New Archive:
May 2001 Issue
Elemental: Finding the Spiritual World in Real Matter
By
Marci Cohen
Beat generation guru Jack Kerouac said it well in The Dharma Bums, "The closer you get to real matter, rock air fire and wood, boy, the more spiritual the world is."
Although most folks grow up with some type of organized religion, many of us reject our roots and seek our own form of spiritual connection. Just as Kerouac searched for Truth as a "Zen Lunatic and rucksack wanderer," I searched for something too. After years of struggle, I found that art and the elements of the earth could move the parts of me that usually remain still.
I was raised in a secular Jewish home complete with chaos, a loving but overbearing mother, and forced family functions during the high holidays. Although I never attended Hebrew school or had a Bat Mitzvah, I have always culturally identified as a Jew.
The ethics and mores of the Jewish people spoke and made perfect sense to me. But the religious dogma threw me for a loop. I knew that I was supposed to believe in God, and that he would show himself someday when he was good and ready. I was taught to internalize and accept all that was Jewish, both cultural and religious.
Unfortunately, I felt no connection to those religious elements that presumably made me who I was. Once I left for college, however, I began to gather the ingredients that could effectively nourish my soul. They had nothing to do with temple, or fasting, or guilt; they had everything to do with the earth and all of her accoutrements. At times, nature has inspired me to paint, write, cry or laugh.
One sultry afternoon on Costa Rica's pacific coast, I gathered handfuls of the rich terracotta clay that lines the paths through the tropical rain forests. Then, with water from the sea, I sculpted a ceramic mug that would forever remind me of how, on that day, the sun, air, earth, and water helped to connect my body, mind, and spirit.
Because I have had the opportunity to watch the sun set from different places, I have noticed its varying patterns based on geography. In Costa Rica, being so close to the equator, the intense sun takes but a few minutes to set; a simple blink could eliminate any transition between day and night.
Conversely, much farther north, it takes nearly an hour for the sun to completely set. One summer in Seattle, I spent my evenings by the ocean, painting watercolors of the slowly setting sun. This gift of extended dusk enabled me the time to simply think and feel. On those warm summer nights, painting became almost effortless.
While touring Europe one year in late June, I decided to stop over in Iceland, which in summer is called "the land of the midnight sun." The proverbial star of fire merely kisses the earth for a brief moment before rushing back up to offer steady light and warmth.
The sun is omnipresent, but the quality of its light during the early morning hours is so diffuse that it almost resembles a different element entirely. In each place, the congruent disparity of the sun's behavior made me contemplate our planet's vastness and diversity as well as its wholeness.
Although I still wait for Elijah to arrive at the Passover seder and
enjoy a day off on Yom Kippur, I really notice a higher power when
I taste the salt from the ocean, watch the sun rise in the desert, or
smell the first musty tinge of spring in the air
Marci
Cohen lives in Somerville, MA and is a teacher of academic skills and
writing at the Cambridge School of Weston. She also creates original designs
for furniture, sportswear, stationery, and ceramic pottery.
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