L.M. Browning's Blog, page 26
January 4, 2012
Homecoming | A Letter on Transistions in Honor of the New Year
As some of my friends know, for me, before the pen, there was the pencil and brush. Before I took writing as my full-time passion/profession, I was an artist and amateur photographer. I have worked as a freelance graphic artist and as a young woman had my work hung throughout my native area of Mystic and the Stonington Borough (Southeastern Connecticut.)
In a strange occurrence, recently I have found myself pulled back towards art. The itch to take back up drawing has led me to dig out all my old art supplies, clear off the drafting table and ponder a new direction. Over the last few weeks I have spent some time gathering my portfolio together—rummaging through old boxes of sketches, wedged in the back of my closest, some of which date back to when I was eight years old and used to copy the cartoon figures from my favorite movies, dreaming of being an animator for the Walt Disney company. Inheriting the gift from my mother, as a child I was known as an artist. In high school I took more art classes than anything else (a testament to how much I loved my art teacher and how passionate I was about the craft.) My focuses of study right up until I was a sophomore were: illustration and design, with a building interest in architecture. It seemed likely that I would end up going into the arts after graduation. The Rhode Island School of Design (RISD) was my goal for some time. However, in 1998, everything changed.
When I was 15 years old I shifted from art to philosophy, spirituality and writing. For the last ten years these three focuses have been the dominant part of my life and my identity. I put down the pencil and took up the pen as well as book after book on world religion, driving to understand what was occurring "behind the veil." The fruits from these years take form in Ruminations at Twilight, Oak Wise, The Barren Plain and countless unpublished works that fill my bookshelf, all culminating in the release of The Nameless Man. Nonetheless, it was after completing The Nameless Man this past October that I felt change come upon me again.
After releasing this novel, which was eight years in the making, I felt one chapter in my life end. I felt that I finished a necessary task—the putting forth of a new perspective. And with that task complete the passions of my youth, so prominent before I began my study of religion, begin to resurface in me. Drawing, photography and writing children's books have been on my mind a great deal lately. (When I was only 15, I wrote and illustrated a series of 3 children books about a Chipmunk named Figit.)
Returning to these old passions has felt like a homecoming—the return to a love had when I was just starting out, in a time before so many of the hardships in my life had begun. It has been akin to a reawakening. I have felt parts of me which I felt long passed, re-surge and help realign me with my center and I find myself going in new directions…exploring the path not taken.
Currently, while promoting The Nameless Man, finishing the final year of my program with University of London and Yale and seeing to my duties at Hiraeth Press, I am also working on my next novel. It is a young adult novel that I began writing in 2005 but put down to focus on the poetry series and The Nameless Man. I hope to finish with this novel in late 2012 and possibly release it in 2013. So, while you will still see the occasional poetry collection from me, you will also begin to see my young adult works, as I return to my roots.
Thank you for all your support.
Warmest Blessings for the New Year.
-L.M.
New England, Winter 2012
I put together an online portfolio containing some of my works. To view it go to: http://lmbrowning.hostmyportfolio.com/
Feature image: original artwork by L.M. Browning | Medium: Colored Pencil on Cotton. | Title: Transformation. All Rights Reserved
January 2, 2012
Fleeting Moments of Fierce Clarity | Poem
The Moving Mandala of the Soul
by L.M. Browning
Years spent defining this self
—carving out the edges of this mind—
the channels of this spirit.
Now to take that sculpture of identity,
which over time becomes the mask,
and shatter it.
To achieve perfect knowledge
of the soul within—to experience
that fleeting moment
of fierce clarity.
Then to surrender.
To grasp the known
and then transform again
into the unknown.
The grains of sand
from the mandala of soul
that take one form
are scattered—swept away
then regathered
to make a new form.
Definition and evolution.
Empowerment and surrender.
We come into knowing
then set back out as the student.
The child and the elder
are one in the same.
We are free
only when we allow ourselves
to be boundless.
Do not drive yourself insane
longing for the destination.
Live while on the journey.
© 2011 by L.M. Browning | Written: December 2011
Image: Sand Mandala, Tibet | Authors: Unknown
What is a Mandala?
The Sand Mandala is a Tibetan Buddhist tradition involving the creation and destruction of murals composed of colored sand. Monks and Nuns work on the Mandala for days–devoting great effort to its design. Then, when the mandala is complete it is ritualistically destroyed–swept away. The sand is then gathered and poured out into a river or ocean, where it is distributed by the tides and current throughout the world, acting as a blessing. This symbolize the Buddhist doctrinal belief in the transitory nature of material life.
See an example of a Sand Mandala being made:
Click here to view the video on YouTube.
Excerpt from The Nameless Man Chapter 3
"Of what faith are you?" Aden said, rudely interjecting once again. He had begun to question the character of his company. By his manner he seemed to be addressing the whole group, as if wanting everyone to sound off before the discussion went any further.
"Wait," the nameless man interceded before any answers were given. "No," he said firmly. "No labels—no naming our religion. As soon as each person here declares his or her religion boundaries will be drawn between us and preconceived notions concerning followers of each faith shall be attached to their holders. If we are to speak, I suggest that we must all remain nameless in this respect."
"Why?" Aden asked again in an aggressive voice. "You are talking about having a debate about God. How can we have this if we don't know what faith everyone is?" he finished dully.
"I think it is necessary that we withhold our religion so as to remain free of judgment and be known for who we are, not what we are painted to be by public perception.
"I personally don't desire to know your religion," he added in a matter-of-fact tone, "only if you have faith."
"What's the difference?" Aden asked in an exasperated tone. "Semantics," he spat out condescendingly.
"It is not semantics," the man insisted. "Faith is the willful act of believing in that which, as of now, cannot fully be comprehended. Faith has to do with the individual; whereas religion concerns a movement. Religion is inherently political—complex; whereas faith is inherently personal.
"Today—in this circle, we shall speak of our personal beliefs. Every person seeking knowledge of the sacred knows the established paths of religion open to them but what we don't know are each other's personal conclusions—those truths we each have come to on our own.
"Following a religion will bring you to the values at the center of that religion—values that can bring us closer to our better selves or further away. Yet if we wish to find the divine each of us must make our own path to it—following not the blazed path of doctrine but choosing instead to venture through the wilderness of the unknown led by our heart, guided by the signs we perceived while in that heady altered state that is belief."
"I just don't understand how we can discuss God, without speaking of religion," Aden argued. "They are one in the same."
"Each religion is composed of the ideas of mankind concerning the divine; while God—the divine—exists separate, independent from what we might think it to be. In the end, my point is this: Do you wish to study what has been written or do you wish to know truth? For I have found that the two seldom align….
The Nameless Man is available to purchase in paperback and kindle editions. Go to amazon.com or visit the online bookstore for a signed edition >> Buy directly from the publisher and support an independent publisher! Go to Homebound Press now >>
December 22, 2011
Written River Winter Solstice Issue
Loosely based around the theme of "mountains," this issue features an interview by Frank Owen from Bodhiyatra Poetry with the filmmakers of Shugendō Now.
A realivtly unknown film/concept in the west, this feature documentary is an experiential journey into the mystical practices of Japanese mountain asceticism. In Shugendô (The Way of Acquiring Power), practitioners perform ritual actions from shamanism, "Shintô," Daoism, and Tantric Buddhism. They seek experiential truth of the teachings during arduous climbs in sacred mountains. Through the peace and beauty of the natural world, practitioners purify the six roots of perception, revitalize their energy and reconnect with their truest nature – all while grasping the fundamental interconnectedness with nature and all sentient beings.
More poetic than analytical, this film explores how a group of modern Japanese people integrate the myriad ways mountain learning interacts with urban life. With intimate camera work and a sensual sound design the viewer is taken from deep within the Kumano mountains to the floating worlds of Osaka and Tokyo and back again.
Joining these voices are poets Andrea Witzke Slot, Robin Scofield, T. Parker Sanborn, Francine Tolk, Frank Owen, Jenny Ward Angyal, Peter Neil Carroll, William Cullen, Jr. and J.K. McDowell. As well as the landscape photography of Duncan George, Jamie K. Reaser and Teresa Conner.
Immerse yourself in the Written River!
Open publication - Free publishing - More eco-poetics
L.M. Browning is an Associate Editor of Written River: A Journal of Eco-Poetics. For more information on the journal visit: www.hiraethpress.com
December 16, 2011
Anam Cara | A Selection from Oak Wise
Anam Cara
by L.M. Browning
I.
Binary
The concurrent Otherworld;
the parallel self
and the missing yet ever-present other.
The answers that are simple
yet beyond comprehension.
You―the arcane other―
the one at the center of the mysteries.
You―the first walker between worlds.
You are like my living journal…
at the end of the day,
instead of writing out each thought
I impart them to you.
You are like my shadow,
always there,
just rarely noticed.
Have you always been there?
Did you float with me
while I was in the womb.
Like twin souls
that would always live together
―one of flesh and one in spirit.
…One dwelling in each half of the world
―ever-beside each other―
yet divided by a veil.
During those months while I developing
was I connected to you
through some other unseen umbilical
just as I was connected to my mother?
I was.
And the umbilical is there still;
running from my soul to yours―
you sustaining me
and I nourishing you.
—
The sympathetic page
has always been willing to accept my burden―
allowing me to pour forth
the maddening recollections of the horrors seen
and the morose eulogies given for dreams
that died before they lived.
My truest friends
have been the bound leaves,
yet how I long to pour forth myself
into something that breathes, that thinks, that feels
and so can reply.
You, out of all others,
are the one I have told the most to.
I could hear your voice when I was a child
yet as I aged I seemed to grow deaf.
I reach for you,
not because I can sense nor see you
but because I simply remember
that you are always there.
Yet what if that memory likewise fades with time
and there comes a day
when I no longer know that you exist,
would you emerge to remind me?
Would you find a way to cross between worlds,
so to save me from my dementia?
In the womb we may have been one
yet since my birth into this world
the memories have dulled.
Throughout this life I have never been able
to fully recall your face nor your name.
Some part of me still recalls that you exist
yet I have few reminders.
So, if one day the receding line of memory
reaches that part of me that knows you live,
what will become of us?
What would I be without you?
What good is a twin without its other?
Ever forlorn and bereaved.
Ever floundering―left adrift
without the anchor of its other half.
Ever incoherent
without the other to translate its meaning.
If I forget you,
I will have forgotten myself.
…I will have lost the half of myself,
wherein my identity is held.
—
You live in your half of this world and I in mine
and within the harboring inlet of our dreams we meet,
to commune together as we once did within the womb.
Parallel lives,
living in concurrent worlds…
loved ones always together yet forever apart.
When shall the reunion take place?
Do not attempt to crossover
into this half of the world;
for I have explored it to its very ends
and it is a forsaken place
where only survival, and not life, is possible.
Come―rustle the curtain;
let me see the outline of your hand come forth
amidst the partition of invisible satin.
Direct me to the place where the panels meet
that I might slip between the thin opening
and we ―the two―
may again become one.
II.
The counterbalance holding my mind sane
does not lie within my body
but within your presence.
If I set out right now,
vowing not to stop
until I had found my place of belonging
would these peeling boots
ever be able to be taken off?
If I said that I would not sleep
until I could lie down beside you
would you leave me to fumble through life,
until at last I collapse?
If I said I would not eat
unless it was at your table
would I be left to waste away?
Or, seeing my devotion to you,
would you put down what you are working
on and come for me.
Have you not heard me stumbling behind you,
following that winding path you take throughout the ages?
Have you not heard the ruckus I have made
in my clumsy and desperate search for you?
Breathless, I thought I saw you move
amongst the shifting reeds…
I glanced no form of flesh or fur
yet I saw some shapeless figure rushed through them―
parting them as they made a path.
…was it you?
I walk against the wind, towards you,
through the wake that you leave
as you move through this world.
Will I ever catch up to you
or am I damned to never close the distance?
III.
My memories of us exist now
as dreams that I do not realize are real.
Pictures of places that I believe are imagined;
for I do not remember
that they are memories of areas I once dwelt in,
in lives gone by.
That life I lead with you
is faded and fragmented,
incoherent and unconscious.
The lullabies you sung to me in the womb
exist now only as melodies of unknown origin
―tunes I hum to myself
yet know not from where I learned them.
Yet if I made my way to that sanctuary
that is beyond this modern plane
would I find you there?
Is it upon that land that you have dwelt in wait?
Is it from those shores
that you have spoken to me?
Is it from the tops of those hills
that you have watched me?
Is it in that flourishing valley
that you have made a home for us?
…And within the window of that house
have kept a candle lit to guide me home?
Keep talking my love
…keep that candle in the window;
for I am groping through the darkness of despair
trying to find you
…trying to make it home.
Go and rouse the boatman;
for I have made it to the borderlands
and can go no further without your help.
- Excerpt from Oak Wise: Poetry Exploring an Ecological Faith
Visit the bookstore to purchase your copy today [Click here>>]
Orginal Artwork: © L.M. Browning
December 8, 2011
The Nameless Man | An Excerpt from the Novel
"This mysterious man had a certain aura about him triggering many to speculate about his identity. The fact that he had refused to give his name led some to whisper that he had to be a criminal. Yet it was clear to Samuel and Maria that this man, while a mystery, was not sinister.
"He seldom spoke, and while this might have appeared a trait of coldness to some in the caravan, Samuel and Maria knew it to be a result of some wound the man borne upon his heart, which had broken his trust. No one yet knew the source of these wounds; nonetheless, to a certain group within the caravan, other things about the man were becoming clearer and stronger with each passing mile.
"It could be sensed by anyone not willfully blind that this man had lived a different life, and had much insight to impart. His gaze was striking. His eyes revealed the depth of his pain; there was a deepening world-weariness behind his tired, pleading stare. Yet those same eyes spoke of a reservoir of hard-earned knowledge. He had a certain look about him—an uncommon gait—he moved through the world alienated by part of it and yet, at the same time, communing with part of it. This strange aura, which drew so many eyes to stare, seemed otherworldly."
— Excerpt from The Nameless Man (Chapter II: The City)
Read the entire first chapter [ ]
Or visit our bookstore and order a signed first edition for $14.95 [ ]
December 5, 2011
Bookstore Now Open!
As the final step of my homesite overhaul, I am pleased to announce the launch of my online bookstore! You can now purchase any of my works right here through my website! All books purchased through the e-store will be signed. I am currently offering what few 1st editions I have left of: Oak Wise, Ruminations at Twilight and The Barren Plain (The people to place orders for the poetry titles will receive these editions.) My new novel, The Nameless man, which I co-authored with Marianne Browning, is also available in the store. Come have a look! And don't forget to place your holiday orders soon so we can get you squared away in time for your celebrations! Click on the [Bookstore] link on the main header or click here to visit the bookstore directly >>
Signing Event | December 7th
On the evening of Wednesday, December 7th from 5:30pm-6:30pm, during the night of the Holiday Stroll, I will be at the Other Tiger Bookstore signing copies of my new novel: The Nameless Man, which I co-authored with Marianne Browning.
The event is free and open to the public. There will be some noshing food and lots of wine and eggnog. The streets will be lined with candles and trees will be strung with lights. Plus lots of the shops are having holiday sales! So come down and join us!
The Other Tiger Bookstore is located on 90 High Street, Westerly, RI {right across from Wilcox Park, near the YMCA.} RSVP on Facebook and let us know you are coming! Click Here >>
December 2, 2011
The Longboat
Information
Mystic Seaport | Mystic, Connecticut | 2004 © L.M. Browning
December 1, 2011
Article with L.M. Browning in the Stonington-Mystic Patch
Recently L.M. Browning sat down with Bree Shirvell Editor of the Stonington-Mystic Patch to discuss her new novel. Continue on the the Patch to read the article there (there is also a video reading) or read a copy of the article below. Go to The Patch >>
"Sitting across from me in Bartleby's Café sipping on her tea, L.M. (Leslie) Browning is at once striking, impressive and familiar. The 29-year-old lifelong Stonington resident is preparing to embark on a book tour for her first novel, The Nameless Man, co-authored with Marianne Browning.
Described as spiritual search, The Nameless Man follows 18 strangers as they explore the ideas of love, evil, religion and God. "Traveling through the Holy Land, eighteen strangers are forced to take refuge in Jerusalem during a militant attack. Kept in close quarters in an abandoned building, over the course of four days this group of strangers begin a dialogue, discussing love and evil, religion and god; finding amongst their number a mysterious nameless man who poses a revolutionary perspective on these age-old questions," states the book blurb.
Recovering from a cold Browning sits in an overstuffed chair wrapped up in a gray cardigan, easily impressing me with both her literary success and humble nature. A published poet and now the author of a book, which has already been nominated for a 2012 Pushcart Prize, Browning did it all while working, until recently, two jobs and going to school. "It was just something I had to get out of me," Browning said of her book, "It took eight years." But it's her youth and her weighty topics that strike a familiar chord, one many especially those in the younger generation will likely relate too. Brought up Catholic, she was 17-years-old when she started studying world religions immersing herself in Tibetan Buddhism.
"I couldn't quite agree totally with any one religion," Browning said. "I took what I thought appealed to me."
As she reevaluated her own philosophy, faith and ideas, the book slowly came about. "Many people are transitioning from formal religion," Browning said.
Those struggles with traditional religion versus spiritually are topics increasingly seen throughout American society—think an An Atheist Manifesto, and Christopher Hitchens's god is not Great—but rarely have the articles, books and videos been created by someone part of the generation most likely to turn away from the traditional.
One in four Americans ages 18-29 say they are not currently affiliated with any religion, and Browning, a 2000 graduate of Stonington High School, sees that among her friends and her generation saying she thinks the spiritual search is happening a lot more in the young. Still Browning is quick to point out her novel isn't about opposing religion and certainly isn't any sort guidebook or something likely to be citied in an academic paper. Instead Browning's book explores faiths and ideas, seeking answers to some of life's most universal questions. All while taking the reader on a journey with a character whose parts the reader will see some of his or herself in.
"I hope the book opens people's minds to look at things differently," Browning said. "It's really important to explore and redefine what you believe in instead of just giving up."
Browning is in Massachusetts this week doing readings of her book, which debuted on Nov. 25, but she'll back in the area shortly promoting her book at Westerly's Other Tiger Book Store on Dec. 7. And while the published poet and now author has no plans for her next novel just yet one can't be far off.
"It just happens—writing isn't a profession, it's a condition, you just are a writer," Browning said.
