A workshop participant asked, “How often are we to take pictures and write in a journal?” It’s a good question. It’s a big question. A few things come to mind.
I can compare it to physical exercise: Like a muscle, a spiritual discipline develops with regular exercise. That’s why it is called a “discipline”? In all seriousness, I grow spiritually, and am inspired, when I photograph something and write about what the image evokes. Like physical exercise, it is how I start my day (not all days), and the day unfolds, I unfold, in a fuller way, when I do it. A musician or artist knows this. Yoga, prayer, it all operates the same way, I think.
Regular writing with an image is enlightening, stimulating, thought provoking. This prompt is a launching point: “What is going on in my life that is revealed in this image?” This question is the basis for many a journal entry. I don’t do it EVERY day. We all have our patterns or rhythms, and I don’t force it when I just don’t have the energy. Life does get in the way. That’s usually a good thing. Write about it!
I find that my practice is more regular when I am in a group or leading a group- I show up. Accountability is built in. Moreover, when I have something to share with someone else, I am more eager to do it. That’s why I love to garden. It is a joy to give away fresh tomatoes, or preserved raspberries. I love to cut and arrange a bouquet for guests who come for an overnight stay. So, that’s how Contemplative Photography sharing groups became part of the workshops. I love the intimacy of connection between participants as they witness and share photographs and journal excerpts with one another.
Like pauses between the notes of music, critical parts of the composition, I pause for moments of silence- sometimes I remember to pay attention. I refrain from picking up the camera and pen. A pause might be 5 minutes, or a few days. Instead, I simply notice. I witness. I sip in a breath of awe. Isn’t that the definition of a holy moment, or the inbreaking of the Divine? I think so. I feel it. So, give yourself a break. The creamy yellow zinnia whispered such to me. What I saw was its beautiful reach on a sturdy stem which set it apart from the rest of the plant. It was punctuated by the space between it and the other blossoms. I swear that its petals shimmered and winked, as if to say, “This one’s for you.” Glory.
