Shaking Hands With Findhorn

Scottish artist Andy Goldsworthy has inspired me for years. His creations almost always activate my sense of wonder, bringing earth-based materials — twigs, stones, leaves, and water — into conversation with other natural forces — light, wind, tide, and time. His works shift as they interact with the landscape, passing through multiple evocative stages of beauty. Each piece invites me to contemplate the larger elements shaping my own life. I have used Rivers and Tides, a documentary about Goldsworthy, in my classes with freshmen for four years. We engage four essential

questions – Who am I? What is my place? What does it mean to be human? How, then, shall we live? — and the film does an  amazing job of diving in. I warn the kids that they’ll see no car chases or explosions. There’s no double-crossing or political intrigue, and no kissing or other sexual drama. Even so, the movie always holds their attention. We observe Goldsworthy’s process, witness his dedication, and get a glimpse inside his driving purpose. As he says, he feels most alive when “shaking hands with a place,” using his body in rhythm with the earth’s.

I am here at the Findhorn Foundation in the north of Scotland this week to do the same. Goldsworthy is not leading the Creations In Nature workshop, but he has obviously inspired our facilitators like he has me. (We will actually watch Rivers and Tidestonight.) Over the course of the week, we will visit beach and stream, field and forest, getting the chance to introduce ourselves accordingly. Findhorn’s campus itself also offers opportunity for magical exploration.

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Ideally, each landscape will serve less as canvas and more as co-creative partner. Now that I’ve settled in a bit, I’m eager to get to work.

Simultaneously, I’m noticing a bit of tension within me. Throughout these last few months, I have sensed a strong and growing need for solitude. I simply want the chance to be alone — or at least away from humans — with my surroundings. While allowing for plenty of solo time, our workshop also asks us to meet regularly with a group of 12. We met yesterday afternoon for three consecutive hours.

It’s a classic dilemma, one at the heart of the sabbatical edges I’m exploring. For the introverted contemplative, the outward performance of the stage can prove exhausting, if not aversive. For the extroverted improvisor, the slower pace of intuitive reflection can feel glacial, if not overly self-indulgent. I know that the two worlds brought together offer a balance, depth and insight that neither offers on its own. I’m glad to be working to build that balance, both alone and in partnership. For now, I can remember that Findhorn in particular has great power. The spirits that swirl around this place will carry me through solitude and group work alike. I only need offer my hand in friendship.