why?
there were twelve of us at ragdale, and i’m sure each person can give her or his own reasons as to why the time was so powerful, based on their experiences and needs. i won’t presume to speak for anyone else, except to say that everyone did incredible work—writing, photography, painting, dance—and each person suggested that this work was facilitated by the residency.
as for me . . .
right before i came to ragdale, i’d finished (as much as i could finish) the novel i’d imagined i’d be finishing up during january. given that, and the conjunction of other events in my life, i felt depleted and doubtful–not doubtful of the place, or of the gift of the residency, but of my own resources. i was the quiet one, during our first round of introductions, afraid that i sounded like i didn’t know what i would be doing with the time. bottom line, i was hoping to do some deep reading and reflection and yoga and contemplative prayer. i was hoping to ski the prairie. i was hoping to rest. if i found my way back into writing, well, that would be a miracle, and god bless that.
friends and writers had said to me: set an intention. an intention will make the best use of your time. all december, i kept trying to set an intention. but by the time i drove out of the holidays and into the blizzard of that first day, all i was able to do was set my eyes on the snowy road and the wrinkled map. and i still got lost (thank god for greg, my husband, who answers when i call).
here’s what happened then.
the quiet set in. the quiet, and the realization: look there! a table all my own to work at! i like liturgy and ritual, so pretty early on, i decided that i’d try to establish a flexible pattern for my days. i woke when i wanted to–not too late, not too early, just right–padded down the lovely, old stairs to the lovely, old kitchen, made two cups of strong tea and a cup of yogurt, fruit, nuts and honey, padded back up again to my room (aka “Albert’s room”), and proceeded to read the two same books the whole same morning time: joyce rupp’s incredible guide for spiritual growth, the cup of life, and uncomfortable with uncertainty, by one of the people i most want to have dinner with, pema chodron. i wrote in my journal. i did some drawing. i put myself through some yoga positions, doing my best to hold the poses (but, wow, do i love a good guide). all this took about an hour or so. then i sat down in front of my computer and did what i could do with words there.
first two days, nothing much but roam around in language.
then something happened and i found my way into something i hope will be a longer project. i wrote a lot, with more joy than i’ve felt for years.
somewhere in there i’d grab some lunch, which i would eat at my desk while i worked.
then i’d ski. i skied and i skied. when it got too madcap with the melting and the ice, then i walked. the snowy prairie was breathtaking. the exercise was great. it cleared my head, too.
then i’d have long, delicious dinners, prepared by ragdale’s chef linda (extraordinaire), and great conversations with the other residents, then a fire in the big, old fireplace, and reading in companionable silence with new friends–someday this pain will be good for you, by peter cameron (i will never be the same after reading this, so very very good), and olive, by elizabeth strout
then bed, and i would not be afraid of ghosts, i would not, i would not. but my room was tender and sweet, in spite of the wild dreams.
then the next day: the same, all over again.
i cherished good, quiet (so as not to disturb) talks with my family. we skyped! fun.
what amazed me most: the collective creative energy of ragdale. i’ve experienced something similar when i’ve stayed in monasteries. that kind of intensity and purity of focus (at least, as i see it as an outsider) lends intentionality to the most mundane of activities–peeling an orange for instance, or hanging laundry on a line, and all of it, all of it, prepared one–prepared me–for moments of deeper prayer and an attentiveness to the present moment that i’ve rarely felt otherwise. well, maybe while holding my children or my husband. then, yes, then, too. at ragdale, i felt this in my creative work. there have been artists living in that house for over a hundred years, and always they’ve invited other artists in to pursue their work. i really believe the place holds a history of best intentions, and nurtures that in the present and for the future. call it the communion of artists, the communion of saints. it’s sacred.
