bring positive change? Every tiny fragile new tree bud knows it will magically blossom in the spring sunshine, accompanied by a gentle rain now and then. But while opening into a delicate blossom it might be surprised by a spring shower or even by an all-destructive wind and hail storm. It’s taking a huge risk in showing itself. It will be moved, danced and swirled around and its strength will be severely tested. It must be in for a bit of a blow. 

And so must we! As for the blossoms, our own ‘new beginnings’ are not guaranteed to start positively. Don’t tell me! As here I am, shifted, switched and swirled around by life. Some roughly opened old scars about love and trust reveal ‘the mess I made’ (free to Amy Winehouse’s song): loss, disappointment and grief under the anger. It can be a long lasting dance into the exhaustion of resist. Or until a fresh wind brings the insight that actually a good thing is happening: old challenged perceptions and pains need to be released first, gently or by force. Is this all present from a deeper need to heal and grow? Is that its main reason for materializing in our lives? As long as I engage with, submit and surrender myself to the movements of this dance, while seeing it as a kind of spring clean before I myself can spring into the new beginnings of my own inner springtide, I know somehow it will be fine. I will be fine.   

So, let’s dance, “let’s dance the feelings, the tears and the passion”. Come on, I found some beautiful blossoms for in your hair.

© photo and text: Adriana Sjan Bijman, 2014

This is my view!

Findhorn dunes with gorse - photo ©

I have moved house this week. To a wonderful apartment with a fabulous view. Culbin Sands Apartments still carries in its attics and cellars the pain of the past, as Culbin Sands Hotel, from which it was told it was haunted, and much earlier, when the Viking warriors stepped on land here and the soil soaked the blood baths. So much healing is needed, as well as joyful energy. I'm doing my best. Let me tell you: 

This apartment — rejuvenated — wants to be celebrated

While the smell of paint and varnish has hardly vanished

While many boxes full of life and release still wait to be opened and integrated

The walls still bare

Before my images fingerprint them

But the summer solstice sun and the full moon do call for it now

While the blooming gorse reflects on the walls

While endless skies and seas invite themselves in, to be discovered by experienced eyes still so curious.

So I give thanks to all involved 

And let us bless this place with Joy and Healing

To be my new Home

Summer Solstice  20 June 2013

‘Holding the Circle – The Circle Holding Us’

The large pebble stone found on the sandy Findhorn Beach holds a ring, an ellipse, a circle. It is one of the many beautiful patterns nature gives us. Ancient rock formations of different minerals fusing together. Granite, quartz, Lewisian Gneiss, sand- and limestone… Time leaving its marks of ellipses and lines with which every pebble gives us it own story. 

Our beach is full of stories.

Natural circles have been known since the beginning of time, like in the sun, moon, whirls in water or wind. They have been observed and have inspired our civilisation to develop geometry, astronomy and many inventions.

We say that every circle is a magic circle, a sacred circle. In a circle of people coming together an extra energy of spirit is present.

We draw a circle of protection. I remember drawing a large circle during a quest in the Sahara desert to mark my territory; creating a safe space.  At home in the Findhorn community to attune at the start and end of a gathering or job as well as to bless the food we come together in a circle while holding hands.

And the circle is holding us.

‘Holding the Circle- The Circle Holding Us’ was part of a photoArt exhibition in the Blue Angel Café in the Universal Hall Findhorn in October - November 2012 with other canvas photowork. 

Hopeman’s Cove

These rocks are part of Hopeman’s Cove Bay at the north east coast of Scotland. Imagine these rocks once being part of a hot desert, where the Sahara is now and whose sand dunes still are preserved in the colourful rocks. Two totally different rock formations or characters or world citizens banged into each other and became a unity forever. Tracing the hot winds in the white sandrock with my lingering fingers while my feet try to keep sturdy, standing on the battered chilly northern coast……Since the Ice Age the whispers of the burning desert have always won from the battle cries of the north and they still fill my heart with longing and belonging…..

A 100.000 litre cow

During the second World War my father bought a cow, a traditional black and white Holland-Frysian Stamboekvee cow, called Hoekstra six, with which he and my mother started a dairy farm at Dorregeest in one of the old Dutch polders. Hoekstra 6 became the matriarch of a long line of dairy cows on the farm. The Hoekstra’s received many awards, their bull calves became famous for their semen and many Hoekstras were sold worldwide. This June my brother and sister in law, who live on the parental farm, had a party for Hoekstra 545, who was one of their 100.000 litre milk cows. On the photo you see the celebrated cow, after a career of 13 years, 11 calves and 100.000 litres of milk. 

Cows at Loch Fada

The Isle of Skye is a fascinating island on the Scottish west coast. From Findhorn it is quite a journey, but even the travel towards it is worth. Meandering along Loch Ness (Nessy has only appeared to me once, on a very dark winter’s day). Driving through the Highlands. Meeting the mountains, the moors and the many lakes, often called ‘lochs’ on the way.  A bridge connects the mainland at Kyle of Lochalsh with the island itself. I love tracking between the brown, peat coloured hills. There are empty left farmhouses. In the middle of nowhere cattle crossing the road, gates open. The fresh water loch ‘Loch Fada’ in the near distance. Cows and young bulls, reminding me of home and the farm in the polder I grew up in. When the young cows come outside for the first time, they don’t know yet how to use all their four feet and they jump all over the place. Almost as if they take off to fly.