Idols and Phantoms

Everything changes.
Nothing stays the same.

That's the truth that Jen speaks out loud here.

I'm amazed at the tug of certainty, at the lengths I will go to in order to land on some conclusion, to be able to weave a story that makes sense, even if I'm aware that the knowing is only for now.

As a little girl, I would spend hours and hours reading The Picture Bible. And like all the other little girls and boys in Sunday School, I would scoff at those Israelites when they convinced Aaron to make them a golden calf because Moses had left them at the base of the mountain to commune with God.

But now I read the story with different eyes -- through eyes of compassion for the poor souls who were left without a guide for forty days and forty nights. Who could stand it, after wandering all that way from Egypt already? Even though he sent the plagues, even though he parted the sea, who was to say that God would not abandon them in the desert after all... isn't that what they grumbled amongst themselves?

Certainty is a golden calf. It's a thing that, although it will not last, is at least something I can feel and sense, that gives me comfort and lifts the burden of an unknown tomorrow.

Certainty. How much energy or or money or time have I invested trying to secure it? How much of my life have I wasted running from ambiguity?

I'm beginning to understand that it, along with peace, and ease, and a stress-free existence -- these are the idols that I bow too. They are not real. They are phantoms that disappear as soon as I think I have them in my grasp.

When I think I know, when I am absolutely certain... everything changes.

What are your golden cows? Feel free to send them to me. Let's put them all together and build... a piñata! :)

This too shall pass

And then the sun rose, without my willing it to.

The shadows lifted. Unexplicably.

Life wasn't such an affront to me anymore.

Just as I was getting used to the dark, it too passed.

This too shall pass.

The message made several appearances among the stacks and stacks of letters for the hope jar. It was meant for me, to highlight that acceptance isn't just about the darkness but the coming of the light, too.

Just as Jennifer and Melissa promised in Your Emotional Wisdom, the sadness flowed through me. I was feeling sorrow but the sorrow was not me, as much as in the midst of it, that's what it felt like.

I stand on the other side of it, on a beach washed clean, like a newborn blinking at the bright light, not quite knowing how to be so tender in the world.

cozy

Since my last post, in which I was kicking and screaming and moaning, I'm pleased to report that now... I am not. I'm finding a certain exquisite beauty in the dark.

It's fascinating, this observing of myself as I swim around, upended by loss and grieving -- not just the physical death of people I love -- but other, psychic deaths. Letting go of seasons of my life, letting go of the life I thought I was creating for myself, letting go of expectation, dreams, ambition.

So stripped of those things, what's left?

Does that frighten you? To think that there is a place as dark as this, where we are brought to our knees to contemplate our bare selves? I suppose it's optional. You don't have to sign up for that program. Really.

I'm a little fuzzy about the exact moment when I myself placed the order for this much suffering. It might have been that time beginning years back when I started asking perilous questions like, who am I? And what am I doing here?

So here's some advice for the faint of heart. Keep the lights on and... don't ask!!!! lol

But if you just can't help yourself, perhaps it will bring you comfort to hear that after being stripped of those things, I discovered that I am not those expectations and dreams after all. And even having been stripped of ambition, it turns out, I can still get up in the morning and make a bowl of oatmeal. And breathe.

It may not seem like so much to you, especially if there is still some unachieved goal you are driving toward. But for me, this experience is profound... it's like crawling into a womb, a naked, barely alive thing. In the womb I was not my resumé, or my roles, or even my dreams and ambitions. In the womb, I was no more than a pulsing heart and a breath, quite cozy and content to stay in the safety of this darkness, accepting of this world just as it is. And held.

And that's what I'm discovering in this state of darkness as well. Acceptance -- of myself as I am, of the conditions of the world as they are. Just breathing.

In the dark

I avoid painting at night.

In the dark, the colors inadvertently get muddy, the contrast gets all flattened out, making it difficult to tell where one thing ends and another begins.

But for this piece, I watched the sun set beyond the trees at the seminary down the street, it's last rays momentarily blinding me with their grasping light through the western studio windows. I decided to keep on.

I was struggling with it anyway, wrestling with the forms that I so wanted to keep in the dark: fear, doubt, worry, danger... all the "UN" words... UNworthiness, UNloved -- the exact opposites of my dreams and desires. But is it really so binary? Black and white? Shadow and light? Inside and outside?

One of the very first exercises I was given in my freshman drawing class was the relationship between positive and negative spaces; the rendering of one defining the other. Is it the same with worry and ease, unworthiness and worthiness, doubt and certainty? It seems rather obvious and simple but truly... what is one without the other? What would happen to my experience of ease if every one of my days were spent sipping mai tais by the pool?

It's a common exercise in the self-development circles these days, to clearly delineate between what you want and don't want. To know. To be certain what's inside and what's outside of your boundaries. That was my intention when I started this mini-project and shared it with you. But what do I inadvertently lose when I put up a hard edge against perceived danger? And is there something I gain from embracing it all? When the contrast gets all flattened out... all of it begins to seem like part of one big thing.

Waaaaah! Say it ain't so!!!

I've been struggling so much lately with acceptance -- accepting that what I want to run from could turn out to be a blessing. And that trying to sift out what I want from what I don't want could be a form of trickery and manipulation on my part. That in fact, there is no form not shaped by it's shadow.

It all starts looks the same in the dark.

I read this quote from Janet Connor: "To feel really safe, you must first step out into the unknown, experience fear, and discover all is well."

Hidden Drivers

Belonging.
Ease.
Safety.
Love.
Peace.
Security.
Worthiness.

These are the words I hear again and again, the things so many of us hunger for. As I glued down each word, it occurred to me that these essential feelings that I hunger for and that you hunger for are the exact same things that drive us forward. Belonging and Love and Worthiness are the kinds of deep longings that compel us to push off from Where We Are to Where We Want to Be.

Tell me if this is true for you.

I know that Safety and Belonging sent me on a journey across the globe in search of a different life and family. The draw of Ease and Security weighed heavily in my choice to marry and whom to marry.

And Worthiness? This one gnaws at me still. It colors my work, my relationships, even what books I read. :D

But... the power we have when we can name our hunger! I felt my heartbeat quicken at the thought of putting them on the plate, in plain sight.

I invite you to muse with me... imagine what it would be like to taste Ease and Peace and Love.

What would that nourishment feel like? What parts of you would come alive when your particular hunger is abated?

What do you hunger for?

This is not
the age of information.

This is not
the age of information.

Forget the news,
and the radio,
and the blurred screen.

This is the time
of loaves 
and fishes.

People are hungry
and one good word is bread
for a thousand.

  -- David Whyte
      from The House of Belonging
      ©1996 Many Rivers Press

I first heard this poem read out loud at Kimberly and Mary Lou Schneider's Poetry as A Spiritual Practice retreat. I think that part of my soul that hungered began to stir. You know, like tuning forks -- the way they begin to vibrate at the same frequency even across a room. With my eyes closed and actually hearing those words spoken out loud, I began to understand that we all hunger for something, even in this age of everything-you-could-possibly-want-on-Amazon!
And, that it's okay to name my hunger, to need...
sweetness
and comfort
and security
-- the flavors of a childhood memory;

the taste and texture of the fresh juicy mango that waits for me on a plate after my afternoon siesta.

What do you hunger for?

Today, I give you permission to taste it and feel it... and want it. And if you need someone to hold it for you, write it to me at (help)@hopefulworld.org and I can add it to the plate.

Just like loaves and fishes... when our words come together, we feed thousands.

Yes, I'm blushing

I'm just a little flattered and more than a little surprised that anyone cares about my process. And cared enough to ask. But you asked so... perhaps there's a little part of you too that wants to see an example of how one goes about going from an empty canvas to something, anything. Or, maybe as a creative being yourself, you're feeling stuck in one way of doing things and need a little nudge from the world outside your own head. If so, feel free to spend the next few minutes in mine!

As a matter of personal growth (of course!), I took on the task of approaching the particular project I'm sharing as a capacity-building exercise because I'm notoriously intolerant of "process" ...you know, the messy thing that takes place between the moment you get an assignment/job/project/inspiration and the instant when you can check off the box next to it that says it's complete?

The images you see here is documentation of what transpired at the dining room table over a period of days, during a full weekend of family activities -- including improvising makeshift beds for out of town guests, cooking and eating shared meals, napping with puppies, singing out loud, and hosting a sleepover for 11-year old girls.

I discovered that a cure for the need to control the process is... CHAOS!

A Little Background

I was granted the high honor of creating art for a soon-to-be-released online offering created by three women I admire very much, experts in their respective fields who were stepping forth to bring together a body of work called Your Emotional Wisdom. I was more than a little daunted, because the content is so good, so foundational, so transformational. Of course, my little mental gremlin started up immediately and I began to doubt my ability/capacity to create a body of art that would do justice to this work.

You can see my starting point here, a rather complex illustration that visually depicts the process by which our emotions influence our interactions and relationships. My aunt who happened to be visiting and is a 20 plus-year veteran Counseling Psychologist calls it my "Cognitive Behavioral Therapy Mandala!"

My second stab at a solution, with the hero graphic of the anatomical heart, felt waaaay too serious and heavy-handed, like my own state of mind at the time which was trying too hard to be taken seriously! :)

With Jen's coaching, I shifted gears and made a conscious decision to "just play." I told myself that nothing I did was with the intention of being anything other than quick studies... doodles that could potentially inform the vocabulary for something later in the week but in and of themselves were nothing. Make bad art!, Jen said.

You can imagine how challenging this was for me to spend time doing something without a clear purpose in mind, a "waste of time," when you know, who has time to waste? I had a deadline and 30 paintings to finish!!!!

I read through the lessons for Your Emotional Wisdom. One of the concepts my friends, the instructors address, is that wisdom is held in our bodies and in our emotions but all too often, we are stuck in our heads.

Hmmm... sounds familiar. What answers and solutions could come if I were to move out into my actual, physical body?

Okay, I'm game, in part because I was truly stuck the other way. I don't know about you but my gremlin lives in my head so at the very least, I might escape the inner critic long enough to get something, anything down on paper.

I took my paints and papers out into the dining room where my aunt and daughter were crafting together and absentmindedly dabbed at colors while listening to their chatter and my daughter's Pandora station set to Pitch Perfect. Once in awhile, I'd browse through their beadwork magazines and let myself be inspired by their stack of plastic containers full of candy-colored beads.

I took the dog for a walk, pulled weeds from my fledgling flower bed, and snapped a couple of pics on my phone of the clematis climbing the back wall and a few of the daylilies that had finally burst open. Flowers began to weave their way into my sketches.

Roses... Peonies... Impatiens...

I did a "body scan," as the instructors of Your Emotional Wisdom suggest... softening. opening. unfolding. radiating.

Like flowers!

More flowers... a morning glory (my grandmother's favorite)... with a secret glowing star in each bloom. This is what drew Georgia in, I imagine, the intimations of vast universes held within.

I kept on, allowing my feeling body to lead the way down a path that seemed so much less effort-filled, and noticed a style beginning to emerge. What do you know! My body did have an answer after all! Here's where I ended up!

... now to do 30 more!!!

Do you have a creative process that's working for you right now? Do you work with your body and feelings too?

That's right. I am asking... and curious and interested in your process... and wildly grateful for YOU!

Gremlins

I still struggle with what to say.

Or, more truly, I struggle with whether what I say is worth saying...

Is it useful? Is it helpful? Why bother?

Jen says the act of self-expression alone is worth it.

I try to believe her.

I let the paint flow as an act of defiance against the inner gremlin who tells me, 

"Who gives a crap?!"

The piece above is a page from my journal. No perfection necessary here.

It began with an activity we do in The Story of You called Where I'm From.

I filled in the blanks and used what came as inspiration, in stolen minutes over a few days, in between shuttling kids to and fro, from working and packing lunches, and folding laundry....

Those few minutes were magic.

I found Peace there. And Presence. And Delight. The kind of things that made me a little more generous with my kids, a little more loving with my partner, a little calmer, a little more fun to be around! :)

Maybe this is the point? ...that normally silenced voice finally getting some airtime and feeling validated and heard. Maybe it's true... self-expression feeds our souls.

So there, gremlin!

Do you know this gremlin? Has she silenced some part of you that wants to be expressed? Join me in telling her to eff off, in the kindest, gentlest, firmest way of course... by putting pen to paper, brush to paint, by allowing the wild dance to take hold in your body, or the song to sprout from your lips.

Are you in?

You can start where I did, if you want... download and print the PDF here, adapted from a poem by George Ella Lyan. I give you permission to steal minutes from your responsible grown-up life to scribble and color or dance silly dances or sing out loud or all of the above. YOU. Are. Worth. it.

And I would love, love, love... (more than a chocolate sundae!) to hear what insight the voice inside has to tell you. I'm cheering for you!

The Things You Say...

The only sounds you could hear in the studio was the soft creaking of the press and someone grinding away at an old image on their litho stone. My instructor (also my advisor) stopped his rounds and leaned over my lithograph, fresh off the press. "Your technical proficiency is impressive," he said. 

He himself was a talented printmaker. But as an instructor, he was quite reserved so all of us in the art program would collect each word like precious jewels. I felt myself warmed by his observation. Still he stood over my print. And then looking up at me with a curious expression, he added, "But you don't have anything to say."

I nodded. It didn't even occur to me to be hurt or insulted. It was just an observation. And he would know, wouldn't he?

It didn't occur to me to dispute his statement. I took it as I assumed he intended -- a matter of fact. Over the course of 20 years, I would live out his pronouncement. His voice becoming the one in my head, saying, "I'm a good craftsman. I just don't have anything to say."

It's why I pursued a a professional career in graphic design instead of enrolling in the graduate program at the Art Institute. At least my technical abilities would be put to good use, in service to other people's ideas or causes or movements... people with something to say.

Have you had an experience like this? A defining moment in which you realized that some belief you had about who you are was actually borrowed from someone else? Perhaps then you've also experienced the thrill that comes from shedding it, like a heavy coat that you suddenly discovered you don't have to wear anymore.

You Can Rest

It's been a couple of weeks since moving from my little apartment to what my kids and I fondly call "the flat," I'm exhausted. I feel like I could sleep for a hundred years.

But who will let the dog out or unpack the boxes still waiting downstairs or make sure M's basketball uniform was clean for tomorrow and... who will write the post and pay the bills and settle this month's accounting....

But try as I might, on this overcast Sunday, I can't will my body to move. one. inch. Have you ever felt that? That strange temporary paralysis when your mind is awake but your body refuses to acknowledge it? It's as if I'm frozen by a sleeping curse.

Perhaps it is my stubborn insistence to orchestrate this move like I was still 20-something and move everything except the big pieces myself. Or perhaps it's the compounded 41 years of thinking that way... you know, I can do this -- this life -- all by myself! This morning, my body is not having it for one more second and I am trapped in my bed underneath an invisible hundred pound boulder.

My mind wandered to this painting, propped up in the windowsill of my studio, just just steps away from the bed, through the glass-paned doors. And my heart aches a little from its divine reassurance. It's a sort of blasphemy to think that the world revolves around my ability to get things done. It's an insidious lie that we're alone in it.

You can rest.
It's okay, every now and again, to put it all down.