And the other class members have been a joy to get to know in each of their unique ways. The class is structured in such a way that we cannot help but get to know each other little by little and without feeling the need to bring judgement or hesitation to the group. Of course, a class like this does tend to self-select for those of us who are already comfortable with sharing and being open, but that doesn't mean there isn't always room for dissolving mainstream barriers and worldviews (if we so choose).
Monday, May 10, 2010
Permaculture Class
Taking a permaculture class at Hampshire College from 3 alums who I have known for a few years. If I didn't already care so much about them before now, seeing how much passion, knowledge and love they bring to this course would certainly have made sure of that.
Thursday, February 4, 2010
New York Times & Fur Ads
Most disturbing looking through the NYTimes today as the front section was chock full of ads from the big department stores for fur coats. Has it been all season? I haven't been reading the Times since the fall semester (and the student-funded free papers) ended.
And we're talking full color large (one was full page) ads with (female) models wearing said coats. And we're also talking "natural" furs not synthetic with descriptions that ought to be from a wildlife article... all except for the occasional adjective like "sheared". Very sad. I really thought that the purchasing of fur coats, fur-et cetera had become passé, maybe not for animal-loving reasons per se but nonetheless, the effect on the # of animals killed for the sake of "fashion" could be the same regardless of the underlying motivation.
Having said that, these ads are for big sales so there's always a chance that they simply aren't selling well. And ads alone are not a reliable indicator of demand. They are, however, (especially given the quantity of them) a decent indicator that it is still acceptable and non-offensive to buy & sell furs. Sigh.
Sunday, October 11, 2009
My Book: Mindful Beauty Is In Your Hands
Announcing Publication Of
by Chelvanaya Bayo Gabriel
http://www.amazon.com/Mindful-Beauty-Your-Hands-Natural/dp/1935323008/
TELL YOUR FRIENDS & FAMILY!
Hint: The recipes and/or the book will make the perfect holiday gift(s)! Thanks for helping me spread the word. <3>
Product Description (from Amazon.com)
Making your own body care products is so fulfilling - you save money, avoid toxic ingredients and actively engage in taking care of yourself. Mindful Beauty Is In Your Hands will empower you and your friends to take charge of your skin care and your life with useful tips that embrace a holistic approach. The beauty recipes included in this book are fast and simple to make. The basic ingredients can easily be found in your kitchen or at your local grocery store. Drawing on her extensive experience in the field of chemistry, Chelvanaya Gabriel explains what the ingredients in each sumptuous recipe can do for your body and why. She encourages readers to learn more on their own and experiment - describing the process of being attentive to the health and well being of one's own body as "mindful beauty", a process that we can all practice in our everyday lives and share with our friends and family.
I Am A Published Author!
Ok so this took me awhile to post here but I'm not much of a blogger these days... and between being bashful and wanting to go back to writing my novel, I'm not much of a marketer of my newly published book about natural skincare. :) But, indeed I am now a published author and the fact seems to have energized me to keep going with The Novel - a scifi group adventure through the subconscious and conscious mind, dealing with fear, responsibility and "baggage". As a friend said yesterday, "so it's about my life then?" LOL Yes. Exactly. Stay tuned.
More about the publication in the next post.
More about the publication in the next post.
Thursday, July 23, 2009
Birthday Reflections - 2009
I don't normally do a written reflection, or rather not since I was younger and even then I think I only did so erratically and without calling them anything so formal. But I do think that birthdays are about a few things (depending on your age, of course): thanking those that gave you life (Thank you, Papa!); spending time with family; fun times; and reflecting on the before and the what's to come. I will say I do like the number 33. It has a nice ring to it. And they can't play the backwards/forwards joke on me this year! I'm the same age either way. So there.
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I read a poem my Papa wrote a couple of days after his birthday earlier this month (July is heavy on the birthdays in our house, proportionally), and, besides being a very beautiful poem, it got me thinking, and I hope he won't mind too much that it ended up being a bouncing off point of my reflection.
I suppose I was already predisposed to being in a reflective mood - writing... taking a break on Facebook but still pondering the writing (two separate projects bouncing around in my head, one at the forefront, one still trying to stay active in the background)... and the whole birthday coming up in a few short hours thing. So I was thinking both in a general way and in a more personal way about how the poem "Lost Stillness" relates to the way we interact with the world around us, how it speaks to a way of being that may be disappearing or being suppressed underneath a whole array of external and internal influences. I can name many of those that are meaningful to me but even then I would be doing an injustice to the multitude of influences that impact both who I am and who I allow myself to be, just as the same can be said of anyone.
So the old man, to me, represents something I am striving for in my life. I want to be the old man watching the bees. Was not one of my early summer status updates "Chelvanaya dances with the bees"? Ok I'm being half-cheeky but it _was_ me attempting to be poetically humorous about bees inconveniently situated in our yard and having to both find a way to convince them to go elsewhere, and swallow my own fear of the bee, never mind _bees_. All at the same time that I do in fact love watching the bees do that pollination thing, esp. when the weather isn't this flood-like and I have a proper veggie garden going...and I know I'm not purposefully sealing up their new homes and making them angry.
And what the old man has to do when the young man accosts him, or rather, not simply accosts him but moves to attack, to destroy what was so peaceful - this could just as easily be all of those things in one's life that upset the balance but that come from other human beings. Obviously there are the minor annoyances but then there are those things that just go too far, moving in and forcing you to turn away from whatever stillness you are able to achieve in your life. And what do you do? Do you submit?
Of course, my interpretation is a bit outside of the scope of the poem's intent I think but, as I said, the poem got me thinking. It was a sort of bouncing off point. Even the end where the young man is dealt with but it is nowhere near a victory. After all, both sides have lost something fundamental in the struggle... Every time I've had to deal with toxic people and/or situations, I may rationalize in my own head why I needed to do so, why I didn't avoid them, why I didn't turn away (whatever that might mean...sometimes a simple "No" would suffice"), every time ... well, I guess I have to wonder what that does to me. What that does to others. Every interaction is, as the poem reminds us, overdetermined and overdetermining. I forget that a lot. But there are more things..., Horatio. So many more things/people.
So, the story at the heart of the poem is very specific in some ways but going back to my tangential interpretation and reflection, I am thinking that the more I strive to be like the old man in my life, the more likely I am to notice the 'young man' types, i.e. those people and situations who are toxic/dangerous to my goals, whether they be life goals or even just daily goals - and more generally to a sense of balance and peace.
I don't often hear the concepts of goals and objectives and the concepts of balance and peace in the same setting but, for me, they definitely fit together. I can't have one without the other. Which isn't to say that I need a goal in order to stand and look at the rose bush...hardly. The two aren't wedded in a linear temporal fashion. It is simply that I am realizing it is a lot easier to have those tranquil moments of quiet if I spend more quality time on the 'nitty-gritty'.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
And then there's that Earth-sized hole in the atmosphere of my self-proclaimed 'home planet' a few days before my birthday. I love how some news sites are calling it a "Earth-size scar". Scar. Like we went over there and jacked up Jupiter in some kind of intergalactic planetary fist fight. Yeah. I hereby deny any connection with this incident but... I'm just saying, someone ought to look into it. I don't want any funny business next year. Except eclipses. Eclipses are cool.
So... back to writing with me. At some point. Breakfast first! Thanks for reading. And find a reason to smile today...
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I read a poem my Papa wrote a couple of days after his birthday earlier this month (July is heavy on the birthdays in our house, proportionally), and, besides being a very beautiful poem, it got me thinking, and I hope he won't mind too much that it ended up being a bouncing off point of my reflection.
I suppose I was already predisposed to being in a reflective mood - writing... taking a break on Facebook but still pondering the writing (two separate projects bouncing around in my head, one at the forefront, one still trying to stay active in the background)... and the whole birthday coming up in a few short hours thing. So I was thinking both in a general way and in a more personal way about how the poem "Lost Stillness" relates to the way we interact with the world around us, how it speaks to a way of being that may be disappearing or being suppressed underneath a whole array of external and internal influences. I can name many of those that are meaningful to me but even then I would be doing an injustice to the multitude of influences that impact both who I am and who I allow myself to be, just as the same can be said of anyone.
So the old man, to me, represents something I am striving for in my life. I want to be the old man watching the bees. Was not one of my early summer status updates "Chelvanaya dances with the bees"? Ok I'm being half-cheeky but it _was_ me attempting to be poetically humorous about bees inconveniently situated in our yard and having to both find a way to convince them to go elsewhere, and swallow my own fear of the bee, never mind _bees_. All at the same time that I do in fact love watching the bees do that pollination thing, esp. when the weather isn't this flood-like and I have a proper veggie garden going...and I know I'm not purposefully sealing up their new homes and making them angry.
And what the old man has to do when the young man accosts him, or rather, not simply accosts him but moves to attack, to destroy what was so peaceful - this could just as easily be all of those things in one's life that upset the balance but that come from other human beings. Obviously there are the minor annoyances but then there are those things that just go too far, moving in and forcing you to turn away from whatever stillness you are able to achieve in your life. And what do you do? Do you submit?
Of course, my interpretation is a bit outside of the scope of the poem's intent I think but, as I said, the poem got me thinking. It was a sort of bouncing off point. Even the end where the young man is dealt with but it is nowhere near a victory. After all, both sides have lost something fundamental in the struggle... Every time I've had to deal with toxic people and/or situations, I may rationalize in my own head why I needed to do so, why I didn't avoid them, why I didn't turn away (whatever that might mean...sometimes a simple "No" would suffice"), every time ... well, I guess I have to wonder what that does to me. What that does to others. Every interaction is, as the poem reminds us, overdetermined and overdetermining. I forget that a lot. But there are more things..., Horatio. So many more things/people.
So, the story at the heart of the poem is very specific in some ways but going back to my tangential interpretation and reflection, I am thinking that the more I strive to be like the old man in my life, the more likely I am to notice the 'young man' types, i.e. those people and situations who are toxic/dangerous to my goals, whether they be life goals or even just daily goals - and more generally to a sense of balance and peace.
I don't often hear the concepts of goals and objectives and the concepts of balance and peace in the same setting but, for me, they definitely fit together. I can't have one without the other. Which isn't to say that I need a goal in order to stand and look at the rose bush...hardly. The two aren't wedded in a linear temporal fashion. It is simply that I am realizing it is a lot easier to have those tranquil moments of quiet if I spend more quality time on the 'nitty-gritty'.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
And then there's that Earth-sized hole in the atmosphere of my self-proclaimed 'home planet' a few days before my birthday. I love how some news sites are calling it a "Earth-size scar". Scar. Like we went over there and jacked up Jupiter in some kind of intergalactic planetary fist fight. Yeah. I hereby deny any connection with this incident but... I'm just saying, someone ought to look into it. I don't want any funny business next year. Except eclipses. Eclipses are cool.
So... back to writing with me. At some point. Breakfast first! Thanks for reading. And find a reason to smile today...
Thursday, August 23, 2007
Who Am I This Time?*
The long version of my profile description:
This is the transparent blog of Chelvanaya B. Gabriel. That is to say, I am not hiding my online identity here because the things I have to say are meant to be heard, not archived on the web and thought of as random web commentary amidst the sea of such things.
The things I will say are simply thoughts on the world, on film, on collaborative projects, on writing, and anything else that seems relevant to me (or to you - just ask and I'll see what I can do).
I am a "recovering chemist" because that is an identity that I held so dearly for so long and yet now I am quite sure that chemistry is not what defines me as a human being. LOL It did for a time, and it was a good thing. Note: I live near Martha Stewart's house and I am told by my father that perhaps she has an influence on us New Englanders such that we are bound to say things like "it's a good thing"...
Now, I define myself far more broadly, some would say loosely, as in perhaps I no longer have direction. And yet, that is so subjective. I am not working for "The Man" any longer - am not making the "big bucks" as a lab monkey, helping to bolster Pfizer or Merck's bottom line. But that - to me - is not direction, it's static. It's dull and exploitative and saps the soul out of you. Working for anyone other than yourself or your family or your community (including non-profit work), it's soul-sucking, soul-destroying, soul-twisting, soul-perverting work. And I'm not interested in occupying that place in the world any longer.
Mind you, it means considerably less financial security but it also means spending time with my family. It means reconnecting with me, rediscovering who I was and who I am and who I want to be. Questions that you cannot possibly hear when you are running the "rat race". The pounding of your own feet is too loud. The thunderous pounding of all the other souls on this planet who run with you, ahead of you and behind you is not only deafening, it's downright eardrum-shattering.
Anyway, enough metaphors. Enough cliches. The point is - I once was a chemist. But I also once was, and am once again, a daughter, a sister, a granddaughter, a cousin, a niece, a friend. I am once again a creator of things: a writer and an artist; a person who sees things others do not; hears things others ignore; shares this vision, this hearing, with others as a fellow artist and as a storyteller/creator of visual art.
*Apologies to our dearly departed Kurt Vonnegut for the title of this section. The short story and Jonathon Demme's tv movie with Susan Sarandon and Christopher Walken :) still have a direct and powerful influence on who I am. I couldn't have predicted it, but it makes sense.
For that last line I have Dr. Peter Setlow at the University of CT Health Center to thank. What a great guy. One can never look upon gluconeogenesis the same way ever again after listening to him. Nay, _experiencing_ his lectures.
This is the transparent blog of Chelvanaya B. Gabriel. That is to say, I am not hiding my online identity here because the things I have to say are meant to be heard, not archived on the web and thought of as random web commentary amidst the sea of such things.
The things I will say are simply thoughts on the world, on film, on collaborative projects, on writing, and anything else that seems relevant to me (or to you - just ask and I'll see what I can do).
I am a "recovering chemist" because that is an identity that I held so dearly for so long and yet now I am quite sure that chemistry is not what defines me as a human being. LOL It did for a time, and it was a good thing. Note: I live near Martha Stewart's house and I am told by my father that perhaps she has an influence on us New Englanders such that we are bound to say things like "it's a good thing"...
Now, I define myself far more broadly, some would say loosely, as in perhaps I no longer have direction. And yet, that is so subjective. I am not working for "The Man" any longer - am not making the "big bucks" as a lab monkey, helping to bolster Pfizer or Merck's bottom line. But that - to me - is not direction, it's static. It's dull and exploitative and saps the soul out of you. Working for anyone other than yourself or your family or your community (including non-profit work), it's soul-sucking, soul-destroying, soul-twisting, soul-perverting work. And I'm not interested in occupying that place in the world any longer.
Mind you, it means considerably less financial security but it also means spending time with my family. It means reconnecting with me, rediscovering who I was and who I am and who I want to be. Questions that you cannot possibly hear when you are running the "rat race". The pounding of your own feet is too loud. The thunderous pounding of all the other souls on this planet who run with you, ahead of you and behind you is not only deafening, it's downright eardrum-shattering.
Anyway, enough metaphors. Enough cliches. The point is - I once was a chemist. But I also once was, and am once again, a daughter, a sister, a granddaughter, a cousin, a niece, a friend. I am once again a creator of things: a writer and an artist; a person who sees things others do not; hears things others ignore; shares this vision, this hearing, with others as a fellow artist and as a storyteller/creator of visual art.
*Apologies to our dearly departed Kurt Vonnegut for the title of this section. The short story and Jonathon Demme's tv movie with Susan Sarandon and Christopher Walken :) still have a direct and powerful influence on who I am. I couldn't have predicted it, but it makes sense.
For that last line I have Dr. Peter Setlow at the University of CT Health Center to thank. What a great guy. One can never look upon gluconeogenesis the same way ever again after listening to him. Nay, _experiencing_ his lectures.
Glimpses of Hope (A Collaborative Photo Shoot)
This was written for the Little Book of Man project started by Ron Modro, wherein a number of people all around the world took photos at the same time, the time of the dropping of the atom bombs on Hiroshima (and then later Nagasaki) in 1945 during WWII. As a commemoration of this event and other tragedies since then, we all submitted our photo and associated stories for posting on the website. Please go there and check out the other photo stories! I am posting mine here as well.
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Title: Glimpses of Hope
I hadn't had much sleep the night before so I woke up barely in time for our 8:30am August 6th commemorative, collaborative photo shoot. I wasn't feeling too creative because of that but I had purposefully not decided to do anything in particular. Instead I had spent the time since I signed up for the project honing my photography skills and getting more comfortable with my camera.
Mind you, this is not to imply that I have any vast skill - just an explanation of my process preparing for this event, to the extent that I did prepare that is.
The event that we all were referencing, that is to say, the bombing of Hiroshima and Nagasaki in 1945, both informed our photos and informed everyone else's actions that day if only in the overdetermined way that everything that has happened before has a lasting effect on all timepoints thereafter. Little Man and Fat Boy were hardly anything like butterfly wings but the saying that a butterfly flaps its wings in one part of the world and causes it to rain in another, is more broadly relevant in a temporal sense.
Back to the photo shoot. I stumbled outside and was awake almost instantly, both from the fresh air of the morning and from the anticipation/realization of what we were all doing, all around the world, at the exact same time. The fact that I was holding my camera in much the same way that most of the rest of you were holding yours (for how many ways can one hold a camera, besides changing the angle or adjusting telephoto lenses) just about overwhelmed me emotionally. It is a very powerful thing when any group of people get together as a collective to take any action, and an extra element that I cannot put a name to is added on to that when those people that combine their energies are complete strangers to one another (with some exceptions?)...
I decided to do exactly as I had "planned" and let something that is both outside of myself, and at the same time deeply nestled within me in some intangible way, guide my photos. I think I took 7 photos that morning all around the 8:30 timeframe. I figured that a few minutes one way or the other would not matter given the variability in the accuracy of timepieces, et cetera, etc. That, and I'm hardly a stickler for precise timing at any time of the day, least of all first
thing in the morning.
After a bit of a walk, my eyes and my camera rested on a porthole attic window with an old bedpost resting against it. The colors of the brick, the worn window casing, the design of the bedpost and the symmetry I found in the angle of shot that I ultimately used felt right.
But I continued, taking all manner of other photos also, by 'all manner of' I mean four or so but they ranged in content: a bee methodically collecting pollen from a rose inches from a thick mass of Japanese beetles devouring the petals of another; my hand holding a cherry tomato from the garden turned just so in order to make it look like an eye staring back at me from my palm; and echinacea, lobelia and phlox recovering from a heavy storm the night previous.
Then I sat on the photos until the deadline (I'm a procrastinator by nature I guess) and a few days before, I decided not only to use my first photo but to also tweak it gimp-style (If I'm going to advertise a product, I wanted it to be an open source product rather than the more popular graphics editor that starts with a "P"). I adjusted the color balance, saturation, and a few other settings (all to the whole photo not to portions of it) to discover that there was something magical hidden in the photo I had taken!
The morning light pushing its way through the maple trees was reflected in the glass of the window but when I adjusted certain settings in just the right way, that light became multi-colored and hazy whereas the rest of the photo was not as much. Then some other changes were made, such as making the color of the brick stand out more powerfully.
The lights in the left half of the window appear as if they are fleeing from the window into the bright white triangle of sky-space at the top right of the photo. Are they the souls of those who were so heinously murdered and tortured (for many did not die right away)? I leave that up to your interpretation. In fact, I leave the whole photo and my poorly described photo shoot process up to your collective interpretations, those of you who will read over our photo-stories. And I thank you for also being a part of this collective experience, your presence as a photographer and/or reader and/or Ron Modro, wondrous organizer of the whole thing enriches us all and it is that precious touch of enrichment in our world that just might signal that there is hope yet in these increasingly hope-scarce times.
Hope is a fragile concept and one that does little good, in my humblest of opinions, if it is not channeled toward action. But the beautiful thing is, any action that is informed by love, compassion, tenderness, understanding, open-mindedness, mindfulness, self-awareness, peace and intelligence - any action at all: a smile, a hug, a wave, writing a letter, protesting, writing a book, forming discussion groups, joining discussion groups, being present with your family and friends, organizing fundraisers and awareness events for Darfur, for Peru, for Bangladesh, for the poorest of poor right here in the U.S.!, for whatever cause you can connect with - these actions, by their very nature will be the butterfly wings of our world and we will all feel the effects, even if we don't know it.
Peace and Love,
Chelvanaya Gabriel
North America
--------------
Title: Glimpses of Hope
I hadn't had much sleep the night before so I woke up barely in time for our 8:30am August 6th commemorative, collaborative photo shoot. I wasn't feeling too creative because of that but I had purposefully not decided to do anything in particular. Instead I had spent the time since I signed up for the project honing my photography skills and getting more comfortable with my camera.
Mind you, this is not to imply that I have any vast skill - just an explanation of my process preparing for this event, to the extent that I did prepare that is.
The event that we all were referencing, that is to say, the bombing of Hiroshima and Nagasaki in 1945, both informed our photos and informed everyone else's actions that day if only in the overdetermined way that everything that has happened before has a lasting effect on all timepoints thereafter. Little Man and Fat Boy were hardly anything like butterfly wings but the saying that a butterfly flaps its wings in one part of the world and causes it to rain in another, is more broadly relevant in a temporal sense.
Back to the photo shoot. I stumbled outside and was awake almost instantly, both from the fresh air of the morning and from the anticipation/realization of what we were all doing, all around the world, at the exact same time. The fact that I was holding my camera in much the same way that most of the rest of you were holding yours (for how many ways can one hold a camera, besides changing the angle or adjusting telephoto lenses) just about overwhelmed me emotionally. It is a very powerful thing when any group of people get together as a collective to take any action, and an extra element that I cannot put a name to is added on to that when those people that combine their energies are complete strangers to one another (with some exceptions?)...
I decided to do exactly as I had "planned" and let something that is both outside of myself, and at the same time deeply nestled within me in some intangible way, guide my photos. I think I took 7 photos that morning all around the 8:30 timeframe. I figured that a few minutes one way or the other would not matter given the variability in the accuracy of timepieces, et cetera, etc. That, and I'm hardly a stickler for precise timing at any time of the day, least of all first
thing in the morning.
After a bit of a walk, my eyes and my camera rested on a porthole attic window with an old bedpost resting against it. The colors of the brick, the worn window casing, the design of the bedpost and the symmetry I found in the angle of shot that I ultimately used felt right.
But I continued, taking all manner of other photos also, by 'all manner of' I mean four or so but they ranged in content: a bee methodically collecting pollen from a rose inches from a thick mass of Japanese beetles devouring the petals of another; my hand holding a cherry tomato from the garden turned just so in order to make it look like an eye staring back at me from my palm; and echinacea, lobelia and phlox recovering from a heavy storm the night previous.
Then I sat on the photos until the deadline (I'm a procrastinator by nature I guess) and a few days before, I decided not only to use my first photo but to also tweak it gimp-style (If I'm going to advertise a product, I wanted it to be an open source product rather than the more popular graphics editor that starts with a "P"). I adjusted the color balance, saturation, and a few other settings (all to the whole photo not to portions of it) to discover that there was something magical hidden in the photo I had taken!
The morning light pushing its way through the maple trees was reflected in the glass of the window but when I adjusted certain settings in just the right way, that light became multi-colored and hazy whereas the rest of the photo was not as much. Then some other changes were made, such as making the color of the brick stand out more powerfully.
The lights in the left half of the window appear as if they are fleeing from the window into the bright white triangle of sky-space at the top right of the photo. Are they the souls of those who were so heinously murdered and tortured (for many did not die right away)? I leave that up to your interpretation. In fact, I leave the whole photo and my poorly described photo shoot process up to your collective interpretations, those of you who will read over our photo-stories. And I thank you for also being a part of this collective experience, your presence as a photographer and/or reader and/or Ron Modro, wondrous organizer of the whole thing enriches us all and it is that precious touch of enrichment in our world that just might signal that there is hope yet in these increasingly hope-scarce times.
Hope is a fragile concept and one that does little good, in my humblest of opinions, if it is not channeled toward action. But the beautiful thing is, any action that is informed by love, compassion, tenderness, understanding, open-mindedness, mindfulness, self-awareness, peace and intelligence - any action at all: a smile, a hug, a wave, writing a letter, protesting, writing a book, forming discussion groups, joining discussion groups, being present with your family and friends, organizing fundraisers and awareness events for Darfur, for Peru, for Bangladesh, for the poorest of poor right here in the U.S.!, for whatever cause you can connect with - these actions, by their very nature will be the butterfly wings of our world and we will all feel the effects, even if we don't know it.
Peace and Love,
Chelvanaya Gabriel
North America
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