Creating Ink from the Ashes

For many of us, 2026 has been pretty topsy-turvy ~ a certain level of chaos and change. And as I write this, I’m aware that the Timber Fire has grown to 4,000 acres in Big Sur ~ the latest chapter in the area’s ongoing relationship with fire. The situation is very much on my mind and in my heart.

Some of you know that this past March there was a fire at Tassajara (San Francisco Zen Center’s monastery in the Ventana Wilderness area, east of Big Sur) that completely burned down the zendo ~ the meditation hall. I lived at Tassajara 20 years ago, and this news was a painful heartbreaking shock.

I was heartened to hear that in the aftermath of this massive loss, Tassajara residents continued to practice, just in a different building. Even though so much was lost in the fire, they kept practicing and following the schedule.

And I recently discovered that practice at Tassajara has continued in another way, too. Residents have learned how to make calligraphy ink from the charcoal left by the fire. I felt the magic and tenderness of this process as I saw photos of residents’ charcoal-covered hands, the ink bottles they filled, and calligraphy created with the charcoal ink.

It was uplifting to see that the residents had found this way to process the loss and honor the zendo. They literally took matters into their own hands, and I found that so beautiful. This alchemy in their creative act.

In this AI-forward era, it’s so important to find hands-on ways of coping when difficult, unexpected things happen. Creating with our own hands helps us regulate our nervous systems and keeps us connected to our human-ness. This is part of why art journaling is such a meaningful and powerful practice and why I care so much about sharing it, especially at this time.

The practices we do in my workshops involve looking at our lives as they are, and using our hands to find beauty and possibility in the messiness of being alive. Many students tell me that after finishing a practice they feel more centered and present, and a greater sense of connectedness.

I shared about my own experience with this in a recent Instagram post. If you’d like to hear more about it, please click below.

In my art journaling practice, I have the experience of shifting from a story of “what happened to me” to include some other dimensions, like “what else happened?” “what did this give me?” “how did this transform me?”

Even in the hardest times, it’s important to remember that there is more than we may initially see. And our perspective tends to change over time.

The poem below also speaks to this idea of there being more than our difficult days than we perceive, and I wanted to share it today:

Against Panic
by Molly Fisk

You recall those times, I know you do, when the sun
lifted its weight over a small rise to warm your face,
when a lopsided city finally belched rain, rain
sluicing down the sidewalk, rattling city maps
and you so sure the end was near. Like a house of cards
tipped over, falling, hopes left beneath extinguished
in a bitter wind. Oh, friends! search memory again;
beauty and relief are still there, only sleeping.

❤️

I hope this note gives you a sense of possibility, and helps you reconnect with a spirit of beauty and relief.

If you know someone who could use a little more of that spirit, feel free to pass this along to them.