Zen Garden in Druid Hill Park/Coldspring Labyrinth

Last month I visited the Zen Garden by walking from the southeast along the maintenance road that borders the north side of the zoo. I'd noticed the Zen Garden on the map of the park on its north side (quadrant B1) and got the idea to finally take a look after I read an article shared by one of my FB organizations.  The author of the Baltimore Sun piece, "Reviving Druid Hill's 'Zen Garden'," April 15, 2017, Craig Phillips, found that the garden hadn't really been developed or maintained much since it was started, which I think was in 2010. On his own he created a labyrinth and added some Buddhist-related pieces. Although his intentions are nice, this kind of individual initiative on parkland could backfire, such as because of First Amendment issues.

An easier way to reach the Zen Garden is from the north pedestrian/bicycle entrance, Parkdale Avenue from the Woodberry/Clipper Mill neighborhood. This picture is from inside the park toward that entrance. To get to the Zen Garden from the path, turn left at the gate post, that is, right in this picture.

I took the path just beyond the gate, although Phillips suggests a dirt path a little further down. According to the map, a stream runs between the Parkdale Road path and the path to the Zen Garden, but it seemed dry to me.

Lining this path are concrete remains that I guess maintenance dumped here. It's a short walk to the Zen Garden.

In the garden are two circles--one to the north with a Buddha statue sitting on two slabs and a labyrinth to the south.

Sign below the prayer wheel

One idea I get from walking the labyrinth is when the path takes me away from the destination just as it seems close. This reminds me of how we can face setbacks in our lives and the need for knowing how to handle them or possibly prevent them.

                                                                              

On the left side of the labyrinth is this circle to the left in the ground. The left part of it is the character for winter (冬),  but I don't know what the right part means. The circle on the right has the character for spring (春).

The bench was placed here during the initial work on the garden about seven years ago. Phillips placed that wooden face on the tree.

Baltimore Green Map has created interactive maps along with paper maps of Druid Hill Park and Jones Falls Trail. I used the latter on Tuesday when I walked to Cylburn Arboretum then north through the Mount Washington neighborhood, which has a bunch of large houses, many of which look like they could be used for haunted mansions. 

Just before the Arboretum I stopped at another labyrinth--the Coldspring Labyrinth, which sits by the Coldspring Community Center at 4800 Tamarind Road. Across the street is a Waldorf School. [The map on the Coldspring Newtown website is very good. The labyrinth is between the bird sanctuary and the ball field.]

I'd wrongly assumed that I could walk a circle back to my place after visiting the Arboretum by taking Northern Parkway east to Roland Avenue, but I discovered that stretch lacks sidewalks and is too dangerous to walk along. It has now occurred to me that my detour through Mount Washington to reach another way across I-83, Kelly Avenue, was a setback like in a labyrinth, with the setback actually a blessing in disguise. This reminds me of a useful Chinese saying 塞翁失马，焉知非福 (Sai Weng Shi Ma Yan Zhi Fei Fu--Sai Weng lost his horse - who knows if this is bad or good?/When the old man from the frontier lost his horse, how could one know it is not good fortune?). One way of translating that is this: "It can be difficult to foresee the twists and turns which compel misfortune to beget fortune, and vice versa." Chinese sayings like this tend to have background stories that help explain them. Short version for this saying. 

So many setbacks in life are much worse--making it almost impossible to find any blessing in disguise, which requires some other way to try to understand or forget what happened and move forward. I've been thinking too much lately about my mistakes and don't easily see the blessings in disguise. One way for me to deal with that is to try to use the positives to outweigh the negatives. Walking around and talking with others are among those positives. A short example of that was when I talked with a nice manager of an apartment complex I walked by and was wondering about. She gave me suggestions on how to get around the Northern Parkway obstacle.

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Added on July 13, 2018
The Zen Garden has changed since I posted this. The main difference is the area around the little statue.

This seems to be a platform for meditation.

This peace sign is to the left in the above picture.

While sitting on the bench last week, I felt that the clear area beside this plot helped make this place relaxing because my eyes kept looking in that direction.

People place objects on the round block in the middle of the labyrinth.

It's been more than a year since I was here. Someone who found this entry messaged me that the Zen Garden had been improved, so last week I walked from near Penn Station along Jones Falls to Woodberry then over to the back entrance of Druid Hill Park. I felt overcome while at the Zen Garden by thoughts of how I'd thought I was getting closer to a destination last year but was actually leading myself away. Near the end of what I wrote in May 2017, I tried to rationalize going in circles, but sometimes cutting through directly is best, and I wish I'd done that.

Art Deco House in Baltimore

The colors and design of this house make me feel that I'm in a Dr. Seuss story or maybe a Beverly Cleary book. I'm thinking what it would be like to have one or two rooms in a home with colors like this--maybe an eating area for breakfast and lunch by the kitchen. I'm not sure what else. I'd prefer something more down-to-earth--brownish and white--for maybe most of the home. The colors make me feel that there are many sorts of wonderful possibilities, that life can be magical and fun.

The variety of tiles on this kitchen wall especially attracted me. I wonder how easy it would be to create this. Maybe left-overs or samples would make this a cheap project?

I visited this house in Baltimore on Saturday, May 20, during its open house on the market. Many other visitors were impressed, with some saying it is impractical. But I think practicality can include impact on one's mental states, so I suppose some of this could lead to cheerful thoughts. The rooms are rather small, though.

I'm not a fan of the furnishings, but I still think they're fascinating.

The original owners were inspired by art deco architecture in the Miami area when they built this in 1948. The heat is from hot water radiant floors.

The tall bamboo lines the property line to the south. I've never seen such tall bamboo in this part of the US.
(I now remember that I've seen very tall bamboo while walking behind the zoo in Druid Hill Park.)

Original owner painted this white, but the turquoise trim is the same.
Bay window to left is living room; one to the right is the bedroom.

view of Lake Montebello from sidewalk in front of the house

Braided Rugs

I hope it's not too late for me to realize that I would like to be back in Gettysburg at this time of year while it's raining. I'm thinking now of visiting my grandparents near the end of a May and I was picked up at the Frederick bus station by my grandmother, a cousin, and a great uncle called Uncle Dump--the memory of finally returning to Gettysburg after being away for awhile as we turned up the Emmitsburg Road and then stopped at the old Visitors Center, where I browsed books. The warmth of my grandparents' home with the circular and oval braided rugs and a smell that I can't bring back. Sliced deli meats wrapped in white paper in their refrigerator fascinated me then because we almost never got that kind of thing where I grew up. The braided rugs also fascinated me when I was a little kid and we still lived in Pennsylvania. I used to try to roll marbles along the grooves, but it was the alternating colors--natural colors: browns, tans, greens, cream--that attracted me. I'm now reminded to look for one of these for my apartment in Baltimore.

I'd planned to be back in Gettysburg this week to attend a talk by an advocate against child sexual abuse and see my grandmother. But I've had to stay in Madison to catch up on grading and to sort through what to take to Baltimore. By not attending I feel that I've let her down and lost a chance. So I tried to make up for it by contacting on Thursday more people in the area to encourage them to attend. The rain and temperatures in the 50s yesterday were about the same as that time.

The rain in April and May also reminds me of walking back in the rain from a showing of the Umbrellas of Cherbourg at the National Gallery of Art. I wonder if my sadness then came from an unconscious awareness of something somewhat like it about to happen to me. And then the rain as I drove through Connecticut back from doing research one April in Boston. That's when a jazz piano work I've liked since I was in Kansas, Peace Piece by Bill Evans, took on the painful reminder feeling it now has for me.

Stephen King, Renoirs, and the USS Constellation

“The most important things are the hardest to say. They are the things you get ashamed of, because words diminish them -- words shrink things that seemed limitless when they were in your head to no more than living size when they're brought out. But it's more than that, isn't it? The most important things lie too close to wherever your secret heart is buried, like landmarks to a treasure your enemies would love to steal away. And you may make revelations that cost you dearly only to have people look at you in a funny way, not understanding what you've said at all, or why you thought it was so important that you almost cried while you were saying it. That's the worst, I think. When the secret stays locked within not for want of a teller but for want of an understanding ear.” Stephen King, first paragraph of "The Body," novella published in Different Seasons and basis for the movie Stand By Me.

art in the Baltimore Museum of Art by Pierre-Auguste Renoir,
father of Jean Renoir,  "Small Stooping Washerwoman" 

I worry that I've missed revelations like that from others. Or maybe at times I've heard, or at least have tried to, but have failed to convey that well enough. It's painful to be on the other end, trying to word feelings of that depth but not being heard or more often keeping them inside out of fear of little or no reaction.  And sometimes it's that the people who might be willing to listen are not the same as the one or those you wish would care. That problem reminds me of one of the most depressing movies I've ever seen--The Rules of the Game, the 1939 French film directed by Jean Renoir. I first saw it on Christmas night at an arthouse theater in Kansas City's Westport. Characters were shifting their romantic interests and they often failed to match. A would be interested in B, who was interested in C but not A. D would be interested in A, who was not interested in D. Something like that. I haven't seen this in a while. [Roger Ebert's review of The Rules of the Game.]

"Washerwomen" (left), "On the Shore of the Seine" (upper right), "The Reader" (lower right)

Below are some pictures I took last summer of the interior of the USS Constellation located in Baltimore. For most of the time, I was the only one on the deck. Feelings similar to what I've described above overcame me when I was where the ballast is stored in the hold. One of my thoughts was the realization that sometimes returns to me of experiencing things alone, similar to a painful moment that I don't want to describe online.  Part of that feeling was realizing that I might be a willing listener that the speaker wasn't so interested in opening up to. Another was of going through life like this, seeing sights but no one with whom to share experiences. The most common time for me to feel that, though, is in everyday settings.

Captain's quarters