My "other" self

This morning I was reminded of how, years ago, I sat under a tree and looked out over the ocean and tried to visualize how my life would look in the distant year 2000.  It was hard to imagine.  I tried to age my children in my mind’s eye, imagine what their personalities would grow into.  Harder still was trying to imagine my own life.

Just past the year 2000 I sat under that same tree and tried to talk to my younger self as she sat there contemplating the current “me”.  I knew warning her of future pitfalls would be a futile endeavor (especially since those pitfalls led me to who I was now), instead I tried to reach across the divide of time and comfort her.  Not knowing her future would be part of the fun.

It occurred to me that I had done this very thing off and on during my life; sit and ruminate on reality.  Years later, I was sitting on a beach on the east coast.  Not trying to imagine my future as much as seeing my parallel self, had I made different choices.

That parallel self had stayed safe with her decisions.  Married safely, worked in stability and was relatively happy despite the gnawing curiosity of how things might have been different otherwise.

So I sat on that beach and regaled this “other self” with stories and antidotes of how my life had been in contrast to that safety.  The wild experiences of great joy and excitement.  I also consoled this other self with admissions of the self-doubt, depression and loneliness that also peppered my past.

I walked away from that beach comforted that, even given those down sides, I am glad for the choices I made.

So I sit here now comforted and at peace.  The sun is shining on the inside today.

“Timeless Mind” 15”x30”

Opening Doors

Previously I talked about starting the habit of automatic drawing. To be completely honest, this “habit” didn’t last long. It felt too foreign. It was hard. I didn’t like the outcome. It started to stress me out.

So I quit.

(For reference sake, I don’t quit things easily. It goes against my nature.)

I quit this however for almost six months. When I picked up the pencil again instead of “trying” automatic drawing I reminded myself of what enjoyed most about drawing when I was a kid. I used to lose myself in shading. So I started anew.

I’ve been at it for a couple of months now. I’m not religious about it though. I do it when I feel like doing it. It’s WAY more enjoyable now. Especially because I’m allowing myself to NOT be religious about it. I have always had such a militaristic dedication when I land on a goal. I’m not your cliche artistic type when it comes to that.

So even that by itself is something new.

Add to that, lately my paint brush is lighter having shed a few shackles. I don’t know if this is a result but it feels related somehow. I find myself relishing the sensation of pushing paint around; the juiciness of it.

I am meeting my new ideas with less trepidation. I’m less afraid of making mistakes. My thoughts dance a little harder which brings me full circle to the value of starting something new.

. . . . next . . . throwing knives! . . . ?

Start something New

I was about fourteen year old when I made a list of things I wanted to do in this life. This list included fantastic imaginings like “go to outer space” and little things like “learn how to knit”.

Over the years I have conquered a majority of those items.

During the recent time of reflection it occurred to me that I hadn’t seen that list in a long time. Rather than fret over a long forgotten piece of paper, I decided to start a new list.

The exercise alone added sparkle to my attitude. Being in the mindset that all things are possible is rejuvenating! It stirred my mental juices and felt joyful. I didn’t worry about restrictions of health, physics and a 3-D world. Getting into this limitless space felt familiar in an odd sort of way. A flavor from my childhood, perhaps? Rather than spend time trying to decipher it’s deliciousness I savored it and continued thinking about a new list.

The easiest item was to start making a habit of meditating every morning at the studio and try automatic drawing. I just started yesterday. Today’s drawing felt a little easier but still seems forced. I had to fight the internal dialog of what’s “good” and what’s “not good” I know it will be easier with time but that’s not the point. Even in the arena of art, there are new things to try. New horizons to contemplate.

Grief

A friend of mine recently shared this wisdom. I thought it was beautiful and consoling on such a deep level that I felt the need to pass it along.

“In the Lakota-Sioux tradition, a person who is grieving is considered most woken, most holy. There’s a sense that when someone is struck by the sudden lightning of loss, he or she stands on the threshold of the spirit world. The prayers of those who grieve are considered especially strong, and it is proper to ask them for their help.

You might recall what it’s like to be with someone who has grieved deeply. The person has no layer of protection, nothing left to defend. The mystery is looking out through that person’s eyes. For the time being, he or she has accepted the reality of loss and has stopped clinging to the past or grasping at the future. In the groundless openness of sorrow, there is a wholeness of presence and a deep natural wisdom.”

• Tara Brach, Author of Radical Acceptance.

I found this totally inspirational. Grief seemed like a richer experience after reading it. Less isolating, a bigger part of a spiritual path.

It took the black and white out of it for me. No longer an experience of pain versus no pain. It brought me to a place of acceptance. Where blame has no space.

We have all felt the barbs of loss. Grief comes in many different costumes but the shadow of it remains consistantly suffocating. Remembering to breathe. Remembering that we are NOT alone. NOT isolated.

I don’t know if there’s anything harder or more rewarding than tapping into the feeling of wholeness in the presence of absence.

Change is . . .

Change is a big word. That one word has led to many discussions over the years.

I usually point to my military childhood as responsible for my ability to adapt (not always willingly). The brother next to me in age stands as a direct contradiction to that statement however. He is in the same area we landed when my father retired and will probably never move. He’s one of the most stable people I know. I, on the other hand, have moved many times and many miles.

Change doesn’t have to be geography either. Maybe my brother has made many changes internally that I’m not aware of. I still see him as a cute little two year when I look at him so maybe I’m not as good at change as I’d like to believe.

This leads me to believe that our innate ability is either part of our fabric by nature or by concerted effort.

Regardless of the source. We are all capable of adapting to the change that fate may throw at us. We can either rail against it and spend our energies in that fight OR we can accept things and become more like the water that flows around the rock.

Art is . . .

Art is an unexpected burglar.

Art can come into your life abruptly.  It comes in through a door you didn’t even know was there.  I see it every day at the gallery.  People that are surprised by how their hearts can be touched.  People brought to tears by the suddenness of it. 

Yet so many of us turn away.  We deny the concept that we deserve to have an environment that inspires us.  One that speaks to our soul.

I meet people all the time that passed on a painting and years later they still remember it.  Miss it.

It takes courage to allow yourself abundance.  We rerun conversations that we shouldn’t ask for more. That we are being selfish to allow ourselves happiness. We can break those patterns but it takes courage.

In daydreams I like to think I’d be part of the French Resistance during WWII.  Would I?  Would you? If we can’t allow freedom and abundance for ourselves, can we fight for it for others?