how do we become that

detail of new piece:  she defies dot dot dot

once upon a time, in a not-so-faraway land, there was a kingdom of acorns, nestled at the foot of a grand old oak tree. since the citizens of this kingdom were modern, fully westernized acorns, they went about their business with purposeful energy; and since they were midlife, baby-boomer acorns, they engaged in a lot of self-help courses.t here were seminars called “getting all you can out of your shell.” There were wounded-ness and recovery groups for acorns who had been bruised in their original fall from the tree. there were spas for oiling and polishing those shells and various acornopathic therapies to enhance longevity and well-being.
one day in the midst of this kingdom there suddenly appeared a knotty little stranger, apparently dropped “but of the blue” by a passing bird. he was capless and dirty, making an immediate negative impression on his fellow acorns. and crouched beneath the oak tree, he stammered out a wild tale. pointing upward at the tree, he said, “we … are … that!”
delusional thinking, obviously, the other acorns concluded, but one of them continued to engage him in conversation: “so tell us, how would we become that tree?” “well,” said he, pointing downward, “it has something to do with going into the ground … and cracking open the shell.” “insane,” they responded. “totally morbid! why, then we wouldn’t be acorns anymore.”

cynthia bourgeault. 'the wisdom way of knowing: reclaiming an ancient tradition to awaken the heart', as shared by my sister-friend elizabeth

there is
hope.

confession

 everybody seems

to be holding it together

pretty well.

not me. no, not me.

i crumble

a little bit daily

under the dream.

and running out of glues

to try

to piece it all together.

i choose two things.

only two. good things:

artist. lover.

impossible to be.

a life's work.

it is a journey,

certainly,

and failure, my faithful companion.

no, i've got no beef

 with old buddy failure,

what really does me in is

pride.

jabbing and stabbing

with icy shards and damn it

it knows

exactly the most excruciating hidden place

to strike

because

evidently

i am the only one

who can't keep it together

or at least the only one foolish enough

to strip myself 

of the comforting armor

and bare all

for the world to see.

so i confess:

i want. i expect. i demand.

more. more. more.

i laugh in the face of the impossible.

i push away those i love.

i believe in a god i do not know.

i wrestle surrender to the ground.

i abuse language.

i treat myself with contempt.

i stubbornly ... everything.

i allow time to waste me.

i fake art.

i can not do it alone.

for lent, i gave up hope.

(or perhaps it gave me up,

for the first time in history)

i am out of control.

for my sins of comission

for my crimes of omission

i feel i deserve to disappear.

but that, of course,

would be too kind a punishment.

the verdict is in:

life in prison

of a person i do not want to be.

...

spring. space.

'everything is blooming most recklessly; if it were voices instead of colors, there would be an unbelievable shrieking into the heart of the night.'

- rainer maria rilke

'it's spring fever. that is what the name of it is. and when you've got it, you want - oh, you don't quite know what it is you *do* want, but it just fairly makes your heart ache, you want it so!'

- mark twain

 

 grateful.  for oh so many things.

sunshine pouring through wide open windows.

stolen apple blossoms on my table.

new beginnings. 

outpouring of life.

(even the snakes coming out to play)

most of all

this space.

to be

and to create from.

and you,

this crazy beautiful family

to share the journey with.

i propose a toast.

to yes!

 

renovations: inside and out

it will always be a work in progress.

as am i.

so i procrastinate.

i get fired up.

i cry and laugh

perhaps at the same time.

i cry some more.

 

i sand plastered walls

until 3 in the morning

i stare at the canvas

until i forget my name.

i mix up my verbs:

my to dos

my to bes

i ravish time

when it offers himself up to me.

and not in a sexy way.

 i beat against his chest

with bleeding knuckles

dreading his sweet breath

on my bare shoulder

because it reminds me

of his existence.

i forget things.

to be kind.

the keys.

the sound of my own voice.

i remember

to take off my shoes

when i step on holy ground.

to weep with joy

over so reckless an abundance

of grace:

our old doors and beams

finding new life

in a bench for the studio.

whiskey and cigars on our patio.

warm breeze through

the flung open doors.

a favorite professor

as my new neighbor.

friends stopping by 

unannounced.

a lovely housewarming gift

arrived in the mail

from the dearest of souls.

the relentless tenderness

of time,

who keeps on loving me,

bloody knuckles

and all.

 

 

home, at last

a gray morning

drenched

with the joy

of waking up

to a new day

at home.

the smell of fresh paint

says hello

and good morning!

bare feet

waking up

to cold floors

guide me

towards the kettle

(always on,

we're home, you see)

eyes not yet ready

to take in

the light.

wood. stone. leather. wool.

the elements breathe in

the calm.

i offer my self space.

a slow morning.

later,

i will slurp miso soup

from a clay bowl

and tackle the last

of the boxes:

my studio.

(i always save the best

for last)

tell me,

dear soul,

what is home

to you?

virtual tea tuesday: always poetry

pear caramel black tea.

fresh citrus aroma opens up my morning. 

sunshine.

comfort in a heavy mug.  present from a dear friend who is far away. 

ancient + modern home inspiration.

home!

we are so close!  only a month away.

a month of hearty hands on work. 

we get to make this boarded up foreclosed property into

our home.

our sanctuary.

a space for art and music and laughter.

a space for quiet contemplation.

for basking in the morning light and listening to the afternoon rain.

for being.

a space for good food.

a space where the tea kettle is always on.

and the door always open.

ever open to friends old and new.

our home.

and there will always be

poetry.

'for as long as i can remember.'

virtual tea tuesday

i like a slow start to my day.  tea.  reading.  journaling.  quiet time with myself.

solitude.  meditation.  spacing out.  whatever you choose to call it, it is needed. 

jotting down ideas is also needed.  the easiest way to declutter a busy mind.

today, what seemed necessary was writing down the big things on the horizon for 2012.

     feb - signing the closing contract.  renovations to the house. 

             moving in.  setting up the new studio.

           - trip to L.A.

     mar - inspiration corporation art auction

     apr - submit entry to art prize in grand rapids

     may - randolph street market

     jun - trip to kentucky

     jul - indianapolis solo exhibit

          - turning 30

     aug & sep - randolph street market

     oct - art prize/ grand rapids

lovely and exciting as these plans may be, i realize i can't count on them materializing.  i can not  take tomorrow for granted.  all i have is today.  here & now.

i need to focus on one day at a time.  and this is what i want for today:

     1.  to make art

every day i sit down with a blank canvas and create something new is a successful day. 

every day i sit down with a time-worn book page, and slash and slash ruthlessly at words until poetry emerges is a successful day.

to be creative in my decision-making counts as well.  so does creative use of resources.

     2.  to be extravagantly,  un-strategically generous

i do believe we live in a world of abundance.  there is plenty to go around if we are only willing to share.  i tend to try and arrange for myself a lot, to scheme, to grasp, to hold on tightly.  the antidote is giving away, rather than letting go.  i am not just referring to material things.  more to give: my time, understanding, grace, a listening ear, respect, little acts of service, great acts of service, the right to be right, the need to control, words of encouragement, hugs, the gift of presence.  and to let go of the expectation for gratitude.  if we all put that kind of a generous spirit into action, it would turn the world right side up.

    3.  to surf the waves of grace

i get discouraged on a regular basis.  if i've gotten three quarters through my impossible to do list for the day, i feel a failure.  perhaps i demand too much of myself.  regardless, i get quite bogged down with all the things i want to accomplish that i don't and all that i want to be that i am not.  i recently discovered a hope-filled perspective on grace from john ortberg.  he says "the good news about surfing is this: if you miss one wave, if you fall off, if you wipe out, there's another wave coming right behind it.  god just keeps sending them."  we never run out of waves.  so, no more letting fear of failure bully me. i will just try to catch the next wave.

recap.  to do today: make art, give generously, accept grace.  tomorrow, if i'm lucky enough to get one, repeat.  and so on. 

how about you?  what are your big plans for the year?  how about the essentials for today?