what matters (and what distracts ...)

This is a post I've resisted for some time ... partly because I know words set down have the ability to shift understanding and then I feel the need to rewrite, clarify, adjust and yes, defend my perspective (which is rests on shifting sands of awareness, so not an easy thing to do!)  But it is a gray morning, I slept in and am moving slowly and certainly I am procrastinating on other projects.  But there is this pebble in my internal/emotional shoe that has irked me for far too long and I feel it is time to shake it out.  I can't seem to move forward unless I do so.

My confession: I am weary of the talk around finding one's tribe.  Okay, back-pedaling already ... it is not the experience or act of discovering others who share in, support and understand my values, interests, and ideas around purpose and meaning that fatigues me ... it is all the fanfare and smudge wand waving, look-at-our crazy quilted wild selves in  Photoshopped  dreamscaped images strewn everywhere as confirmation of belonging.  As confirmation of being vital and plugged into something essential.

I'm all for feeling a part of something larger.  I understand feeling of being outside and wanting in so very, very badly.  But what I am seeing in this celebration of tribe is a new group or layer to the experience of feeling excluded and overlooked.  My sense is that the more I go outside of myself -  for confirmation of my worth, the value of my voice, the validity of my experience - the less secure I will be in myself and my path.  

After all the dancing is over and the bonfires have turned to ash, I am still walking my path alone and on my own.  I can share parts of the journey - through wildflower fields, sandy beaches and mountain meadows  -  but in the end I am the one who chooses to continue on over slippery and rocky mountain paths, through the desert, through the mud pits and into dark forests with nothing but the next step visible before me.  

What matters then is who I trust and believe in: myself connected to a higher purpose.  All the work I do to heal myself is not so I may fit in; I work to heal myself so I may have access to my full range of gifts and potential which I then can offer in service to support the vital work of healing in our world.  

What matters at the end of the day is who I am with myself and my family; how well I love and forgive, myself first and foremost.  If I can not be in right relationship with my own self, how can I give freely, honestly, lovingly and compassionately to others?  What matters is not how my life appears on screen, in Facebook, in glossy magazines but how my life feels to me and those whose lives intersect with mine.  It is nice to have validation, but approval is not my goal.  My tribe - yes, I do believe I have a core group that understands, accepts and more importantly, challenges me to be the best expression of myself - is a space I rest in while gathering inner resources, but it is also the place where I set off from.  Finding one's tribe is an important and affirming stage, but it is not the end point.  It can be an platform for diving into the deep work, the hard, challenging, heart-rending work of attending to our planet, to our lives and to lasting change, healing and care. It can also become a trap or a distraction from what really matters: self acceptance, individual empowerment and expression.  

 These are my thoughts today.  There is a discussion buried amid these thoughts that begs to take place.  Forgiveness, understanding, belonging, purpose, inclusion, and responsibility are some of the themes.  I would love to dialogue in that space Rumi speaks of Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and rightdoing ... I want to own my role in contributing to another's pain of disconnection but I also own my responsibility to tend to and heal my own woundedness.  No tribe can do that for me. The deeper work is mine alone and it is time to shake off the distractions and get on with the task.  

putting ourselves first (standing up to my biggest fear)

 

I am so proud of my girlfriend who is presently traveling in Morocco, a 40th birthday gift to herself.  She is with another girlfriend while her husband stays home and cares for their two children, one being Cowgirl's BFF #1 (Best Friend Forever.)  Our families met while we were in China adopting our girls and ever since we mommies have been BFF's as well.  Whenever I call her, I joke "did you see my bat signal?"  This friend has been a source of incredible support, mothering insight, in addition to lots of laughter, wine and chocolate.  She is probably the most generous and caring person I know (and I know a fair good number!) so I am extra thrilled that she is taking this time and celebrating herself with this trip.

Before she left, she wrote me this (as she is traveling, I hope it is okay to be sharing her words): I am a few days away from taking my big trip to Morocco and maybe I'm feeling a little guilty about leaving the family or maybe this is really a question to ponder for women like us who believe in taking care of ourselves. The question is. . . am I too selfish? Or, how do I know when I'm being too selfish?

She added that it was a female friend who could not understand the decision to travel without her family or take the time away from work and others who may need her.  How do you reconcile taking time for yourself while the rest of the world thinks you should be there to take of them?

These questions got me thinking a lot about this practice of self care that I've been preaching. The more I ponder it, the clearer it becomes that caring for ourselves is how we show up for our lives awake, present and full.  It seems to me if everyone tended to their own needs - by which I mean first love and honor themselves as worthy, sacred, whole - then we wouldn't need to take from another, we wouldn't be manipulating people and our planet to fill ourselves with meaning or importance.  When we deny ourselves that which nourishes our spirit, our bodies, and our Joy-selves, then any action we take will have some Shadow aspect at play.  I've seen and received the giving which has emotional strings attached.  I know I have given out of a need to feel needed, accepted and loved and never has that exchange satisfied myself or the other person. 

But if we care for ourselves and come to our relationships already full, we allow others the space and permission to do the same.  And then we are contributing to an environment of love and trust because others will not perceive us as needing something from them.  It is when we feel a lack within ourselves that we seek to gain or take something from another.  

 

I know as a woman the greatest gift I can give my daughter is to model loving and caring for myself.  It seems to me, women suffer more from this belief that to put their needs first is to be selfish.  I just don't buy that.  If I care for myself, then I have the energy and resources to be present for those who need me.  But I also allow them to focus upon understanding their needs AND then being empowered to fill them.  It seems to me it is about empowerment.  If I constantly do and give to you, aren't I sending the message that you are not capable of taking care of yourself?

These were all my responses to my friend, written in a moment of well ... feeling pretty empowered.  And then I watched this trailer and a monkey wrench of sorts landed in the middle of my neat and tidy theory.



Documentary Lost in Living go here for more info

I have found it easy to establish firm boundaries around self care when it comes to my physical being: staking claim to time for exercise, rest, nurturing my body and even my spirit in order to stay healthy and minimize stress and tension.  But when it comes to my supporting my creative well-being I admit, I do waver. 

I crave chunks of time to burrow into creative pursuits.  Writing and painting are practices that benefit from sustained effort. (I can so relate to the analogy of feeling like a car that cannot move beyond second gear and yet craves to speed down the open highway!)  I cannot feed those kinds of projects in 10 minute increments shuffled between  homework, making dinner and  bedtime. I come home from work and have to choose: tidy the house (rarely happens) or use the hour for my real work.  For this is how I think about it: I have my day job but the work that nourishes me, the work that fulfills and excites and contributes to my inner growth is this work here - this essay, the canvases waiting for me to continue the conversation, the larger projects that require my undivided attention and which take me on a journey of discovery and self discovery.  

And yet, I fail to vigorously defend the worth of these practices.  I find my conviction lagging as I explain to the Husband why dinner was thrown together haphazardly in a last minute frenzy; I find myself swallowing bitterness and anger when after a full afternoon of being with Cowgirl, I am the one to go upstairs and do the bedtime reading even though the Husband said he would, because now is on an important phone call.  I pass by my cluttered table of projects perpetually uncompleted.  

I know what I do is also important, but when its importance appears to be measurable by oneself, it is hard to stand firm and steady.  Yet this is what I know I must begin to do.  For if anything fills me up, promotes my complete well-being and by extension the well-being of my family, it is this work of my heart and soul.  It is tricky terrain.  More so because I am taking steps to allocate more of my time for it while restructuring and redefining career goals in ways that probably won't make sense to others outside of myself, my husband and kindred friends. It requires stepping into what will probably be considered selfishness and most certainly irresponsible.  Here I cling to Helen Keller's famous words: Life is either a daring adventure or nothing. Security does not exist in nature, nor do the children of men as a whole experience it. Avoiding danger is no safer in the long run than outright exposure.

I'd like to believe that any positive change for our world, any possibility of healing for the planet will have to begin with each one of us. Our homes, our families, ourselves finding fulfillment within rather than from without.  As my dear friend and Shero Jane would say, I'm pulling on my big girl undies and stepping up to the task.  This is a conversation needing to take place. I'm not sure if it is just with myself, with my husband or with the entire bloody world?
 

has blogging died?

The vitality of blogs and blogging is a topic that has been floating around the matrix for quite some time.  It is something I have been chewing on and bemoaning as I find some of my favorite bloggers drifting away from their creations, for various reasons.  Perhaps it is rattling just me and my old fashioned ways, which is humorous as blogging is coming to feel more like letter-writing habits of an elite class of 18th or 19th century thinkers when considered alongside Facebook or Twitter or the general habit of texting versus - gasp! - real emails!

I am a relative juvenile when it comes to blogging.  This little habit of mine has been in place for 3+ years, begun well after what seems to have been some kind of golden age of blog writing.  Do you remember when you would find a new blog writer whose words or images or life snagged your attention?  How you would then spend hours pouring through their archive of posts, like reading a serial novel a la Dickens in reverse?  Piecing together how the blogger arrived at the point when you first joined them, as if unraveling their narrative would perhaps shed light upon your own?

Call me antiquated, but I still love a good blog.  Not the flashy, highly edited and styled blogs that exists as storefronts for online businesses (and I have a version of that myself, so I'm not throwing stones here) but blogs that are like someone's kitchen or dining room table in that they reveal whatever is currently central in a person's life.  Yes, that may mean loads of sappy poetry-prose illustrated by equally vintage-golden photographs of flower arrangements, kittens, sunsets or flower arrangements (check, check, check I've got them all!) but I rather like the idea that anyone can post whatever they deem of value in their lives and for whomever they are hoping to communicate with because at least there is an intention to share and maybe, just maybe, communicate.

I can look around my home and see evidence of bloggers' influence.  The first blogs I read were knitting ones, reviving and augmenting my forgotten yarn skills.  I can pick up any number of hats, scarves or sweaters and tell you which blogger introduced me to the pattern. If I was a motivated blogger, I would share photos of those pieces with links to the original spaces where I discovered them - another aspect of blog reading I enjoy: the experience of discovery.  Alas, it is late and I am being a lazy but honest blogger so I'll spare you the trip down knitterly lane.

I am grateful to the group of bloggers who shared their adoption journeys so candidly and publicly, for it was those stories that gifted me the ability to know something about the process and to envision and believe we were capable and indeed eager to pursue it as a means of creating our family.  So many new perspectives, creative ideas, books, philosophies on living and family, along with a sense of community have come about due to this thing called blogging.  

I know the discussion has raged on about sanitized blogs: people carefully constructing the image of themselves and their lives that they want others to believe.  Isn't that another form of fiction and if we don't see through the ruse,  doesn't the artifice eventually become wearying and we move on?  Yes, there is the whole comparing-my-life-to-that-prettified-life-and-finding-mine-lacking hazard, but honestly, I never stay long at those kinds of blogs anyway.  I mean, they are like Glamour or Elle magazines and I don't buy those either (except when needing collaging materials.)  Maybe the Martha Stewartesque crafty blogs warp my sense of what is achievable but even those I know only photograph the cleared table with said project, ignoring the chaos behind the camera (count me guilty as charged!)

 


Here's the thing: I know we all edit and select what we want to publicly share but hasn't that always been the case?  Friends come over and I shove the clutter of mail and papers into a drawer, stash my bins of supplies in a closet and give a quick wipe to the countertops.  And maybe I am just quirky, but what I choose to blog about is not so much what I want you, dear reader, to see and know about me as much as it is what I want to explore and understand about myself.  

A friend recently asked me how blogging differed from keeping a journal.  I've been chewing on that question for awhile now as I realize I much prefer my blog to anything I've scribbled in my journals.  In fact, I consider my blog to be a more accurate reflection of me and my life.  When I write in a journal, there is no audience so I should be free to express all my thoughts, dark and light, crazy and mundane. Maybe it is because I write for only myself, I never push myself to fully develop my ideas, thoughts, opinions as I do when I write for this space.  The knowledge that someone else will read my words compels me to gather my thoughts and work my way towards some kind of understanding or perspective.  I force myself to clarify what is often murky when I start out writing.  A kernel of a thought or idea brings me to the laptop and as I write, I dig into the jumble of my thoughts, seeking to uncover some deeper meaning, seeking to understand what it is I truly know and believe about myself and this journey that is my life.

 

That any of this would be of use or interest to another, well, I don't know.  I hesitate to say "I don't care" but truly I do this for myself and if it amuses or benefits another in some way, wonderful.  Still, I show up here for myself.  This space is a place of accountability. It is my form of mindfulness I guess.  It is a lot of work.  If no one reads my words, would I continue?  I would like to believe I would because I do this first and foremost for myself. The historian/academic in me does this with a thought towards the future and the possibility of these words enduring so that some kind of snapshot of the life and mind of one 21st century Joy Warrioress mama/artist/dilettante will be visible.  I do this so my girl may know her mama in a way that I never was able to know my mother.  

All pie in the sky, I'm sure but I also joke that I was attending yoga classes back when people wore sweatpants (no Lululemon techno-intelligent fabrics back then!) and I will still be on my mat when the herds have moved on to the next trend.  And while the world lives in the sound-bites that is Facebook and Twitter, probably morphing into space-age virtual texting via brain-graphs, I probably will still be here blogging with my lap blanket, pot of tea and the fading afternoon light reminding me it is time to get up and back into the life that so compellingly caused me to pause and wonder and write.

I now return you to your real life.  Thank you for viewing my brain lint!

 I was just interviewed by a dear friend, fellow Joy Warrior, sister-of-my-soul Jane Cunningham for her series SHEros which you can read here.  Of course, Jane is my SHEro and she continues to inspire me with her work, including a new e-course for 2013: Choosing True Over Nice as part of her Women's Soul Workshops.  Thank you Jane for so lovingly witnessing me.

to thrive and survive

I've always considered myself a "glass half full" kind of gal.  Even when travel involves making a transfer in Chicago's O'Hare airport, an experience that definitely tests ones mettle when it comes to the power of positive thinking. Life though seems to be raising the bar higher and higher and I am feeling the fatigue. 


Lately Cowgirl has been posing the same question, in various forms, to me: If a car was aiming right at us, who would I push out of the way first?  Cowgirl? Daddy? or Moose dog?  My survival seemed to be a non-issue although now she adds into the equation me jumping out of the way after saving as the rest of the family first. 


I'm beginning to worry about that last minute leap to safety and whether I really will be able to pull it off without some kind of major abrasions and wounds.


My mother seems to have entered into a phase of seemingly minor, but continual, health issues.  Each one cropping up like so many weeds after a bout of rainy, then sunny weather.  As soon as we lean back and sigh a wobbly sigh of relief, something new manifests.  


We had family visiting over the holiday weekend.  My brother came out from New Jersey and cousins drove in from Colorado.  Just days before their visit, my mom spent an afternoon in the ER.  The challenge is not just the physical issues, but the emotional ones. Rallying her spirits, reminding her that the likelihood of something being horribly wrong has yet to be determined and that in fact, so far many things have been minor blips on her health radar.


The family reunion went well which is to say no sharp words were uttered and everyone seemed relaxed and happy to relive past gatherings, sharing stories and more recent adventures.  My mom was feeling better, eating and sleeping well and it seemed we had broken the cycle.


The last to go, my brother left early yesterday morning.  The house once loud and busy, now seem quiet and empty.  It felt a bit like being on a deserted island, the last boat heading out to sea but hopefully to return with help and rescue.  I found myself wondering if, of all the people I've known, more are dead or alive.   Just as I was about to step out the door for work, the phone rang.  The phone ringing before 8 am is never a good thing.  Sure enough, it was my mom.  


And so we here we are, entering unknown territory once again.  As I heave my tote bag full of waiting room supplies - journal, book, pens, tissues, mints - I find myself wondering about my survival and how to maintain a healthy perspective when it is apparent that the glass is getting emptier and emptier?  


Have I mentioned perimenopause is puberty in reverse and I am in the thick of it? Watching my mother toddle up to her door just about does me in and hugging my brother goodbye I felt like I was clinging to the only life jacket in turbulent water and I had to let go, but I did so with a strangled whimper.


I think about the prayers of writer Anne Lamott: "help me, help me, help me" and "thank you, thank you, thank you."  I try to remember to just stop, close my eyes, breathe, and think about what really matters: the gift of this time together, the gift of my family and friends supporting and encouraging me, the gift of being able to shoulder this task.


Even the gift of my crazy hormones that seem to be shredding any veils between my emotions and my experiences.  To be intensely alive is to experience intensity and I am reminded you often do get what you ask for, so watch out if you chant Om Namah Shivaya which is what we often sing in yoga.  I surrender to Shiva; I surrender to life. 


There is no choice, really.  The challenge is to do so with as much grace as possible. 


As I pulled up to the retirement center, my mother sat waiting for me on a bench.  As always, she was attired in a coordinating outfit: black slacks, white blouse, patent leather sandals and what I call her "don't give me any shit" black leather jacket.  She may not dress to impress, but she dresses to convince herself all is well.  Hair tidy, lipstick on, she was prepared for another CAT-scan. 


My mother without lipstick would signify defeat.

And so today I pulled out my blue bird skirt, placed JOY around my neck, daubed on some China Rain perfume and slipped my feet into my shoes.  I may not have Wonder Woman's wrist cuffs, but I have robin's egg blue clogs and in them I feel pretty indestructible. 


The Universe emailed me this morning and I realize here is the help I asked for: 


Life's magic is a lot like a swift flowing river, Lisa. No matter how long you've overlooked it or unwittingly swam against it, the instant you stop struggling you're back in the flow...


I'm doing my best not to struggle, but to flow.  To reach out and ask for support.  To acknowledge this is hard, I feel squeezed, I feel used up, and I need a moment to catch my breath. I come to this space to write my truth, knowing that my situation is not unique and in fact, things could be a lot worse.  


May we all find a smidge of comfort and peace within the tight spaces of our lives.  May we all know Hope and Resilience can be found in watermelon pink lipstick, a tiny hand upon our cheek, the smile of a dog, wild flowers blooming in an empty lot, the eyes of one we love looking straight into our souls and acknowledging without words that we are seen, held, and loved. 


May we all trust that when danger is imminent, we will know when it is time to jump to safety.  Standing still, waiting for the hazards of life to bowl you over only engenders isolation and suffering. May we know safety is just off to the side, where life waits to carry us back into the flow.  

 

Thriving and surviving do not have to be mutually exclusive states - I just look down and I behold this truth residing in two pairs of feet, against all probability, brought together and sharing a magical journey.   

we all should wear our medals proudly

Last weekend was Cowgirl's belt graduation for her martial arts class.  She has been attending classes for over 3 1/2 years now and is now in the advanced class which seems crazy as she is half the size of the older kids in attendance.  We have weathered some serious storms in martial arts including the session when she did not test for her next belt; tests where she had to go home and practice more; and now new curriculum which seems to have some sort of progress check every week along with check sheets and forms to be completed in order to receive attitude stripes. 

New to the program are medals given out for attendance, participation in book club and self discipline and attitude.  I have to admit, the paperwork alone is a nightmare and it is only the most dedicated and probably uber over-achiever parent who follows through thoroughly on all of it.  Which is to say, me although in my defense I may regularly remind Cowgirl of her forms, but she fills them out and I believe my standards are pretty high when it comes to deciding what constitutes form-worthy acts of self discipline and winning black belt attitude.

The faux-Olympian style medals seemed a little anti-climatic after all my book-keeping and Cowgirl seemed fairly blaisé about the whole affair.  But later that day I had friends over to our house and when Cowgirl appeared she was wearing all of her medals. 

She wore them to dinner with my mother and again the next day when she accompanied me to my yoga class.  As the sound of all of them together is a bit loud - I keep thinking the dog is up on the counter but no, it's Cowgirl sitting there - she has been instructed to only wear one medal to school.  So every day this week she has wore a different medal to show her class.


In other words, she is extremely proud of herself and her achievement and she isn't shy about letting others know.


Which has got me thinking about how I don't feel comfortable sharing my medals or in my case, my achievements.  I can think of all the medals I won't be stringing over my neck: patient mothering award, efficient housekeeping, healthy and taste buds satisfying meal prep or most attentive daughter.  And don't ask the Husband for an evaluation of my wifely duties.  


If I had to claim any real success, I suppose I might say "snazzy dresser" because I do put effort into looking pulled together even if I don't always feel that way.  (My one legitimate reason for staying in my day job is the fear that if I didn't go to work, I might never get showered or dressed ever again.) Despite the lack in my general housekeeping I am a Paper-Clutter slayer, keeping the tsunami of random bits of mail, school memos and  arty doodlings from drowning us.  I keep on top of the recycling.  I manage Cowgirl's social and school calender.  I monitor the dog's input and output.  I floss and gargle and am attempting to change the bed sheets weekly.

pages for Paint Your Story by Mindy Lacefield

No, none of these is really medal-worthy material in my opinion.  If I were to receive a medal I suppose the one I would be proud to wear would read "Never Gives Up" which may make me sound like a cancer survivor or a special olympics athlete but there it is.  I fumble my way through the difficult moments with Cowgirl when she really really tests my patience, love and endurance (if there anything snarkier than a 7 year old girl with napoleonic attitude, I haven't met it yet ... unless it is said 7 year old at 8 or 9 or - god help me - as a teenager!); I begin over and over my yoga and meditation practices; I paw through and occasionally add to any number of written, photographic and art journals; I gather new sewing, knitting and gardening projects.  No matter how badly these things may go, I begin anew by dusting off my attitude and wiping my psychic slate clean of past disasters and flops.  


And being totally honest, I would include a medal for whatever part I may have in shaping the attitude (sassy but independent) and ideas of the girl who can create this:

Most committed to practicing self love.  Maybe that is the medal I aspire towards ... one I would proudly wear.

the most powerful word is ♡ Love ♡

springing awake

I am slowly stumbling out of the fog and lethargy that was the end of Winter. I find myself craving solitude, space and time to think and breath. I move cautiously in my morning practice and often just sit in the sleepy peacefulness of predawn meditation. I gather loads of library books on herbs, container gardening, along with poetry books by my bedside. I reacquaint myself with old friends on the page and in real space and time. This feels more like a time for Thanksgiving as I find myself awakening on many levels: spiritually, personally, and creatively.

Everything feels fertile; especially my dreams which provoke a profound shifts in my understanding.

Lying in a field
on my side
my lover -
the one I seek but never find, the one I yearn to know but am denied -
lies down behind me.

His body cloaking mine

I feel the warmth of breath against my ear,
I feel the press of lips upon my cheek,

I sense him waiting.

And as quickly as he appeared,
he is gone.

I awake from this dream
with the familiar sense of longing,
frustration from
denial of desire
that seems fated to know no home.

And then it strikes me -
all these years I’ve believed myself to be waiting
upon another,
when all along you have been with me
here
closer than my breath
under my skin
acceptance and love perpetually on offer.

And it’s not me waiting
but you.

Awaiting my recognition,
my receiving
what has been held out to me,
accepting the gift
I never believed was mine to claim.

Until now.

Spring awakening:

love and birdsong fill the air,

robins mad with a passion

that envelopes me.

I will no longer
deny what calls to me

now

I am ready to roll over
and give myself
completely
to the embrace.

What is awakening within your heart, your mind? What new growth are you discovering? Is it just me or does it feel like this season is about to blast us into the next level?

my three c's (and lots of p's)

I've been pondering these questions posed by a in a special SouLodge circle gifted to SAW attendees:

What do I most want for my loved ones?
What's behind every gesture of love that I make everyday?
What three qualities describe who I am as a contribution to this world? How do I incorporate those qualities into my life and how do I extend those gifts towards myself?

In the shower (the best place for ideas - you know, water, flow, being in the body ...) I came up with my three c's: cherish, curiosity, and connection.

Cherish was obvious to me - it is my style statement (I am a cherished creative!) When I think about my loved ones, what I want most for them is to feel and know themselves as beloved for who they are. Cherish conjures up the sense of appreciation and celebration for the individual. To cherish someone or something is to honor the qualities that make them unique. When we feel cherished, we feel seen and loved; we know we are held deeply within another heart.

Curiosity has become my favorite quality. To be curious is to engaged fully with life and all its adventures and magic. To be curious is to be an explorer, open to the unknown and eager to discover new things. When we are curious we believe our understanding of the world is meant to be always changing, growing, and expanding.

Connection for me is about honoring individuality but recognizing the bonds that unite us. Connection is knowing we are participating in something larger and that our lives extend outward in waves of influence and empowerment.

Empowerment is a HUGE concept for me, but it seems when the other elements are in place it just naturally flows.

What I find challenging is to consider how I weave these qualities into my own life - how do I nurture for myself being cherish, curious and connected? I think I am pretty good about supporting the last two ideas, but harder is knowing how I create or support the act of cherishing towards myself?

Things that make you go "Hmm ..."

There's the very likely chance I am being hard on myself. I mean, I have been making time this week to yes, paint more poppies!









(Seriously, they are addictive! They must be related to increased levels of serotonin or some such bliss hormone.) By honoring my need to have time for pure pleasure and joy, I am acknowledging and cherishing my joyous self, aren't I? I've been painting myself bouquets of poppies - watercolor love notes perhaps?








I know, I'm crazy with this whole poppy thing. But what it has opened up in me is an adventurous side, a me that is feeling frisky and playful and wow! creative.

So much good stuff happening. I am totally digging a practice called "dropping ink" which Leah Piken Kolidas shared on goddess Leonie's World's Biggest Summit. (While I could not find the exact video, here is another variation Leah offered):










I have been playing with ink, watercolor crayons, water soluble oil pastels and whatever is handy in the moment. I also have been drawing with my non-dominant hand (and painting with my dominant one so often I have both hands going at once!)

this was just india ink on untreated paper - i went back in with watercolors.
some kind of crazy turtle woman and angel/magi keep manifesting?

my picassoesque horse.
hmm ... here are those flames again ...

total WTF? a zoo nightmare? rhinos and tigers and monkeys ... Oh My!
(yes, yes ... a pink elephant ... sigh ...)

no clue. strange lady in a cavalier's hat?

Not sure how to tie this one all up (other than to hope no one is trained in psychoanalysis ... je suis un Surrealiste!) I know there is more for me to ponder and just to offer these ideas out to y'all because, well, connection is my thing.

Along with adopting new accents it seems ...








Sleep tight my friends. Know that I love and cherish you all.

being seen

me by Cowgirl

I wasn't planning on writing this ... I am in the midst of packing for yes, another quickie art retreat trip and I am feeling a tad guilty for all this pleasure heaped upon my faded and chipped plate. But as I ready myself - lists for the Husband made, plans for Cowgirl in place, dog walker for Mr. Moose scheduled - I struggle with the anxiety that travel and new places and faces evokes within me. This gathering will be much smaller than Squam and while I thrive on intimate, I also squirm at the sense there will be no place for me to hide.

Being seen is uncomfortable for me and yet I crave it. For so much of my life I felt unseen and misunderstood although in hindsight I have to wonder if perhaps I let myself be misrepresented? When the name-callers bruised my tender child self did I speak back? Of course not. I gathered all their words and wounds and patched together a crazy coat of false identity. The task of my adult life has been to shift through all the notions I have about myself and toss away those that are no longer true or blatantly false.

My word for 2011 is Shine and I'm not sure how well I've embraced that concept. There still is a layer of scum clouding my perception of myself. But I had a mini-epiphany at Squam while listening to Jen Lee talk about the care and keeping of our creative selves. Hearing Jen tell her about her experiences, I realized that it is impossible for me to truly see another until I can clearly see myself. And part of that process is putting forth for others my true, shiny, vulnerable and uniquely-flawed-and-therefore-beautiful-and-imperfectly-perfect self.

There is a vulnerability in letting others see me; we talked about this in Jen's workshop. It's scary stuff to put one's tender self out there and perhaps be ridiculed or disregarded. But to hold back is to devalue myself. I think the thing about being seen is it hurts more when we refuse to see, honor and befriend ourselves.

me - holding onto Squam

So as I pack, I am aware of not packing a mask or a uniform or a disguise - not to be dwelling upon who it is I want others to think I am, but to just be myself. Comfortable, eccentric, sometimes mismatchy, but cherished, honored, resilient and wiser for all my experiences. Still unfolding, still in process and hopefully sitting more comfortably in the mystery of not knowing, but trusting. Trusting myself to be my own best friend.

holy guacamole! (yes, i've gone and done it ...)

When you consider speaking, ask yourself whether what you have to say is an improvement on silence. (Swami Kripalu)

Sorry Bapuji, I forgot to ask.

Not a vlog but a video in which I attempt to tell stories, babble a fair bit, get teary eyed and have no real conclusion (but Mel, did I have content?) Yes, I did refrain from reading my more emotionally charged piece of memory retrieval ... if you watch this, you will understand just how emotional that other piece must be!

Profound thought from all of this: why does doing your own thing (or thang as it would sound spoken with a twang) become burdened by expectations and judgments? When did we lose the ability to just do what we love because, well, we love doing it?

And now I wonder ... is there some kind of adrenal rush from making these things? I am floating around now in a haze ...

(although, curse you Vimeo! There is some evil gremlin within who always ALWAYS chooses a screen shot where I look like I am about to be seriously ill on the laptop.)

edit: links I need to share - Jen Lee Finding Your Voice
Natasha Reilly Creative Nachos

retrieving memory from Lisa Hofmann on Vimeo.

today (easter prep)

today I sit, coffee cup between my palms seeking some warmth on yet another cold, drizzly day.

(I don't mean to sound bitter, but everyone's images of Spring in full throttle are depressing me; I seem to have developed an unrequited love for the sun. I call my girlfriend up on the phone, she says "hello?" and I simply sigh. She always knows it is me.)

today I walked the dog and tried to imagine myself in Ireland, the soggy greens of Spring that deep, that moist ...

however, this stale cup of coffee is not refreshing me like a good cup of tea, luv.

today I long for a day outside of time luxurious space to dream, think, remember and then play.

today I must:
-take the dog to the vet's
-grocery shop
-buy eggs and dye
-jelly beans and peeps
-make a card for a baby shower







and god, cook another dinner.

(It is not the cooking I find overwhelming; it is determining what to cook, the weekly meal planning and trips to the store a stone I repeatedly roll up hill. It seems I've misplaced my gusto, the joie in my vivre.)


today I receive unexpected guests, memories descending upon me, snippets of songs clouded by time: Easter services, family dinners, pastel print dress and buster brown shoes, my godmother singing "Hey Jude" on the organ with a samba beat.






today I awoke longing for a respite, a mini-vacation if you will, not an escape, but a bubble of time suspended - allowing the emotional snow fall within my snowglobe to settle.

today I want to luxuriate in books and words - yours and mine
today I feel closer to my truth, fingertips brushing the velvety surface
my senses know what my mind can never grasp.

today I sit here and dream while one eye keeps tabs on the clock; my morning slipping away

Time
a cat stalking me through the high grass.

my list grows, preparations must get underway:
a bunny village to erect
details tidied
life, reorganized.

today I will remember this weekend is about hope, birth after death, rabbits and resurrection, creativity reanimating the world

another chance to align myself with my expanding heart, each beat, a mantra

i am i am i am ...

the seeds of my salvation reside within me; within the simple truth of goodness - mine and yours -

and innocence







seeing the world through wide eyes alert, open, receptive to magic and miracles and a heart willing to take it all in.

today I step gingerly over the wet dog, wrap a sweater about me and take in the wonder of robins fat from the bounty of worms

and await the return of the sun.

clarity ... maybe ... (and a Shiny New Project!)

My inspiration yesterday: Sometimes it takes getting lost to discover there is a more scenic route I'd rather be traveling.

Anyone reading this blog probably already knows that the mind of a creative being is often as chaotic as their workspace. Strike that. More chaotic.

So I have this reoccurring dream in which I am supposed to be leaving for a trip but I cannot pack my suitcase. I am stuffing things into it, trying to jam it shut and either it won't close, or it repeatedly pops open as I travel to the airport and I am scrambling to grab things and get them back inside.

My mind has felt that way for the past couple of weeks. Coming up with my Garden Plan has really helped me to tame the wild monkeys inside my head. I realized that I have been rushing headlong into my life without pausing to take stock, re-evaluate and ... that dreaded word ... plan things out. I did that last year and now I am remembering all the amazing things that manifested as a result of my setting up some goals and systems to keep me accountable and checking back in.

But it is like writing an outline for a paper. How many of us did not want to believe our teachers when they stressed the importance of first outlining - mapping out our ideas - before writing? I know I resisted until I actually tried it (or my version of it - colored index cards I could shuffle and re-arrange and doodle on) and wow! It really works! Totally takes the stress out of things ... all my ideas are there and I just need to build the paper!

Mind blowing stuff when I was an academic.

both sides are collaged and the whole will be taped together to make a folding booklet; i still have to sketch out the actual garden beds

Now I am appreciating the wisdom of taking time out to organize, arrange and pack my mind for easier access. In addition to my garden plan (which is more like a brochure ... when completed it will be an accordion-like folding guide) I am making a strategic plan box (cut down and decorated cereal box). It still needs a snappy title. I discovered this great guide by Lisa Sonora Beam and am following her ideas. I've created cardboard dividers for each of my categories: creativity, relationships, courage (putting myself out there; my spin on business), abundance (in a narrow sense, finances; but also about giving and receiving), home, health/self care, and spirituality. On each divider I've glued a card for journaling. Lisa has a list of insightful prompts such as What does it mean for me (in the coming year)? and What would achievement of this goal look like? On the back of the divider card is an envelope for additional writing, letters, lists, images, etc.






The whole process began with me writing out my answers to these questions Lisa poses:

What do I want/hope to achieve in the coming year? What do I value most? What do I want to be different one year from now?

Thinking about these questions, I was inspired by the writing of Chris Guillebeau who was recently on the Right-Brainers in Business summit. If you want to shake things up not just a bit, but a lot, then read his Brief Guide to World Domination. Two things jumped out at me after listening to Chris talk and then reading his work. The first is his decision to live a remarkable life.

Got that? Remarkable. It is a choice we can make. It is a variation on what Connie shared in Deep which is by embracing myself, honoring my individuality, painting as me and not thinking about being anything other than who I am in that moment, I can choose extraordinary over mediocre.

The other statement of Chris's that brought my monkey mind to a stop is this: You don't have to live your life the way other people expect you to.

I'm grabbing a cup of tea while you ponder all that.

Ready? Okay, going on ... Chris poses what he rightly calls The Two Most Important Questions in the Universe:

What do you really want to get out of life? What can you offer the world that no one else can?

Another variation - another mind stopper if you will - Is this the life I want for myself? (from a fantastic podcast by Marisa Haedike.)

It may be a cop out, but part of my answer to question number one is: I want to be living a remarkable life. I want to be passionately engaged with my life and my world; I want to create a space of love and beauty for my family and friends. I want to choose extraordinary in every action and know I was awake and alive for it all.

In the coming year, I want to Shine - my voice, my presence, my confidence, my gifts, and my commitment to my practice and my path. I want empower others through my work or by teaching or by my example to seek their own light; to experience and realize their own innate creative, extraordinary, remarkable selves. I want to empower others to know there is always a choice ... the choice of love and joy. What I have to offer is my enthusiasm and my passion.

A little over 18 years ago, I broke my neck. The gift of that accident was the awareness that I no longer wanted to be passive about my life. I wanted to be actively engaged in living it and not, as Mary Oliver writes "end up simply having visited this world." (from When Death Comes - it is required reading for any Joy Warrior.) As I see it, choosing to live a remarkable life isn't so much about what I do, as it is about attitude with which I make those choices and how I choose to engage with them.

Phew! Still with me? This momma of a brain suitcase is mighty full! But all the questions, the journal prompts, the vision boards, mind maps and mind dumps have helped me to clarify things immensely. Or maybe it is hawk's medicine - to fly high and see the landscape, the details, from a broader perspective. I still have a lot more to think about but the structure is now in place.






In the midst of all this collaging madness, I hit upon a project in alignment with my goals: 49 paintings before I turn 49. (Inspired somewhat by 1008 Painting Project by Lisa Sonora Beam.) Small scale pieces, 4 1/4 by 5 1/2 inches on gessoed postcards, the theme I want to explore is my guardians, guides and helpers in my life. Since I have 33 weeks to complete the project, I decided to begin this undertaking honoring the Hindu deity, Ganesha, who is the remover of obstacles, the one who teaches us to dance lightly around the heaviness of the world and who bestows blessings of physical and mental powers, peace and prosperity, upon all who honor him.






At the beginning of any new undertaking, Ganesha is called upon to guarantee success. I will probably journal on the back of each painting, but I am still working out the details for myself. I think I am calling it 49 before 49.


I think I have vacuum packed my brain for the day. I am so appreciative of this space, the feedback, the comments and the support I receive on a daily basis. Perhaps you are shaking your head at my madness, or perhaps you are realizing as a fellow Joy Warrior, life is too short and too precious to not choose remarkable as the measure for your actions. "The world offers itself to your imagination, calls to you like the wild geese ..." what is your response going to be?





My inspiration for today: being me is a full time job. Love the work, could use more pay.