There are those moments when words seem to have an almost magical power. When they take us to the places of our dreams and even beyond. Then there are those times when they seem to utterly lack any meaning at all. Come at us like distorted echoes that are far too much work to even begin to comprehend. Mostly, however, they tend to fall somewhere between those polar opposites.

One word can bring a smile to a face that was blank just the moment before, or sting for hours like an almost invisible paper cut. Some seem wet, like the sloppy kiss of an overexcited puppy, others are dry and can lull the reader to sleep trying to slog through them. Words can bring inspiration and joy to a life that was heading toward bland, or trip up that individual who was moving so smoothly (just a minute before) through his/her life experience.

Because words are so important to my person, I have had all of these experiences and thousands more. Does that mean I should be afraid of this thing that I love and chase after through most moments of my existence? Words have power even when they put us to sleep.

A few days ago, I ran into a word that both startled me and then made me run for cover. I didn’t literally do those things, I did them on an emotional and psychological level. The response was so immediate that I didn’t even know that I was thus engaged until after I had done so. It was just a word, random letters placed in an arbitrary order that sent messages throughout my nervous system. Those messages had me in flight like a small bird that suddenly becomes aware of the tangerine cat sneaking up on it as it hops over the ground seeking some form of sustenance.

When I realized that I had already taken to the air without thought of doing so, I went back and explored the word. It wasn’t a bad word. As a matter of fact it is a rather good and positive one. So what had sent me into unthinking motion? I settled all my ruffled feathers and decided to explore what had actually happened.

First of all, the word had been applied to my person as a definition. Someone else’s definition, and not one I would ever have considered to be attached to me, to the person I am and see myself being. It was just too big, large with meanings that I felt carried way too much responsibility for my shoulders to carry, let alone still allow me to fly in whatever direction I might choose. It, to my senses, felt like a trap. Steel bars suddenly springing up around me that would forever stop any forward movement, perhaps all movement of any kind.

When I realized that my flight had been initiated by my own senses, I perched for a while and decided to face off with this tangerine tabby. You must confront your fears or forever be limited by them. It’s a word. It’s in the dictionary. Look it up and see if it means what you think it means. I did that and found just a word.

But, that word held some very real consequences for my person. It meant a possibility of change in the very manner in which I viewed me. The dictionary definition didn’t do that, I did that. It was my definition of the word and what I thought it entailed that had sent me flying away, looking for a safe place in which to recover my equilibrium. I had attached meanings and consequences that were not in the word itself, but only occupied a space between my own ears and deep inside my own feelings. Which only means that my fear was only one of many possibilities.

Okay, I am getting somewhere with all of this. Next step: try to get another or, other perspectives. That meant discussing the word and my feelings with others. Oh boy. This could be embarrassing. So, I carefully chose two people with whom I am comfortable admitting my personal foibles with. That doesn’t mean I wasn’t somewhat embarrassed, it just means that I was disturbed enough by the whole thing to see that embarrassment was just another form of the original fear.

But, before discussing it with either of my friends, I wrote about it in my journal. Getting my thoughts and feelings sorted out before actually opening my mouth. Who would have thought that something definitely meant as a compliment could create this much trouble? But it did.

When I did finally discuss it with my friends, they helped me to see where I had made a left turn instead of a right one. I thank both of them profusely and am far more comfortable than I was when the word was originally aimed in my direction. That tangerine tabby turned out to be made of mist. Just a movement caught in a side glance that felt threatening. Would I now use that word to define my own person? No. But, at least I am far more comfortable with it and might even get to the point where I will accept it gracefully and just say, “Thank you,” should it ever happen to cross my path again.

Words do have power. They motivate and move us from one moment to the next. They can be weapons, but also priceless treasures. Without them there might be no movement at all. Only unceasing silence. Now that wouldn’t send me into unthinking flight. It would freeze me up completely, perhaps for all eternity.

How do you handle the words in your life? Do you greet them as friends or ward them off in panic? Are you careful with the words you choose, or do you think of them as only words?

Had another whirlwind weekend. Drove three hundred miles, attended a wedding, made a one-of-a-kind gift, manufactured another, celebrated one of those milestone birthdays, saw and hugged old friends, and family, played with my granddaughters, found tears in my eyes several times, and laughed uproariously far more. Talked with lots of people, yet didn’t have very many really meaningful conversations except via long distance on the phone.

And now its already Tuesday and my head is still filled with flashing images of people, antics, words spoken in passing, surprises at the changes I encountered, and a whole load of reflective type material to write about. The problem is picking one and staying with it long enough to make sense out of it, or hopefully resolve it. It all flashed by so fast, some of it making deeper impressions than others, and trying to sort that all out looks overwhelming to me. Especially because life continues and demands constant attention.

I did fill journal pages during those few days, but they are far more notes than anything coherent. Lots of dots and dashes to simply help me remember some of the things I want to go back and consider on some deeper level, only to find myself sidetracked by things and people that had nothing to do with what actually went down during those few days of hectic movement.

I had an interesting conversation with a close friend who happened to be the bride at the wedding I attended. She said that although she knew all of the people who attended, there were moments when she felt that she didn’t recognize any of them and couldn’t remember most of the day at all. In a similar fashion, with all that running, greeting, hugging, and surprises, I felt exactly the same way.

We discussed how although there were hundreds of photos taken, we might look at them later and not remember the moment they had captured. That is where my journal may be the more efficient manner to hold those memories.

Before I write my daily page, I reread what I had written the day before. That often leads me to explore something mentioned in the reading. Too often, photos are not developed immediately and the time lapse between the taking and the actual viewing is filled with more moments that have meaning as well. And although the human mind retains all of those moments, they do not always easily surface or appear on demand.

That in turn, means that months or years might pass and suddenly we remember a flash of memory but lack the framework that gives it context. Can’t remember when that happened and why we were involved in the first place. How it actually came to be. The details are muddy because we were moving through them too quickly to take notes. They become no more than flashes in the pan that although valuable, get missed because we are simply moving too fast.

I can’t say it enough: my journal holds the threads that help me stay sane, if indeed, I can be defined as sane at any given moment. That all depends on whose definition we might be using in that moment. I prefer mine in most. Those glimpses of gold nuggets in all of that mud certainly help the process. They create the context of all that mud and hold it together until I can ascertain its true value. After a weekend, like this one just past, I need that.

What is the process you use to find meaning and value in your own experience? Do you sift through all that mud and just throw your hands up in defeat? How do you stay sane and remain in contact with who you are and truly wish to become?

We make choices everyday. Those choices are informed by all of those past moments we have experienced. If we don’t take notes, make mile markers in our journey, what exactly do we base those choices in? The emotional whim of the moment, or the accumulated nuggets we have extracted from all the rest of these swiftly passing moments? Do you make space for the sorting process? How do you do that?

My journal is not the only way I choose to do that, although I think it is the most important one. It forms the basis of the other ways I store those nuggets as well. Writing a poem is far better than a photo because it often captures the emotional level within that distilled moment. The images I create in my sketchbooks do something very similar as well, but allow a much greater level of interpretation. Interpretation that allows for more than a one-dimensional view.

Collage is also another favored process in which the layers of meaning can be aptly portrayed and reflected upon. Song lyrics run through my mind on an almost constant basis. They can be some of those gold nuggets of immeasurable value in a manner that these others can not do, often suggesting deeper emotional attachment than otherwise suspected.

The gifts I create and manufacture do that for others as well as for myself. A piece of me lives in each one and is a tangible proof of my passage. And my journal, more than anything else, most often holds the first glimpse of those mud-covered nuggets, inviting me to a closer look, a sorting process that never really ends.

My youngest daughter came for a visit this past weekend. She came alone and stayed for two nights, both of which are firsts for her. We shared a great deal of laughter, tears, emotional upsets, new and old music, and lots of wonderful warm fuzzies. She is thirty years old, has three daughters and a stepdaughter, and sometimes works 70 hours in one week. So, this visit was extremely special and I miss her even more since she left.

She cried when she visited her grandmother, and was amazed at all of my doodling sketchbooks and mandalas. Saturday evening she actually suggested that we all color together. So we each chose a design and went to work. My oldest daughter was here, as well. We worked separately, but talked and commented while we played with all of my pens. And each of us created distinctly different styles and affects.

She had brought a trivia game called Mental Floss with her. After the coloring session, we played the game and finally dissolved into giggles and wise cracks which only prolonged the laughter and off-colored one liners. Sunday morning, before she left, we all signed our coloring endeavors and took them over to my Mother’s apartment and stuck them up on her refrigerator. My Mom loved it and then my daughter was gone. Back to her life and her family. Leaving a hole that no one else can fill.

Yesterday, I went on my poetry site and found a comment from her on an old post. Just two sentences that told me she was dealing with a similar hole that carries my name. Why is it that we can desire a thing so much, have that desire completely met, only to feel it even more strongly for having it fulfilled? From the moment she drove away, I have been flooded with the images of memories we created over those two days she was  here. And the desire to have her close again is even stronger than it was before she arrived.

I am busy filling up that hole with the sound of her voice as she sang along with music I had never heard before, but which brought new insight into my own reality. I hear her laughing and teasing as only she will do, close my eyes and see her grinning, or crying, because she is a softie in so many ways. And I think that I didn’t hug her enough or tell her how much she means to me and is a gift I cherish as no other. Yet, know that I did those things and that she knows them to be true.

We all have those spots in our existence, or we should have them. Holes that can’t ever really be filled because they are expectant and always waiting for more. They help us to know that we are living, breathing creatures filled with thoughts and feelings that no one else might ever know or feel. Marked off with a name, or a time, when we knew we were completely alive and in the moment. Holes that are noteworthy because they belong to us, to that distinct individual we are and are becoming.

Those holes are marks, footprints that tell of our passage on whatever path we travel. They form and make us who we are and tell us how we got to whatever place we truly live in. They need to be held close, celebrated in some fashion. Written down so they can be held in hands that might go empty in the future and need something real to grasp.

My daughter exists in my heart, but she also lives and breathes inside the pages of my journal as I carve those memories on paper and celebrate her existence and our relationship. She said, as she was leaving, that she would come back soon. I intend to hold her to that promise. But, in the interim, I will continue to fill that hole with her name on it.

Do you have those distinct types of holes in your life? How do you fill them, celebrate them, express them so that they remain a living, breathing reminder of who you really are and desire to be?

Alyssa's Mandala 10-10-09

Mandala 10-10-09

Sara's Mandala 10-10-09

Okay, I am frustrated this morning. Wanted to post a new poem on my poetry site, but kept getting knocked off when I tried. Was trying to copy and paste because of some of the wordage within the piece, but every time I would click the paste button, the entire page and all that I had written would simply disappear and I was back offline again. So, decided to let it go for the moment.

Because my time is being regulated by other circumstances, I had pretty much decided to stick with this blog and let the others go for a while. But then found poetic inspiration on someone else’s blog. It’s been a while since I wrote any poetry and I dove after the idea with a bit of eagerness. After the third attempt however, I chose to come here and not allow the frustration to waste any more of the few minutes of free time I have been gifted this week.

My usual routines have been scattered to the winds of late. That includes my journal writing. Normally, I get up and immediately settle in to do my journal page for the day. But, I’ve been staying at my Mom’s and fixing her breakfast and waiting for the relief team to show up before I can get home to my computer. Because my morning pages signal the beginning of my day, it’s been a bit discombobulating to begin that day at 2pm, or even later on occasion.

I had a counseling session a few days ago. My counselor, after listening to my none-stop descriptions of what’s been going on, asked me a very simple question. “How are you taking care of yourself in the midst of all of that?” I promptly went blank. My response to her question was somewhat vague even to my own ears. So, of course, she asked it again. Thank goodness the session was almost over, because I was stumped.

I drove home with the question in the passenger seat, belted in with the safety harness, but very present and leaning in to hear something other than vague hand motions and mumbled replies. When I walked through the door of my apartment, I immediately had several clear answers. Why does that always happen? Maybe because on an almost daily basis, I am moving a great deal outside of my own small comfort zone? It takes time to think and I don’t have much time for anything at the moment other than the current changing situation, dealing with whatever task needs attention and what, most often, seems and feels like some sort of controlled chaos.

When I walked through that door, I took a deep breath and found four very specific answers to the counselor’s question. Number one, I was keeping my counseling appointments. That outside space to vent is incredibly important.

Number Two, my oldest daughter was staying with me for a few days, relieving me of planning and cooking meals, but also providing me with a sounding board and a very deeply needed sense of not being completely alone.  

Number Three, I have not given up or let go of my sketchbooks and the relaxation and play that they provide for me. Those few hours I spend exploring the realm of color and shape, allow me ease and comfort, while allowing my mind to bend itself around something completely separate from the current emotional situation.

Number Four, and probably more important than the others, I have not missed a day in my journal. Talking with others, being able to vent to a listening ear is terribly important, but that contact with my own person, that one on one dialogue with myself is far more essential. I would go so far as to say that that is the very reason why, when I opened that door and took that deep breath, I wasn’t scattered and lost as I had been in the counselor’s presence. She is paid to ask those kinds of questions, and if they were easy, I wouldn’t being paying her to ask them.

As a matter of fact, that particular day, I had slept over at my Mom’s, fixed her breakfast, changed her bed, cleaned up her apartment, got her settled in and a load of wash going before my younger sister came in, and I could go home, take a shower, get dressed and get to the counselor’s office. When I got back home, my only thought was to get on the computer and get my page done for the day. That’s when it all fell into place and I had all of the answers I needed.

It isn’t easy staying sane, or healthy,  in the midst of chaos. But, I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else in this moment. Yes, I am moving outside my normal comfort zone, but I’m making sure that I hang onto the most essential aspects of that zone even if the beginning of the day doesn’t happen until quarter after eleven in the evening. My journal pages are always the beginning.

What are you doing to take care of yourself in the midst of whatever chaos life might be throwing your way in the present moment? Do you have a safety harness and do you use it?

We are all frightened of the Stranger.
     Probably because the Stranger is not nearly as far away as we think. She can come upon us suddenly, after an act of cruelty, the death of a loved one, or stumbling over an unknown dog in the forest. For no apparent reason, we cross some hidden border and the Stranger is born. In a heartbeat, we do not even recognize ourselves.
     Our own fear with a face —that’s who the Stranger is.
     And that is what makes her so very dangerous.

People of The Owl
___Kathleen O’Neal Gear and W. Michael Gear

 My younger sister handed me this book several weeks ago, in a bag of books she had read and dropped off here. I have somehow become the depository of books that my siblings have read and now wish to get rid of without needing to throw them away. My sister knew that I had read most of the other books in this series of fictionalized stories about North American prehistory. She had no idea that I was not familiar with this particular novel, and that her actions would create a bit of an issue for me.

Years ago, I became fascinated with the series and would latch onto the books whenever I came across them. I thought I had read all of them. But, just because I had read all the ones that were available, didn’t mean the authors had stopped creating them. I had definitely moved on to other things, and wondered, when I saw it, if I should even bother to read it.

Would it pull me in as all the others had done? Would I find, within its pages, some message aimed directly at the aspects of life that deeply interest me, or had while I was so engrossed in their pages? Or would I be disappointed to find that I had changed in those intervening years? Would I no longer find those wonderful nuggets of truth and wisdom that had so informed me in the past, turned on the light bulbs of my mind and given me so many filled pages for my journal and different ways of seeing my own reality? My life has become complex and busy and could I afford to distract myself from this new and different routine?

I finally stopped wondering and opened the book to read. And found all the same things that had fascinated me in the past, along with new messages that I certainly needed now. I have not yet completed the reading, but am closing on that quite quickly. There are several passages, like the one above, that have stopped me in my tracks and forced me to think through much of my current situation, as well as many in the past that have brought me to the place I now find myself in.

This blog is essentially about keeping a personal journal in an ongoing effort to know ones own person. As far as I am concerned, one of the most primary tasks of being born human. Within the story, one of the major characters has spent her entire lifetime working toward a specific goal. She has put all of her skills and abilities toward accomplishing that one goal. And as will happen, just as she is about to see and grasp hold of that reality, life steps in and all is changed and altered. She becomes a stranger to herself and to all around her, completely lost in a grief process that resembles dementia. No longer able or capable of taking the position she has worked so hard to attain. She has crossed some unseen border and no longer recognizes her own person, let alone those who surround her.

This isn’t an easy book to read, yet my time, in the present moment, has been freed up so that I can do just that. I have set aside other activities in order to finish it. Those other activities, doodling, writing, making gifts, continue to call to me, but I invariably pick up the book and tell myself I’ll just read one more chapter, and then get lost for an hour or two instead.

I couldn’t possibly pass up the quote that introduces this blog. It holds within it, the very reason I continue to struggle to maintain this space even as my life changes and I am changed by it.

My Mother will be 91 years old tomorrow. She is struggling with a fast and progressive cancer and has been informed (yesterday) by her doctor that she might want to consider stopping treatments and let Hospice make her as comfortable as possible in whatever time she has left. She has refused, until now, to even consider such a thing because that would be giving up and she is not a quitter. She is facing the Stranger inherent in all of us. And we who love her are doing the same.

Meanwhile, I am stumbling through a work of fiction, finding small, but very hard  nuggets that lighten the path that I find myself walking on. A path that would seem to end in darkness but for those nuggets my sister so casually dropped into my hands. Illuminate the face of the Stranger I could have been if I had taken another path. I am grateful.

One day, last week, I was impulsively prompted to start reading this blog from its very beginnings. I made it through almost an entire month’s worth of articles before being called away to other things.

This morning, although I came here to add yet another blog article, I found myself dithering around, distracting myself with other thoughts, and simply avoiding the task at hand. Eventually, I went back and started rereading my old posts again. I made it through several weeks worth and am now here and present. I think.

I have been very busy of late and my days, although full, seem to run from one into another without much time spent in reflection of any kind. I do my journal writing, but it is quickly completed and then left for all those other obligations and responsibilities. But, I really stalled out when I got here this morning. Although I had a lot of things running through my mind, I simply didn’t seem capable of plucking out one of those thoughts and just going with it to fill this page.

I tried several other things, getting up from the computer, rambling around my small apartment, doing small things, coming back only to get up and ramble a bit more. I tried doing something in my sketchbook, but put that away almost as quickly as the thought of writing here. Nothing was working, let alone, coming together. So, I went back to the rereading of the things I had written many months ago.

What I found was me. The one who does all of this writing, and often wonders why she does it to begin with. As a matter of fact, she was stuck right there this morning. Distracting herself, looking for herself, and accidentally finding herself in her own words. Bummer? Or an amazing coincidence? A neat little piece of synchronicity to get her back here, on the page, laying down words, and hoping they will all come together somehow and make sense. Hopefully, to you the reader, but more importantly, to herself.

Avoidance does work, at least for a time period. But, no matter how much we dither around, ramble through whatever rooms and things are available, attempt to distract ourselves, we invariably end up back where we needed to be all along. Back to the very thing and place we have been avoiding. Why do we do that?

Good question and one I’m not real sure I can answer at the moment. All I know is that I am here because this is where I am supposed to be, doing exactly what I am supposed to be doing. And I am here, because I found myself telling me, in my own words, to do just that. Finding that message in words I wrote over a year ago. Words that made all kinds of sense, and had a much deeper meaning than I thought at the time they were written.

The message was quite clear: Just get on the page, start, and it will all go where it is supposed to go and become whatever it is to become. Perhaps, even more important, was the fact that those words contained an element of joy and satisfaction that I was definitely missing in this present moment. Missing, and incorrectly thinking that one must have the joy and the knowledge of satisfaction to even begin. That’s putting the cart before the horse and expecting it to roll itself uphill and drag the nag right along with it.

I want to be a good writer. By that, I do not mean famous or profound. I want to be coherent and enjoyable on the page. But, if I’m not feeling those things in the moment, how can they happen and become that? It might sound completely silly, but I forgot in the present moment, that satisfaction and the attendant joy that comes with it, are a result of the doing of the task, of and in actually completing it. Dah!

Laughing at myself also helps. It lightens all the tangles and knots I was creating by dithering and rambling. And believe me, those knots were getting really really tight. If I had let them, they might have paralyzed me for hours, maybe even days, wasting daylight and lots of time accomplishing nothing other than tighter knots. Preventing me from not only this task but all those others I spoke of earlier.

Going back and rereading my journal, often has the same affect. Yet, it is so very easy to forget the simplest things and have to relearn them again. Or, at least make contact with them frequently. Which, in turn, is one of the most important aspects of writing a journal in the first place. Staying in contact with the most important individual in ones existence. That of self.

At the very least, for today I do know that ideas and thoughts come first. Then comes action based on those thoughts and ideas. And only after action, come feelings. Now the nag is at the front of the cart, pulling it up the hill that is today. That works much much better. I might even be able to find a carrot with which to keep her moving in whatever direction I find myself in need of going.

What are the thing/s you avoid most often and why? How do you avoid and does it work for more than a short time period? Do you feel a certain satisfaction in that avoidance? What is it you want to accomplish and are you somehow avoiding it? Just some questions for thought, or even for words on a journal page. Who knows? They might actually become carrots.

I started to fill the last page in my sketchbook yesterday. This one will have words on it as none of the others do. The same words that title this blog. I have two new sketchbooks that should be arriving this afternoon. And I look forward to filling them and being just as surprised as I have been with each new page. Perhaps these new pages will have words on them as well as images, bits of poetry, partial quotes, and other things. I won’t know until I get there and begin.

When I realized that I had gotten to the last page, I knew that I needed to honor that actuality. And I let the sketchbook alone for a couple of days before I decided how to do that. I didn’t know how the words would go on the page, but when I heard them in my head, I knew they were the right ones. Strangely enough, I did that at a small family gathering, held in honor of Labor Day and the end of summer. Also appropriate in my mind.

I only had enough time to print the words when one person, then another, stepped over to see what I was doing. A very interesting conversation followed. How did I get started doing this? Have I now given up writing to pursue this new interest? Where do all the ideas come from? And how someone else would never be able to do that because it took way too much concentration and patience. I never got back to that final page, but have it to look forward to today. Again, very appropriate, in my mind.

The ending of one thing, often means the beginning of something else. But, it doesn’t necessarily have to be so. I have no intention of giving up my writing and it looks as though it will become another step in my pictorial journey. The two will blend and become something more than either was alone. I particularly like that idea. Expansion, rather than a choice to eliminate one or the other.

I also find it absolutely delightful that the idea occurred as I was finishing the first sketchbook and looking forward to the new ones that will be arriving. Haven’t mentioned this yet, but I was surfing the net the other day and hit on an idea for a whole different set of images for one of those new sketchbooks. It would be a series. Similar to what I’ve been doing, but different and distinct. I will have two new sketchbooks and two new roads to travel down while exploring this new place I have entered. Am definitely looking forward to both of them.

If we look at the ending of something as no more than that, all we will experience is the loss. It might be a necessary loss, but it doesn’t have to be only that. There are always lessons to be learned from every experience we encounter. Yes, even the death of a loved one who has been extremely important to our existence.

When I was much younger, I dreaded the knowledge that my father would have to one day pass away and no longer be a part of my landscape. He taught me a great deal about life and I wasn’t sure I could continue if he was not here with his gentle and loving encouragement. He died over twenty years ago, and his passing was a tremendously spiritual experience for me.

Having written about him and our relationship, I know that he continues to encourage and support me, teaching me gently as he always did. And those lessons will stand me in good stead as I face the loss of my other parent, as well as those of others I care deeply about.

Loss always has some amount of pain to accompany it. But pain can be expressed in so many ways and they don’t have to be negative or destructive. Writing through the pain, drawing its contours, giving it shape and meaning can be healing and life affirming. That is a necessary part of our growth process.

I felt sad for the gentleman who told me he could never do what I was doing in my sketchbook. He was determined to close himself off from that experience, even though he asked more, and deeper probing questions about the process than anyone else did. He simply kept shaking his head no, when I explained that mistakes were simply opportunities to go in a new and unexplored direction, mumbling about “how that would never do.”

I was very tempted to tell him of a phrase that someone had told me they had found on a t-shirt recently. One I agreed with and was tickled with enough to find out where I might get the t-shirt. “Yes, I have character flaws and I know how to use them.” But, at that point, he hit the last and final page of my sketchbook that he had been paging through. He looked at the words and said, “The End. That’s appropriate,” and went on to talk of other things.

6. study of structure of something’s parts: the study of the structure of anything made up of interconnected or interdependent parts

I have not been here for several weeks due to being busy in other areas of my existence. First, came a nasty summer cold with all the attending hacking, sneezing, and sniffling. Second, was a family crisis with my Mom which continues and will do so for some time. Last of all, my router went out and I had to order and wait for a new one to get back on the Internet.

But, I have found a new word to play with, Morphology, and one of its several definitions is listed above. I, at first, intended to use it to define all the doodling I have been doing. I started out doing Zentangle Mandalas, but that morphed into something else that morphed into yet something different again. It just kept morphing, thus the new word. Before you get completely confused, I’ll give you examples.

Zentangle Mandala 8/12/09

This is the sort of thing I started out to fill my sketch book with. That however, morphed into other images.

Zentangle 8/13/09

And morphed again when I added color and realized that the images were a bit of fantasy.

Fantasy - The Gate 8/25/09

I was happy and content with the word, until an older and far better artist than myself, pointed out that these images could only be two dimensional and therefore couldn’t actually be considered a structure. Semantics!

We did explore other possibilities such as Doodlology (I had to try it four times before I could actually say it, and laughing didn’t help), as well as Scribblosophy, because, of course the images have stories built into them. But, semantics aside, I still am leaning toward my original choice.

During all of this stress and busyness, I continued to fill the pages of my journal as well as my sketchbook. And began to see a definite connection between the two. My journal is written in English, but my sketchbook is an entirely different language, one I am learning and watching expand on a daily basis. I truly want to title the sketchbook The Art of Morphology. Then realized that might be a good title for my journal as well.

My life is morphing with each new day. My consistent journal entries are actually my own study of the structure of my personal existence. The pieces and parts of that existence are definitely interdependent and even, sometimes interchangeable.

I think that the best part of all of this is that my sketchbook is actually another kind of journal. One that is far more deeply connected to my subconscious awareness of what is happening in and around me. One I might have missed entirely if I hadn’t been cataloging my attempts on my daily journal pages. It has been filled with wonderful little surprises and a plethora of connections to all sorts of other things, including some of my poetry from many years ago.

If we allow it, we all grow on a daily basis. We change and become other than we were yesterday or the day before that. In that sense, we morph from one level of existence into others. Being aware, studying those changes, can and does make that process easier at moments. Journal writing and doodling are ways of accomplishing that process. Simple ways that can result in deep satisfaction and also moments of delight.

One of the easiest ways to close the doors of ones Creativity Closet is to form a mindset that doesn’t allow for new possibilities. A mindset is a habit of thought. Just as we have physical habits that make us feel comfortable in a lot of the areas of our existence, we also have thought habits, ideas that keep us from any forward movement. We engage in them when we don’t want to rock the boat in which we are sitting.

If we think that boat is leaky, we certainly won’t take it far from the shore where it is anchored. It is our mindset that keeps it anchored. Keeps us feeling ‘comfortable’ and actually allows us to think we still retain some form of movement, even though we might actually be slowly sinking, unaware of the danger to our further existence.

A year ago, my circumstances changed. It didn’t appear to be a huge or elaborate change, although it did somewhat ease some of my immediate concerns. At least, that was the way in which I viewed the change, that it allowed me to relax a bit more. But, only a bit. I forgot that any change, even minor ones, cause a ripple affect. I stepped carefully into this slightly wider space and got comfortable again.

In other words, I went about my business as usual, aware of the added space, but not seeing it for what it really was: an opportunity for far greater changes. I was well anchored into a mindset that meant accepting limitations. It had become my way of life. And I had gotten quite comfortable with it. So much so, that I almost missed the boat that came with those changes. The boat that would and could make those limitations a thing of the past, and me free of the chafing at those boundaries.

I have written about the Push and Pull necessary to bring about movement and thus, change. That Push/Pull came to me in the form of words spoken by two very different individuals. One set of words was an extremely negative push from behind, while the other set of words were absolutely positive with possibilities I hadn’t even considered. Together, they created enough friction to get me moving. Movement that took me completely outside of that mindset I had been inhabiting, and the leaky boat I was still clinging to.

And I can be, and am, grateful for both. The deep anger that resulted from the negative Push, fueled the movement that Pulled me into all those positive possibilities and a solution that eclipsed most of those limitations. Actually put me on a new plane of existence with the eagerness to explore this much bigger and better boat. And no, that doesn’t mean I’m looking at happily ever after. However, I am seeing a whole new set of ripples that extend much farther than they did just a month ago.

By the way, this new, bigger, sturdier boat does have some leaks. Life is life, and continues to hold many surprises. I have been able to find creative solutions to the leaks I have encountered so far, and keeping my Creativity Closet open and functional, will allow me to find even more. Bending myself around the changes hasn’t been easy, but so far, it has certainly been entertaining.

Changing a mindset is work. Simply realizing that I can now do those small things I couldn’t do before makes it far more interesting and even joyful. Those little shocks of awareness are part and parcel of the change. And I am finding that it is the smallest of these things that seem to bring me the most joy.

Knowing that I can go and get myself an ice cream cone, if that is what I want, is absolutely delightful in a way that it might be hard to explain. The funny part is that I don’t need to get the cone, just think about the fact that I can, and I know a sense of satisfaction I haven’t known in years. It is those small bursts of delight that mark this new path I am on, and also help to unravel that old mindset, making it a thing of the past.

Opening the doors of my Creativity Closet created new paths for me to explore and examine. But it also opened new paths for my thoughts to explore that had little, or nothing, to do with what my hands were physically engaged in creating. That in turn, had me facing off with that old mindset, and I found myself saying quietly, “But, I can’t go there.” Only slowly realizing that not only could I go there, there were ways and means of accomplishing that, that simply would not have occurred otherwise.

Do you have a mindset? A habit of thought that keeps you from moving forward, or beyond the place you might be stuck inside of? Are you sinking in that algae infested pond in which you are anchored for no other reason than that is the only place you know how to be? What one small step might you take to begin to erase that no longer helpful mindset with one that holds other possibilities? Remember, if you can imagine it, it is very possible you can do it, create it, make it feasible, changing your reality.

Why create a Creativity Closet? Especially if one doesn’t believe that one is particularly creative? Imagination exists for lots of reasons, but it is the key element in growth and the forward movement known as progress. If we can imagine a thing, we can often find a way to create or do that thing.

Many of us resist the idea of our own creativity for numerous reasons. The first one might be the fear of failure, or of appearing foolish or untalented. We live in a world that is far more interested in product than process. What is the point of creating something that no one will use, or maybe even want? The process is often work and takes time as well as energy. The thought that others might not see value in our product can stop us cold from even beginning.

The process is a learning experience, and as such has far more value than any product produced. Fear of making a mistake, doing it wrong, can block not only the process but whatever might be learned within its boundaries. I am not just speaking here of learning how to make something, although that is one of the ultimate goals of the activity. There are life lessons to be learned and sometimes those lessons can’t be obtained in any other manner.

Very often, the creative process entails a repetitive action, something that has to be done again and again and simply takes time. That repetitive action, whether it is polishing, gluing, cutting, or whatever, allows the mind to roam free while the hands are otherwise occupied. It often becomes a form of active meditation and, it is during those periods when the subconscious can come forward and make connections.

I color with markers and artists pens. But, it is while I’m engaged in coloring that I have been able to piece together new perspectives concerning my personal life and experiences. The colors I choose often bring certain subjects to the fore and I am free to roam through those thoughts and feelings while thus engaged.

I obviously engage in journal writing on a daily basis. But there are times when I set out to write just to see where the words will take me. Writing is a creative process and as such employs that repetitive pattern that frees up my thought processes, often allowing me to find answers I didn’t even realize I was seeking.

I have written here about another new activity: doodling. Constructing an image one stroke at a time. Making lines and then connecting them in unusual ways to simply see where they will end up. It is both relaxing and quite satisfying, but also provides space for the connecting of thoughts and feelings that might not otherwise happen. Zentangles are fun, and no, they do not all turn out beautifully, but that isn’t the purpose behind doing them. They are actually meant to encourage creative flow and they do just that.

The most important reason for creating a Creativity Closet is to open the door to new possibilities. Letting ones imagination have free rein can offer new experiences and the material that dreams are made of. Far too many of us walk around angry and frustrated, wondering if this is all there is and why that is so. Never knowing that we ourselves might be the only thing blocking new experiences and adventures. If we think of ourselves as chained, held captive by our circumstances, that is exactly what we are. And no one can change that except us.

If that is our bottom line, others can make suggestions until they are blue in the face, and we will immediately find reasons (excuses) as to why those suggestions are impossible to fulfill, or follow through on. So it is up to us to open those doors that lead to our own personal freedom. It may take time and only occur in small little steps, but each step will take us farther and closer to that place we ultimately want to be.

A few months ago, I realized that I had very little mobility and it was utterly frustrating to know that. I began to think in terms of how I could change that reality. I started out thinking in terms of a scooter that would allow me to at least reach the stores and restuarants that are within close proximity.

Within a few hours, I will be registering the first car I have owned in five years, because my circumstances have changed. But, and this is important, those changes hadn’t really taken place in the mindset I had held before they occurred. That sounds like a tremendous leap in reality. It wasn’t. It occurred one step at a time while I was coloring, writing, and doodling.

The writing I do may never be more than my blogs, and may never be read by more than the few individuals who accidentally find this site. The images I create in color and with doodling may never find value in the eyes of others, but they have certainly produced far more than I could have dreamed before now. I now have the mobility I yearned for and lots of plans on how to use it. I no longer feel just this side of caged, nor am I dependent on the whims and schedules of those around me.

I am free to go where I want, when I want. What’s more, I am free to engage in other creative activities I, not that long ago, thought were utterly hopeless to even consider. My doodling and coloring had purpose and drive, a function I hadn’t considered possible. I thought I was just keeping myself busy so I wouldn’t explode because I felt so trapped. My Creativity Closet has become a priceless commodity, a treasure trove of ongoing possibilities.

It has changed my life and my awareness in ways that nothing else could. That is the why of it, its purpose and function. Have you opened that door to all of you possibilities?