I create as a way to navigate my life's journey. This is my personal and spiritual practice. In fact, all this other "living business" filters through my creativity. Each time I find myself at the art-table, I am gazing into a mirror. I trust it...deeply. I trust it to show me the way, to reveal the higher road or to knock me down when surrender is a really good option.
Creating helps me:
reflect, investigate, map, assess, release, reconnect, commune, heal.
Some day soon I hope to share more about my journey as an energy practitioner. There is a simple explanation as to why I am open to this way of walking in this world; this open communication to these energetic multi-realms. It was an initiation that didn't look like one and to tell you the truth, there are many that continue to present themselves as doorways in which I must step through. The simple explanation is: trauma broke me open and the need to survive became my lessons. I became hypersensitive; a sensing soul to all those subtle energies, that eventually became my guides. My soul was cast and over the years I've been shamanic-ally pulling back the layers revealing the tightly knitted web that gently houses my essence. It's the part of me, and the part in you that is untouched, sacred, holy, pure, eternal. Art making is a way home to this. A way back, centered into this realization.
The image below is a captured moment of my creative process. I call this the crap-painting stage. I say it with a frustrated tone as well. I call it this because when I am face-to-face with the things I perceive to be awful, ugly, dark, shadowy (within myself) it manifests onto the canvas. I am not saying this is "THE" process for everyone, I am just sharing my process here.
How can I say there are these damaged parts and pieces of myself, you might be thinking.
And, I'm responding with yes, of course there are these unmet pieces of me, sometimes hidden in the shadows.
Most of the time, I don't even have a clue what they might be because I'm too busy projecting them. And, I haven't met anyone who doesn't do this (jus-sayin). This is just one way to notice them and bring some conscious light to them. I don't necessarily think this is a bad thing, unless you are not willing to look at your part in it. Which, again, isn't easy. I know...I know.
This is a stage in art-making or life-making that is formless, unknown, in between. It's the grit and grind before the smooth and shine. This place always feels challenging. I have no control and I feel so powerless. I don't know what to make of it. I'd rather throw it out and start over. I want to quit and deem myself a sucky-artist. Never having to take responsibility for my own expansion again.
Ever experience this?
Well, dear tender-heart...please stay with me here,
What's happening here is: I've forgotten to see the beauty in the cycle or in my creative process. My vision became blurred by the illusion of perfection, And perfection cuts us from many different angles, For example: the false illusion to a permanent happiness or worse, a great fear that we won't be accepted, loved or seen.
This is some huge, deep work. I know this, because this is my current work. But, there is hopeful movement making its way through. It's all such a journey to be taken in and held with reverence and grace. Hold that so-called "ugly" art with compassion because it's just the early stages of becoming or emerging.
Just like you.
This is the process that unveils right before my new wakened moment. I write tonight, because friends began to worry about my somewhat last two "sorrowful" posts. Beloveds, please know I am doing just fine. The over-culture has taught so many of us that sadness is "bad". Lots of us take on the colder, wintery months as if we are going to the dentist to have two root canals in one sitting: anxiety and stress. We tend to over-work and strain our bodies, minds and emotions for the sake of the holidays and to try and keep it all together on the outside. Maybe the "holiday-thing" can distract us from experiencing the pain, despair and loneliness, but what if it is longing to be heard, expressed and witnessed. Perhaps it needs a hug too. Heartache is heartache and feeling it is not fun, but I think it's necessary to allow the feelings for there is healing in this too. At least, this is what I have been working with lately, I've been feeling it all lately. It's been hard and honestly, I have been so sad, yet I have also challenged myself to sit in it without trying to change or fix it. It just "is" and I'll leave it at that because I sense something bigger is going on. In time it might be something that shapes, makes, and carves me.
Only to observe...
One rainy day, as I patiently sat in the parking lot of my favorite cafe for a coffee date with a dear friend, I began to experience a wave of an overwhelming sense of deep sadness. Although, I had an idea of what it might be I was unsure because I had distanced myself from the pain. As I allowed the pain to surface, I realized that I was "grieving" the loss of a dear friendship that shifted suddenly. No fault, no bad-guy, just an abrupt end with a beginning to new open space...different space. Unfamiliar, but it might be in need of newness, it might have been yearning for a breath of air. I sat there running all types of quick solutions in my mind to rid the ache: go sit in the cafe and order a coffee and sugary sweet. Maybe, go browse the nearby shops. Maybe, lose my thoughts with some social media distraction, etc. Instead, I sat there and allowed the sadness without judging or formulating, only observing.
When there are no words
Nature gives us the gift of reflection during the wintery months. She asks us to go within and experience our human-ness a bit. As I allow myself to go deeper, I realize that at the core...there is an eternal flame that is pointing me home and reassuring me that there is balance to look forward to. Even though it sometimes is agonizing- sadness is okay when felt with awareness and a soul knowing that impermanence is wisdom. As I travel into the winter season of my soul, the piercing cold stings...reminds...pricks life right back into my body and asks to be sat with and be seen. I honor the dark. I honor grief. I honor the silence in a room full of people. I will embrace the discomfort when there are no words because I understand the germination phase of our life-filled growing seeds that are nestled in the deep dark while their rebirth is drawing near.
"It's okay, love...come sit with me and together let's gaze into the reassuring sky and take in all it's definite glimmering starlight. Come, let's do that for a bit. We're going to be okay"
This I promise you: I am as human as ever. I foil in the dredge of life like so many others. I feel my hand tremble when I reach for the light in my darkest hours. This I promise you: I will do my best, but I must let you that I have been wounded, broken open, scarred, charred, chipped at, dismantled, scraped to bone. This I promise you: I will embrace my past and see the million glimmering jewels I have been gifted from it all. It shines beautifully, like a sky in midnight blue and silver. I tell you, I have failed, I have been wronged and I have wronged others, my hurt- hurt others. I've laid on the cold tile floor of a small studio apartment while my three year old daughter slept in the bed next to me as I cried into a pillow a mournful cry that was never mentioned to anyone...until now.
There have been these moments: utter despair, where I have questioned the unanswerable, where I have flung my arms towards the heavens, cursing the Creator. I promise you I have traveled soul deep into healing, but sometimes I slip back into old beliefs or step into the familiar narrowness of an older version of myself. There have been nights of worry, anxiety, body-numbing boredom and overeating. Days spent hidden inside for fear I might be too ugly for the world to see. But, because of these experiences I can promise you that I'll hold you close through the all wrecked and done moments, through the stale nights and failed attempts of trying to be "good" for others. I promise, I will look you in the eyes and meet you with the softest, untouched place in my heart that is always pure and aglow. I promise you that there is such a place as the "untouched pure and aglow". No matter how much pain our fragile bodies have endured, no matter how many wounds, hurts or how many ashes you rose up from...that holy place exists. Within.
I confess that it hasn't been easy and that I don't have it all figured out, but I am in a knowing place that having it all figured out is further away from myself, further away from what lies at the core of my being. When I look to the earthly nest, I see the trees in their bare, and in their dark. They are leafless and naked, but they are still reaching for the heavens. They believe and they "know". I promise you: there is gold in all of this dark.
A year later, I find myself at the keyboard attempting to write a post. I am slowly making my way out of my hermit year. A year in grey. A year communing with the wild one that dwells in a moistened, cool cavern. A dip. A smooth curve in between the valleys where water runs, but one cannot see...only feel. I've been feeling my way through. Trying to peer into the deepest dark, scanning for some kind of visual. They were hard to make out so I had to enter through a slip in the rocks and TRUST. I found my way through deep breaths, aching memories, painful decisions, moments of releasing. The refinement process pierced my 36 year old way of being, thinking, doing, and responding. I think I am seeing through the shadows now and catching glimmers of light. Thank you dark, thank you grey, thank you light for your rich defining medicine.
An epiphany tingled my body while witnessing my kids learn about themselves through a series of liking vs. disliking. They will go on and on about someone, something, or some situation they may find themselves in and harp on it until they reach a place of final decision. It can sometimes be negative. And even in that...lies so many choices and perspectives. I sort of laughed to myself, when I thought of how often I do this too. There may be some of you who find this process familiar. Are we too afraid to even look at it differently? For example: is there another way to realize you are being judgmental without experiencing it firsthand? I find the more I distance myself from these ideas the more I can observe a pattern or particular process from a place of wholeness. This allows more wisdom. So, I fumbled around with this new piece of knowing this year and had several real-life test-runs.
One of the deepest places I traveled to this past year; one that allowed my self-compassion to flood in was:
The Impermanence of My Perspectives and The Faulty Ground where Stand: My Beliefs.
Much can be rewritten or redefined at any given moment. It's the reflection and awareness of the process that keeps me going, it keeps me afloat, it lulls me into calm and softness. It stretches my muscles and expands my spirit. It also kept me awake at night, showed up in my art, scraped off that old dead skin to the point of tenderness. I must admit it did hurt a little.
As I enter the darker places this season, I will do my best to remember the life that grows in it's darkness. I will allow myself to feel, to miss, to grieve, to release without knowing why, to experience a good dose of loneliness as a reminder that this is not a "bad" thing that goes away with avoidance. The cycles carry me through, like meeting a wise woman that knows the way when I'm lost in the forest. I will meet my most softest and compassionate self and she'll hold me close and gently no matter the shades of dark.
To be sure, I am a forest, and a night of dark trees: but he who is not afraid of my darkness, will find banks full of roses under my cypresses. - Friedrich Nietzsche
Welcome to my Virtual Journal. Here you will find #fieldnotes of a Medial Woman. I write unabashedly imperfect, mostly short, even one-line word play. I share story. I share- first, my process. I view my life-living as a grand experiment and I am taking notes, mapping a trail with moments, stories and synchronicities.
I write about...
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