The world is so huge that people are always getting lost in it. There are too many ideas and things and people, too many directions to go. I was starting to believe that the reason it matters to care passionately about something is that it whittles the world down to a more manageable size. It makes the world seem not huge and empty but full of possibility.
–Susan Orlean, The Orchid Thief
The book, by the way, is fascinating. I’m in the midst of it now.
The poem below says to me that the hope of healing is nested in perspective, and that we don’t have to understand everything to be creative and share the fruits of ourselves.
Love Love means to look at yourself
The way one looks at distant things
For you are only one thing among many.
And whoever sees that way heals his heart,
Without knowing it, from various ills —
A bird and a tree say to him: Friend.Then he wants to use himself and things
So that they stand in the glow of ripeness
It doesn’t matter whether he knows what he serves:
Who serves best doesn’t always understand.–Czeslaw Milosz
Many things inspire me. Today I went to the San Jose Museum of Art. My brain absorbed lots of images and pondered technique and context. And then I went to the café for refreshment and saw the adorned tables. The vases glowed brilliantly in the soft light, and the fresh flowers begged to be remembered. So I took a series of photos of the simple beauties at my table. This is the first of them.
Lastly, here is one more poem that I’ve posted previously but is such inspiration for finding intimacy with one’s creative self that it bears re-posting. It inspires me because it speaks of a homecoming with oneself, a tender self-regard that, once genuinely felt, can be extended to others. I believe we offer our deepest compassion to others only when we are able to extend it to ourselves. This is not an end-point, but an ongoing process, as is creativity.
Love After Love The time will come
When, with elation,
You will greet yourself arriving
At your own door, in your own mirror,
And each will smile at the other’s welcome,And say, sit here, Eat.
You will love again the stranger who was your self.
Give wine. Give bread. Give back your heart
To itself, to the stranger who has loved youAll your life, whom you ignored
For another, who knows you by heart.
Take down the love letters from the bookshelf,The photographs, the desperate notes,
Peel your image from the mirror.
Sit. Feast on your life.–Derek Walcott
When we first moved here, I went for a walk in my neighborhood, and this Om symbol on the sidewalk caught my eye. I made a mental note to bring my camera and capture it. But life got busy, I forgot, and when I remembered to look, the ground was strewn with leaves. I hunted without success. Last weekend I went on a walk with my camera, intent on walking slowly and looking, really looking, at what was at my feet. I discovered quite a palette of interesting impressions in cement. As life would have it, I did not find my Om until the end of my walk. It’s a good thing, because had I found it early on, I may have contented myself to just photograph the one artifact and would have missed all the others (such as the leaf I posted a few days ago).
The scornful nostril and the high head gather not the odors that lie on the track of truth.
–George Eliot
There is nothing more innately human than the tendency to transmute what has become customary into what has been mysteriously ordained.
–Suzanne La Follette
You must approach your yoga practice with reverence and gratitude and love. It’s very much like entering a temple.
–Amrit Desai
About a week ago, Fran wrote about the value of keeping a five-year diary, and this caught my attention. I think my father has kept these all his adult life. Unlike a journal in which one holds forth in detail about life, the universe, and everything, the appeal of the diary is its brevity and longitudinal nature. I imagine writing an entry, perhaps a gratitude list, as the last thing before turning out the light for sleep, a small ritual to make note of and close the day. And then to have this across five years — what potential for human archeology! Not that I assume people will necessarily read my diary after I’m dead and find it fascinating, but at least for myself while I’m alive it will help me track my journey. I like the idea of there being signposts in my life, even if I can’t and don’t want to go backward. I have the traits of an historian. So I bought one. I researched and decided to purchase a Levenger diary. Even at half price, it was still a chunk of money. But then, it has to last five years. (Fran wrote a post on where to find the various products.) My diary arrived today, and it is yummy: full-grain Italian leather; brushed brass metal; gold-edged, heavy acid-free paper. I chose to forgo embossing, and likely I’ll never use the lock, but here it is, my investment and indulgence.
The road to honor is paved with thorns; but on the path to truth, at every step you set your foot down on your own heart.
–Olive Schreiner
In The Artist’s Way, Cameron iterates a concept called “spiritual electricity” and the principles therein. She also provides a set of affirmations to be read. In each, there are certain words I found jarring, words that don’t resonate with me: God, the creator, divine. Also certain phrases, such as “My dreams come from God and God has the power to accomplish them,” and “The refusal to be creative is self-will and is counter to our true nature.” The first sentence it feels like an abrogation of responsibility. In the second sentence, the concept of self-will infers there is another will (God’s), and since I don’t actually have a relationship with a deity, it feels hollow. I do agree with the second part of that sentence.
So I spent a good deal of time last night journaling and meditating on what terms would be best for me, which I would respond to positively. Words are just words, you say? Well yes. We assign meaning. However, some words just do not lose their original meaning, because the assigned meaning was ingrained through years of repetition from culture. I decided on some new words, because the definitions of them (my interpretation at least) fit more comfortably. Now, if you haven’t read these principles and affirmations, you lack context. I’m going to put them in the extended part of this post — for myself, for future reference, and in case you are curious about the changes I made. The original stated principles can be found at Kat’s blog. Original creative affirmations are here. Mine with alterations are below.
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Answering a question posed by a reader who wanted to know what one of the bulletin board quotes was (it was too blurry):
Reality is a flowing. This does not mean that everything moves, changes, becomes. Science and common experience tell us that. It means that movement, change, becoming is everything that there is. There is nothing else; everything is movement, is change. The time that we ordinarily think about is not real time, but a picture of space.
–Henri-Louis Bergson
Whether we’re talking about resolutions of initiating new behaviors like working out or extinguishing old behaviors like food indulgences, there is a curious “third self” whose job is to think of clever ways to resolve conflicts between the first and second selves.
The third self employs all kinds of logic, rewards, and punishments to get compliance of the second self to the first self’s supposed “good” intentions.
I would think that the whole matter requires a fourth (higher) self who looks at the whole drama and says, my only intention is to be unapologetically who I am. It is the resolution to favor authenticity over manipulation.
This morning I realized that I’ve owned my copy of The Artist’s Way for nine years. Nine years. Where did they go? Anyhow, I’ve made two attempts at following the book, and each time my efforts petered out just after the first chapter. On January 1, a group of bloggers loosely joined will embark on this journey, and I am among them. (Anyone is welcome to join in, too!)
I’ve skimmed the other chapters and was intrigued by the tasks assigned in each. As I pondered why I never progressed further than chapter one, the answer emerged: I loath the morning pages, where each morning one is supposed to handwrite three pages in stream-of-conscious style. I rarely write longhand anymore; when I do, it is uncomfortable for me. I am also not a morning person, and getting up early for my new job will be enough of a feat. Furthermore, there is in me a rebellious streak. When something is conveyed as non-negotiable, as Julia Cameron’s “morning pages rule” is, I resist. I think, “Excuse me? I am voluntarily doing this. I paid for the book. Do not position anything as mandatory to me.” My failed attempts at traveling the Artist’s Way were rooted in this response. My “artist self” was overcome by my “lazy/rebellious/critical/fill-in-the-blank-with-a-negative self” and gave up.
So now I must ask myself if I resolve to do it the author’s way in this third attempt and risk getting bogged down in morning page resistance again. I used to think that my failure to complete the work was because I felt lonely and wanted to do it with other people, but I know myself better than I did in 1997 or 2002. Certainly I will enjoy the journey with other people, but the barrier to my success is this resistance to the rule of morning pages.
Julia Cameron would probably call me “blocked” and insist this is exactly why I should write the morning pages. My response to this is to listen to my own wisdom. She may be a guide to creativity, but she is not the Final Authority on Creative Truth. I am willing to participate and make serious effort to explore my creativity. If one autocratic rule will hinder this, then I will dispense with it. Why rob myself of other worthwhile exploration (the spirit of the law) for one rule (the letter of the law)? Her book is a guide, not an artist’s catechism.
So I hereby declare power over my own creative process and dare to fashion it to my needs. I am not split into “selves” that are pitted against each other. I have faith in self-knowledge; I rely on my wisdom that says there is more to be gained by making an exception to her rule than in being leashed to it. I resolve, as Jack wrote, “to favor authenticity over manipulation” and unapologetically be myself. And who knows? Perhaps by freeing myself of the illusion that I must do as the author says, I will find myself genuinely writing morning pages. Or not.
Impermanence is the very essence of joy — the drop of bitterness that enables one to perceived the sweet.
–Myrtle Reed, Master of the Vineyard
This afternoon the post-holiday year-end anomie hit me. I feel immeasurably sad. Because all is well and peaceful in my life at the moment, I can only surmise this is grief over the passing of time.
Given the kind of year 2005 was, I could very well say “good riddance” to it. Yet it contained some wonderful things as well. Is there a gauge for rating a year’s good against bad events to determine its overall value?
This year contained illness and death in my family. It brought two pregnancy losses. It saw the severing of a seven year friendship. It allowed me to see how very frail my aging parents are becoming, making me acutely aware of the 2,849 miles between us. Last night I realized that, if I have a child, my father-in-law will never know. During his last week of life I wondered if he was scared, if it saddened him to leave. He was a man who did not speak about emotions much. I will never know the answers to these questions. I do know this, though. If I have a child, I will be sad that he is gone, that my child will never know him.
From this flows the awareness of gaps in my own family. I never met my maternal grandmother or paternal grandfather. We lived far enough from the rest of the family to make visits infrequent and short. (This is not a critiscim of my parents; we lived where there was work for my father in a place large enough to provide a broader life experience than the small towns in which they grew up.) My siblings have chosen other paths than parenthood. I have postponed parenthood; if I succeed, my child will hardly have an extended family. We are spread all over the country. Sometimes when I think of this, of being a parent in this community, I feel very alone. Yes, there are plenty of places to connect, and lots of groups where I could make friends with other parents. Yet there is no continuity, no history. My parents are in New York; my mother-in-law lives in Washington. Grandma and grandpa won’t be nearby to drive the kids over for a visit.
A child-free existence makes transience more tolerable.
And yet… and yet. Millions of people live with these broken threads in their family tapestry. They survive and even thrive. I am not alone. And this was the year I got married to my wonderful husband. I was hired for a job I’d never done (academic coaching) and discovered I loved it. Now I am about to start working for a non-profit, developing community programs in the bay area. I learned to knit this year. I read a lot of books. I made art for 30 days in a row and discovered I have more talent than I’d known. I got to visit friends and family in Austin for my birthday and to spend time with my parents, extended family, and eldest sister in September. I made some new friends. I’m able to meet my basic needs and most of my desires. 2006 shows great promise.
Sadness is impermanent, too.
Musicians, artists, and craftspeople belong with mystics in the ranks of shamans and visionaries. All reach into the formless void to pull something of substance and beauty out of chaos. What they do may manifest on the material plane, but their goals reach beyond materialism to a representation of spirit itself. …There is an ecstasy in the act of creation that matches the intensity of religious rapture; both partake of divinity and are gifts granted by the Great Creative Spirit.
–Susan Gordon Lydon, The Knitting Sutra: Craft as a Spiritual Practice
My visitors arrived safely and are now tucked in for the night. The next five days or so will probably be very light on posting. So I shall leave you with a few goodies to enjoy.
First is an art piece; I followed a link from Grey Matter Gruel. The work is a piece about memories, seasons and using the elements of the textual representation of the memory to create an interactive one. Be sure to read the short paragraph describing the project; it can be downloaded for Windows or Mac.
I found the following poem at Land Mammal. I thought it stark and lovely.
Just Delicate Needles It’s so delicate, the light.
And there’s so little of it. The dark
is huge.
Just delicate needles, the light,
in an endless night.
And it has such a long way to go
through such desolate space.
So let’s be gentle with it.
Cherish it.
So it will come again in the morning.
We hope.–by Rolf Jacobsen, translated by Robert Hedin
Following along the line of looking for light and befriending the dark, Fran offered a post with questions to help you wind down the year. These are good for reflection and journaling. Perhaps they will even inspire some visual art!
Lastly, on a lighter and sillier note, is a holiday recipe I got in an email. It’s in the rest of the post; click the link.
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Oh, the days blur by in the blink of an eye! My brother and sister-in-law arrive tomorrow. The house has been dusted, vacuumed, and mopped. Menus are planned. Presents have steadily appeared under the tree, with a few more yet to arrive. What remains is to bake cookies (snowballs, cut-outs with frosting) and relax for the few days before Christmas. Tomorrow is the solstice, and I will light candles to celebrate.
Two good people have sent me stacks of unused postcards so far. Thank you! I have found two projects for postcards. One is PostCrossing; you register yourself, and you request addresses to send postcards to. It randomly picks names from all over the world. I’ve sent one to Germany and another to Portugal. Hopefully my name will be selected soon! The other site is PostcardX. It’s incredibly simple to use, but I hesitate. It’s completely insecure. By this I mean that if I list my name and address and create a profile there, it can be edited by anyone — yes, anyone. Apparently the occasional troll or miscreant will tamper with the information; I read the group messages and learned this. I would prefer to have a log-in process so I can have some control over my profile, but apparently the person who founded the site doesn’t see this as a necessity. I may send postcards to participants but not list myself.
The other evening we rented a couple of movies. One was Husband’s pick, and I was ambivalent at first. I was pleasantly surprised by Mr. and Mrs. Smith. It was a lark to watch, ridiculous and mischievous, and it made me laugh. It was a bit of pointless fun, and I enjoyed every minute. The other movie I marveled at: March of the Penguins. Wow. Emperor penguins are resilient, stoic, and majestic. And their offspring are adorable. It was funny and heartbreaking at moments. I enjoyed watching the additional commentary on the DVD, about the making of the movie and the moviemakers reflections on the experience.
I recently read The Joy of Letting Women Down, by Natalie d’Arbeloff. (I bought my copy! You should too! It’s worth it.) This book is a snappy, smart “how-to book” for beings known as the Worshipped Male, or for men who would like to become a Worshipped Male. It’s also useful for anyone wanting to know why women fall for womanizers and how such a man operates. The illustrations poke fun at and complement the text and carry the unmistakable style that is Natalie’s. As I read and chuckled, it felt as though Mephistopheles might be whispering the advice in my ear. The counsel on how to treat women as disposable playthings, delivered in a sprightly manner and tone, was as unsettling as it was witty. Knowing this book was created by a woman gave the humor a subtle bitter edge that I enjoyed. I highly recommend another of Natalie’s creations, currently available online: Augustine Interviews God. It’s thought-provoking, tender, and original. It could only be these things — just like Natalie.
And since it is (almost) Solstice, I opened my gift from my novelist friend (as she instructed). I was deeply pleased to get The Knitting Sutra: Craft as a Spiritual Practice. I look forward to savoring this.
Well, all my hard labor scrubbing and tidying has readied me for a long winter’s nap. Thus I will oblige my tired body and write again later.