Mindsets and Leaky Boats

 

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.

Remember to Breathe

 

Okay, I think I am in trouble. Haven’t a clue what it is I should write about today, just know I should be doing this. Tried to listen to some music to get me started, but was just too willing to be drawn away, getting lost in the words and the melodies. Which means no writing, just a great deal of daydreaming that is not going anywhere.

My life, the one I took so much pains to create, has been altered, changed to meet someone else’s needs. What used to come so easily and even smoothly, now has to be crammed in wherever I can fit it. And all I really want to do is drift away, get lost for a time, suspend time and maybe even place. That is so not happening.

I don’t resent the change, it is something I wanted and even sought. But, the actual adjustment has not been an easy one. It calls on me to watch the clock and that is something I’ve never been really good at doing. It also means planning and I do so love spontaneity. It also calls for some amount of ongoing daily preparation and decision making, and again, that gets tired quite quickly. Being on call and all the attendant what ifs are a hassle.

I assumed that eventually the adjustment would simply happen and I would be okay. Not sure about that one anymore. This is so indefinite and could go on for months and that thought is also tiring. I am not alone in all of this and I would think that everyone else is feeling some of the same things. But meanwhile, I have to deal with these feelings of wanting to just slide out from under and walk away. And that is not an option.

There are days when none of this bothers me and I can simply participate and feel fine about all of it. I would really prefer those days to be a bit more consistent. Apparently acceptance is going to be a hard won battle in this situation. Something I may have to work toward every day for a while.

Transitions are never simple. Why they can’t be is anyone’s guess. When I step back and realize how many things and people are involved and all moving at whatever speed, all of these personal feelings make sense. It’s sort of like being hip deep in a multi-level tidal movement, pushed and pulled all at the same time. Keeping ones feet down and firmly planted is all sort of impossible. Yet, absolutely necessary unless one intends to become just one more casualty and end up sitting exhausted on the shoreline watching everyone else moving about.

Part of the problem is that although there is a schedule, it is open to change at a moment’s notice. Because of that, my role is constantly in flux. I can make a plan, but must be aware that the plan could be changed with just a simple phone call or an unexpected visitor. And that has already happened many times.

This is all beginning to sound like the never ending complaints of a control freak, something I am not, at least hope I am not. So, we go back to square one: Remember to Breathe. If that means I need to just sit and listen to some different music, then I must give myself that opportunity. If it means spending time quietly coloring to regain some sense of balance, then that is what must happen. If it means writing a blog that doesn’t make much sense, I think I’m doing that right here and now.

I think I might be hyperventilating emotionally, lol. And I only want to laugh all the harder when I hear those words: Remember to Breathe. That is such a simple thing, isn’t it? Yet absolutely essential. We have a tendency to gasp, pull in air and hold it, when we are being pushed and pulled by circumstances. We actually do forget to breathe, to exhale. Let it all out and then pull more fresh air in deeply.

I am reminded of Anna Nalick’s song, Breathe, Just Breathe. That’s incredibly good advice. Words of wisdom I needed to hear and actually listen to. I do have a bit of time this morning, maybe an hour. I intend to turn on my playlist, listen to that song and color.

Do you occasionally forget to breathe? Can you really afford to suspend that for even one minute? I can’t. Have a good day. I’m planning on working through some breathing lessons.

Yah, Let’s Do It

 

Was chatting with a friend on Instant Messenger yesterday. In the course of the conversation, she dropped a comment that included a memory we shared from years ago. So we began to throw one liners at each other about our years of shared experiences. All of them included laughter, the result of the things we did back then and got ourselves into and out of. When I finally remarked that she was a part of the best memories I own, she agreed and said that it was like following your heart, but with a best friend along who would always say, “Yah, let’s do it.”

We ended our conversation by making plans to revisit some of those experiences in warmer weather. Many of them centered around road trips, camping, and fishing. We even discussed the adjustments we would have to make to accommodate the effects of the years that have passed since we did those things. Road trips and fishing won’t be too difficult, but sleeping in a tent would definitely put a strain on arthritic joints and a deteriorating back condition. But I am hopeful that together we will figure out the logistics and find a way to do what we both long to do.

It all reminded me of a little saying I have seen here on the internet. It’s a sticker you can send to another individual and it says, “When you are in jail, a good friend will come and bail you out. A best friend will be sitting next to you and saying, ‘That was fun, so what’s next?’ “ Well, at least the gist is the same.

It’s not that either one of us want to go back and be the people we were all those years ago. We want to have that feeling, especially the laughter that was so much a part of our shared adventures. The laughter that comes so easily even now, separated by distance and years of silence. It might be a lot of wishful thinking, no more than a dream, but in that dream we are standing next to one another and both saying, “Yah, let’s do it.” That’s a commitment.

Another friend recently put a quote by Goethe in a comment she left after a piece I had written on Soul’s Music. This is the quote:

The moment one definitely commits oneself, then Providence moves as well. All sorts of things occur to help one that would never otherwise have occurred. A stream of events issues from the decision, raising in one’s favor all manner of unforeseen accidents, meetings and material assistance that no one could have dreamed would come their way. Whatever you can do, or dream you can do, begin it. Boldness has genius, power and magic in it. Begin it now.

Personally, I would define that as synchronicity, one of my favorite subjects. And it does apply here. Boldness, power and magic, three hefty little words, subtitles to that one word: Commitment. And all three of them were present and active during those long ago memories we made. They have been present throughout the complex history of our relationship. It might be that that is the very substance each one of us is seeking with our thoughts of warmer weather, the substance of synchronicity. All it takes is a commitment. Simple, right?

Commitment means so many things, yet only one thing. Committment means change. Raising your hand when all others are neatly folded on flat surfaces. Speaking into a lull in the conversation. Stepping through a doorway, where one has been standing, hesitating, perhaps for years. All of those things are commitments that will change whatever the background image entails.

Following your heart would be so much easier if your head didn’t stack up logistics that feel like mountains that rise higher and higher into infinity. And each mountain wreathed in the clouds of self-doubt that accompany such longings. It would be so much easier if you had a friend with you, someone to nudge you, whisper in your ear, “Yah, let’s do it.”

Someone to move through those changes with you. Share the ups and downs of whatever comes, offering a smile of encouragement when needed, or a pat on the back when things go well. Or a bit of dark humor that erupts into raucous laughter that lightens all that it touches.

Which brings me full circle and back to the beginnings of this blog. I have a friend who wants to go on a road trip, fishing, maybe even camping (can you hear the doubts on that one?). And I am committed to doing that. I have another friend who reminds me of synchronicity and how it works to encourage following through on that commitment. But best of all, I have a third friend that will listen while I work my way through all those doubts, concerns, what-ifs, the actual planning, and more. A friend who happens to hold a Get Out of Jail Free card. Will lean in and whisper, “Let’s do it.” That friend waits patiently as always, on the empty pages of my journal.

Repercussions and Counting The Cost

Writer’s Island prompt #15 “IF I COULD CHANGE ONE THING”.

What would that be? Nothing. That’s right, I wouldn’t change anything at all. It’s not because I’m afraid of changes, or incapable of them, or don’t occasionally wish things were different, or that change occurred at a more rapid pace, it’s that there would be repercussions that I couldn’t see or even begin to estimate, and some of those would not be on the positive side of the slate.

Changes always bring some form of loss. Always. Loss means grief and we all have enough of that to deal with already. We may not be consciously aware of it, but the majority of us are dealing with some aspect of loss and grief on a fairly consistent basis. Life is always changing, evolving, revolving, and so are we. And with each change, we experience loss of one sort or another because that is what change is all about, letting go of one thing to make room for another.

There are those who love change, seek it out, even chase after it. But, one has to wonder how much they lose in that process of constant change, and what happens when it all catches up to them. There is always that need for balance. Which means, there are also those who can’t, won’t change because of fear and the weight of incalculable things to be considered should change ever take place. And again, there is that issue of loss that happens whether an individual chases after change, or absolutely refuses to embrace it on any level. I have known both and neither are happy or content.

One is far too busy looking for something new to try, while the other is constantly complaining that things never remain the same for any length of time. Both are exhausting and neither is satisfied, therefore both can and do give off an energy that is far from comfortable.

That is not to say that change is good or bad. It can be both, but isn’t. It simply is. And the rate at which we accept that reality fluctuates throughout our existence. Children are born curious, with a need to explore, and a strong desire for new experiences. But eventually they do grow and become idealistic, meaning they see themselves as the original authors of change and the change must occur now.

The idealism is slowly dropped as the individual gets involved in the working through of daily existence and energies are spent just staying alive and somewhat even keeled, if that is possible. Then comes middle-age and a shift toward the inner aspect of life, and for many, that means a lot of personal changes, difficult decisions and choices.

The next stage, that of old age, is another change or shift in perspective. Here the task seems to be acceptance of change as a constant and a desire to leave some sort of legacy to the next generation. When you stop and think about all of that, it’s an incredible amount of change for one individual to deal with in one short life-span.

But that still leaves one major change to deal with. The acceptance of death and the reality that it will occur. Wow, that is a major bummer, certainly the biggest change of all. And it certainly entails that loss and grief I spoke of earlier. And may even account for all those other necessary changes we have encountered. Maybe life itself, is no more than a rehearsal for that ultimate change defined as death. Maybe we need all those changes in order to accept that we are finite creatures and will, someday, no longer be here to change, or be changed.

I can hear the words of that Stevie Nicks song running through my head: I’ve been afraid of changes, cause I built my life around… And right alongside of it is that reality that a butterfly flitting its wings can cause a major disaster on the other side of the globe. Changes always have repercussions. Always.

So where does that leave me? With the reality that change is a major undertaking, and not one to be engaged in lightly. Change is a necessity, it is a big part of life and especially of any growth that takes place in that life. I have said before that I have lived many lives during this one I have been given. That remains true and at the moment, I am finding, discovering, and creating yet another one. I am not afraid of changes, though I do duck on occasion when I see them coming and know they are inevitable. But I don’t fight them.

I used to, and that’s a waste of energy. Energy I need to be able to accept the changes that are occurring, and find my own particular path through them. And that I will do. But, no, I do not wish to be the author of those changes other than for myself. I will also lend my energies toward changes that I see can be beneficial. But to instigate them for anyone else, no. I never want to be that butterfly flitting its wings as it flutters near a flower, bringing a disaster to any part of my world, here, there, or anywhere.

Accepting the constant changes in life, is a personal choice. It is also a freedom. One that entails responsibility as freedom always does. There is an old religious saying about counting the cost before activating a change. I used to think that meant that I must count the cost to my own person. Now, I know that it reaches beyond me and into the rest of the world. All changes have ripple affects no matter how large or small. Those ripples are the repercussions of change. Which simply means, choose change carefully, think it through, and for me, that means on the page.

About Authenticity

Writer’s Island prompts #12 and #13 “Change For the Better”

Was a bit disappointed when I went to see what the prompt might be for today. My last blog was about all the changes I have had to deal with, and have made, over the past year. I could have used it, but I really wanted a fresh challenge. As I was about to leave the site however, I noticed this quote:

be nobody but yourself in a world which is doing it’s best, to make you everbody else…    __ee cummings

Now that I can dig my teeth into, it is the story of my life. “If you’d just change this or that, you’d be more… lovable, likable, attractive, friendly, popular, pleasant, companionable, easy to get along with, acceptable, easy to work with, spiritual, skilled, graceful, content, enjoyable, light-hearted, approachable, genuine, authentic, organized, committed, rounded, satisfied, as well as satisfying,” and on and on ad finitum. What is really being said here, is never really spoken aloud. What is actually meant is that “if you would change this or that, you would be far more like me and then I could be a lot more comfortable than I am.”

In keeping with the prompt, I think the best thing I could do in order to make me a better person is to stop listening to all those things other people would prefer me to be, and just get on with being me, whoever that might be at any given moment. That is the easiest solution, but also the most difficult one to maintain.

I have written here, about how and why I have felt that I didn’t ever quite fit in for the majority of my life. The circumstances that created that reality were completely out of my control, and yet the result has kept me doing a balancing act that includes tap dancing on a high wire. Try it, it ain’t easy, or even doable in most moments. Yet, I have tried to dance the undoable far more than anything else in my life. Why?

Because I have also longed to feel at ease within my own skin. To be relaxed and comfortable in any given moment. To belong. A few years back, I began to hear a phrase that, at first, seemed to make a great deal of sense, but then began to niggle in that deep dark reservoir at the back of my mind and wouldn’t be quieted or stilled. The phrase went something like this, “Learn how to be your authentic self.”

The phrase was often followed by a pitch, of one sort or another, that meant one could pay a certain amount of money and learn “authenticity” of being. In other words, one could pay someone else to teach one how to tap dance on a high wire they had created for just such a purpose. Been there, been doing that for years. How could anyone possibly teach me how to be authentically who I am? How the hell would they know such a thing unless they also were extremely familiar with and ready to tell me, “If you would just change this or that, you would be so much more…” (read second paragraph). One could be paying for the rest of ones life and still never find whatever authenticity is to be found.

And now, of course, she pulls out the Dictionary. According to that said reference, authentic means original, the genuine article, verifiable as such, meaning origin is provable. So, a birth certificate would suffice, right? Well, yes, if all I wanted to do was prove that at some moment in the past, I came into being as a living, breathing human being. It doesn’t tell me who I am now, in this present moment, in the only place that genuinely matters, inside me and my skin. Besides, I already know that because I am here, typing these words, breathing and living through this moment in time.

Long story, made much shorter. All that disquiet and lack of stillness brought me right back to one thing. I still wanted to belong, to fit in, and only I could know that at any given moment. I would feel it, right here inside my own skin. Funny thing is though, the more I felt it, that relaxed comfortable ease, the more people around me seemed to need to tell me how to be better at what I was already doing.

In that very convoluted manner, I came to know what was really being said when I would hear that old familiar refrain, “If you would just change…” Amazingly enough, that really helped that ease for which I had been seeking all of those years. It put the choices right back where they belonged all along, in my hands. I will listen to most suggestions, weigh them seriously if I feel they have some validity, but then I will choose to change in whatever fashion I think and perceive is best for me and the person I am still becoming. The one that I know and feel is me.

So, how do I justify doing what I am doing on this blog? Asking you to change, to find your authentic self by keeping a journal, and writing in it every day. I don’t. There is nothing to justify. What I write about is always whatever I choose. You have the same choice. You don’t have to read it and no one is paying me to do it. That’s one of the basic reasons I do it at all. Because it allows each of us the freedom to choose. I will continue to be who I am, doing what I love to do, and by doing that, being exactly who and what I am. And leave you to make your own choices. Leaving you to be exactly who you are, and being your authentic self in the bargain.

And by the way, I love ee cummings, he is always authentic, and well worth the read.

Final Accounting: 2008

 

Today is the last day of this year, 2008. I have spent some time, looking back on the days, weeks, and months that are passing into my personal history, perhaps better labeled herstory. This has been an incredible year, an extremely good one. Looking back on it has been a mostly satisfying pleasure. My life has changed, and I have changed with it. Challenges met and overcome, dreams fulfilled, and new avenues of experience risked and met with success.

I started the year in a sort of fog, settling down in front of the TV with an unconscious, but strong inner urge to become just another couch potato. If I wasn’t watching the boob tube, I was reading yet another murder mystery, completely oblivious to the fact that I was well into committing my own form of soul murder. I wasn’t writing at all, the pen and its demands had been given up for activities that were far less demanding of any thought, let alone process.

Then came American Idol and David Cook. Bless you David. I know that you don’t know me, don’t have a clue what you did for me, but I will always be grateful, none the less. You got me up and out of that overstuffed rocking chair and back on the page. Back inside this thing I really love to do, and am quite good at. But, and this might be the most important part, I was back in a very new and different way. Awakenings are wonderful things, or can be, if we allow them.

Then the doctor diagnosed the beginnings of diabetes. What a shock that was, even though I knew that I was an excellent candidate because my father had had it and my oldest daughter has it as well. New regimens: diet, and daily blood sugar counts. Although I don’t enjoy poking myself everyday, I have done it, without fail and reaped many rewards. A new awareness of my own physical reality, a weight loss that continues and has allowed me to drop five sizes in my clothing, and a much deeper respect for my own ability to follow through and stick with it, staying inside the present moment.

I started counseling and have found it to be very satisfying as well. Letting someone else see my emotional well-being, or lack of it, has given me new perspectives on most of what has happened over the past year, as I’ve listened to an objective voice that is constant in its support and ongoing encouragement, a voice that often asks those questions I don’t even consider, or see, as important.

I began blogging in June. All new territory and one that led me here, to this site, and a deep committment to continue to explore my own personal space while encouraging others to do the same. And one that also led me back to my first love: poetry. I have written well over sixty prose articles on this site, but have also written a great deal of new poetry, exploring and finding new ways of expressing myself. Allowing myself to be prompted and challenged in several different directions.

That, in turn, has also led to the establishment of another new blog: 
 http://soulsmusic.wordpress.com/ which will be centered around my poetry and the music that feeds me. I will post there for the first time, tomorrow, on the first day of the New Year. My first post will be titled A Woman of Color, and inadvertentlycelebrates yet another new endeavor I have stumbled into. Coloring. Laying down colors and watching the patterns come alive beneath my fingers. It is closely associated with laying down words and watching the patterns come alive with meaning and awareness. I would hope that you come and take a look and drop a comment or two.

Along with all these new disciplines and activities which constantly challenge me, I have recovered a number of old friendships and deepened each of them, so that they feel new, but also have the comfort and strength of familiarity. Each one has meant a deeper commitment to my own life and has afforded me the opportunity to re-establish this person I call Elizabeth, that one who was getting lost in that overstuffed rocking chair in my living room (I haven’t watched more than a few hours (maybe four or five total) of TV in the past three months, and have read only two and a half books in that same time period).

I have also had the pleasure of creating several new friendships, here online. Meeting diverse new individuals and finding common ground is exciting and challenges me in other and different ways. I have been able to teach, encourage, and to learn, all at the same time, and with the ease of doing so from my own comfortable little space called home.

All in all, this has been a year of awakenings on many levels. It has led me here, to the beginning of a New Year that is filled with the brightness of hope and even more opportunities to learn and to experience. I was recently prompted to write about daring to dream, and found that I couldn’t, didn’t seem to have a feel for the topic and came up blank with no more than fading dribbles that went nowhere. Maybe, because so many of my personal dreams have found fulfillment in this past year, and the very real fact that I am now living inside of those dreams. They are my reality, continuing to feed and nurture even more of the same and bringing them to fruition. There is no daring involved, there is only new and deeper life and meaning.

Butterfly Day

Butterfly Day

I have found a new form of therapy. Coloring. I love it. The logic part of the brain is occupied with keeping the color between the lines. But the rest of the mind is free to roam and make connections, presenting them to me in both words and images: pieces of conversation, thoughts I’d had on certain subjects, phrases that until now, were separate things, suddenly find themselves together making a new sort of sense of old things.

Laying down the colors is both soothing and meditative in some fashion. Each image is different, filled with possibilities, and it is wonderful to watch the images come alive and take shape beneath my hands. I have found numerous sites on the Internet where one can download and print a seemingly inexhaustible variety of coloring pages of diverse images and topics to ‘create’. I have visited many of them and downloaded a great many of the pictures which, for the most part, are free and take  very little time to prepare. I usually scan them and then crop to the size I want, then print them on card stock. I use fine art pens because the color is far more vibrant, but that is my own personal choice. One could choose to use any number of coloring tools, ranging from crayons to water color pencils.

And these images are becoming a part of my journal pages. The colors are meaningful and can be used to explore ones own experience and psyche. Take my butterfly above. Green is the color of growth, while blue represents knowledge. The background of yellow symbolizes the sun and speaks to prosperity and well-being. These are my personal choices, as far as meaning goes, and I have used them for many years. More important is the symbol of the butterfly itself, which speaks to transformation and change.

The butterfly has four stages of development: the egg, or larva stage; the caterpillar; then the chrysalis or pupa stage; and finally the butterfly or reproductive stage. These, in turn, can be compared with our own stages of growth and the learning process. The metamorphosis of the butterfly from egg to full maturity is a continuing work in progress and so are we.

It can be of great value to track our own experience on certain levels in order to avoid frustration and a negative self-attitude. Why beat yourself up because you are at the caterpillar stage, which is also known as the feeding stage, taking in what will be necessary for the next stage of growth, realizing the necessity of being right where one should be instead of farther along in the process. It would be nice if we were all born knowing exactly what we need to know, but that just isn’t our reality. There is a purpose and focus to each stage of being and its good to remember that.

I also find that the soothing affect of coloring is a great stress reliever. Somehow, in the very act of creativity, I find myself releasing, letting go of those things that have been bothering me, especially on the emotional level. Creative energy is a built in healing process, and this is certainly an inexpensive means of accomplishing that. I have used it to create gifts for others, that have a far more personal meaning than anything I could have purchased.

We, my family, will be gathering for our Christmas exchange this morning. My older sister will be coming in with her daughter and three granddaughters. Because they live at a distance, they don’t usually attend this yearly festivity. When I found out they were coming, I wanted to have gifts for them as well. I had been downloading images of butterflies to use for another gift idea, but decided to use them instead for my sister’s family. I had purchased several different size frames, at rummage sales, this past summer. With little time and a bit of effort, I found several of the same size, reduced some of the prints to match those sizes, and wrapped them up.

As I was finishing this project, my sister called me to tell me she would be seeing me today. She asked me what I was doing. I laughingly told her that I was making a ‘butterfly day’ for herself and her girls. She is extremely curious about what I meant. I left the images uncolored, so they each will be able to choose whatever color scheme they prefer. I really like the idea and image of all of them gathered together, coloring their butterflies, making a gift for themselves, which will have special meaning to each one.

When I was finished wrapping and packing it all away, I sat down and colored the image above  for myself. It will go into my journal entry for today. A delightful piece of decoration, packed with layers of meaning and things to write about, as I feed myself for the next stage of my own existence. Do you gift yourself with an occasional ‘butterfly day’?

Stain Removal

 

Remember being dressed up in a new outfit, new shoes, cleaned and sparkling from head to toe, with Mom’s smiling approval? On the way to some social event, if only at Grandma’s house for holiday festivities? Then within the first hour disaster strikes and somehow you have to spend the rest of the day looking at some horrible stain on snow white shirt, fancy pants, or new dress? Worse part is, it wasn’t actually your fault, but Mom’s smile has turned to a frown of disapproval or disappointment, each and every time she looks over at you.

Those looks haunt you, even years later, because they are a moment when you knew you didn’t have that approval that made you feel secure, safe in a world that was, for the most part, quite overwhelming at times. It would be great if there was some sort of All Purpose stain remover that could be applied to the memory, remove the stain, and let life go on without it.

A few days ago I wrote, in a poem (Only Lightly Grasped),  about the stain of sin on a precious white soul, that the nuns of my childhood told us about. They knew their stuff. Knew of that almost universal experience and its consequences and affects on young and impressionable children. Knew it and used it to create an image that is quite haunting and somewhat daunting to deal with.

In the poem, I compared that stain, that image, with writing words on white paper. But, the writing is a stain remover, one that actually works. Being a child means making mistakes both large and small. Making mistakes is simply an inherent part of the process of learning and growing. Yes, it can be avoided on occasion, but never completely. And those mistakes leave a stain on the soul and in the memory. Not just stains, but sometimes scars on that developing psyche.

The word sin actually means, missing the mark, ie. mis-take. It does not mean evil, wicked, or hell-bound for a surety. Those definitions came later, and depend on the particular view of the speaker using the word. It simply means missing the mark, and because it does, it also means that one might do better to change ones trajectory so that it doesn’t happen again. Which means there is always hope that with practice, little or much depending on circumstances, one may eventually hit the mark and move on to other things.

Yes, I know there are Big and Little sins, but regardless of the adjective placed before it, the sin still means the target has been missed and its best to try again, or walk away and not even make the attempt. That also depends on the individual and is therefore, a matter of personal choice.

It took me years to discover this small bit of reality, the meaning of the word made a world of difference to my sense of self, as well as the past I carried with me no matter where I went, or what I was engaged in at any given moment. With that discovery came the realization that if sin was a mistake, a missing of the mark, then I could possibly find a few ways to undo what was irritating and disappointing in my past, and maybe even put that smile back on my Mother’s face. Wow, that was a freeing moment of enlightenment.

Simply put, it meant I could actually go back and correct the trajectory, change my aim, and remove some of those stains the nuns spoke about. For a while, if I’m to be honest, it meant I could thumb my nose at those black clad women who sometimes haunted my dreams even into adulthood. Eventually, however, I had to admit and acknowledge that the image they used, was also a key into redefining my life experience. Which meant that I could actually thank them profusely for supplying it. Hell of a turn around, that was.

So, how does this all work? We do remember every moment of our existence. Each one is stored somewhere inside of us. Some of those memories have the power to make us wince, feel shame or embarrassment, even years after the experience. They can prevent us from moving freely through our lives. Tie us up in knots that don’t allow any form of forward progress.

The first step, always the most difficult, is to take them out from that dark space inside our person. Bring them out into the light of today, rather than leaving them in the shadows of yesterday. Hang them on a clothesline and let the fresh air get all that musty smell off of them. We do that by writing them down on a piece of paper. Yes, making another stain, this one with focus and deliberate purpose. This is the stain of new beginnings, new avenues to explore, new images to record and to learn from. This is the stain of hope. Hope of change, perhaps of renewal and even rebirth, new uses, and purposes and possibilities.

None of that will happen if we just walk away and leave them. That old stain will always remain, and with it, the discomfort of emotions that attend all such things. And there is also the fear of what such exposure can bring. It is the inherent value of a personal journal that allows that risk. But also allows the fresh air and sunlight such an airing provides. That reduces the risk to time and energy spent. Not a bad price for stain removal and possible renewal in the bargain.

Do you have a new outfit for the holidays? Something really special that might even make your Mom’s eyes sparkle with approval and regard? Wear it with confidence, let it inform you that all things are possible if you want them enough. But also remember, if some clown comes along and dumps his dinner plate in your lap, you can go home, and remove the stain, begin the process that could allow you to be a new person in the coming New Year. Trust yourself and the stain remover, it works. Happy Holidays to one and all.

Semantics of Breathing

I believe one writes because one has to create a world in which one can breathe.

_Anais Nin

Writing means a great many different things to me. A few years ago, someone close to me said that writing was my life. Being who I was in that moment, hearing her words, I argued with her, not because she was wrong, but because she had reduced me, my life, my experience, to one word. I told her that writing was not my life, but rather a tool that I used to create whatever life I chose in any given moment. Ahhh, the world of semantics.

Nin has reduced writing to the need to breathe, and I agree with her, thus proving my good friend quite right in her definition, but also proving myself correct as well. Writing is breathing: inhaling my own experience, pulling it inside of me, possessing it, claiming it as mine, then allowing it to inform and refresh, refuel whatever is there, and lastly, exhaling it onto a page of white paper, or a dirty napkin, whichever is at hand. Only, to immediately do the same, in the next moment.

What does it mean, to breathe? It means to exist, to live, to be alive. And I have to admit, that I am most alive when I am writing. At least, that is how it feels. But Nin takes that one step further. She links it directly to an act of creation, the creation of a particular place and time in which one can and does exist. Sounds a bit god-like, doesn’t it? And that brings in a whole universe of questions.

There is that immediate problem of hubris, that pride that rivals itself against God, attempting to be God, while usurping God’s power and abilities.  Never fear, this is just another blog, and I’ve seen and read better ones, even commented on them, acknowledging that reality. I do however, take pride in this blog, and whatever small contributions it might endeavor to make in the world in which I exist.

Which, in turn, brings us to that act of creation of which Nin speaks. If I am a creature, a creation of God, made in God’s image and likeness, then it only stands to reason that I am, because that word creature begins with the same prefix as the word create, able to create as God has created me to do, to be, to exist, to live, and to breathe. But a whole world, you might ask?

Yes. A whole world, my world, the one in which I exist, and move within, and is influenced and affected by my presence. A very small minute piece, or part, of that much larger world that God created and which affects, impacts on my own. Okay, that reduces it, and me, to an appropriate, un-inflated size, but adds the matter of choice into the mix.

If God created me to create, and I do believe that is true for each of us, just what am I (we) creating? And how, for heaven’s sake, am I (we)  supposed to do that? It’s a matter of choice. I choose to build a world based in my own chosen definitions and to write those definitions here on this white piece of paper. And amazingly enough, I don’t do that because I desire that everyone else accept those definitions. What a horrid thought, and such a dull world that would be.

Although its nice to find agreement, it is far more important to explore other perspectives, compare them with my own, and change, or adjust,  my view accordingly, when needed. And that is one of the major reasons I write. It is the only way I know to keep track of all of it. I am too aware that my view, my take on any given subject is narrowed by the filter of my own experience, and that of the selective memory I have already written about.

Which, for me, brings this full circle and back to Nin’s quote. I do enjoy and cherish breathing, and hope to continue to do so for some time. But, while I am breathing I will continue to write, to explore my own and others’ definitons, thereby using this tool to create my world, and the me that exists within it. For me, it is a matter of semantics, what are your semantics?

Map of Awareness

 

In a recent blog, I used the phrase map of awareness, and its been circling around inside my head ever since. I’m not aware of having ever used the phrase before, so it intrigues me that it sort of just slipped out and was so appropriate for what I was discussing. I even made an actual note of it in a notebook I keep near at hand to jot down just such phrases, ideas, questions that need further investigation, and tidbits I might want to use at a later time.

That little notebook could easily be seen as a type of map of awareness. Not sure anyone else could follow that map and arrive at any distinct destination, because what is there, are just notes, a few words to remind myself of things that have caught my interest, if even only for a moment. They are mile markers made exclusively for myself.

I have, most recently, spent some amount of time telling you a big piece of my personal story. That too, is a type of  map of awareness. I used it as an example to underscore and explain my own thoughts about the Wild Things that come to reside within any given individual. One can readily know a lot of things, but that is not the same as being aware of how those things connect one to another. My journal pages are my map toward awareness, the specific points of interest I choose to write on any given day, the ones that seem of importance to me at the moment of writing the page itself. They are, in effect, more extensive notes than those which I keep in that notebook I just mentioned.

My journal pages are filled with emotions about the things I’ve had, or made, contact with in the previous twenty-four hours. They often include colors, smells, detailed images, weather reports, both inside and out, and the way in which I have come to certain conclusions about situations and people. They are a record of the input of my senses as I travel through my life and existence. And yes, some of them are of absolutely no importance to me or anyone else. So why do it at all? Mainly because not all of them have a lack of value in the building of my awareness.

Do you remember the four steps in the learning process (Sept. 7, of this blog)? The second step: We find out what we didn’t know, is that step into awareness, the beginning of that map I am speaking about. Awareness is the first step toward actual knowing and understanding. Without it, we can, and sometimes do, walk through our own lives, without any knowledge of who we are, let alone where we might be going. That, for me, is a very uncomfortable thought.

It immediately reminds me of that first day I came home from the hospital, and found out that nothing would ever be the same. I was changed, and all the rules had been changed about how I belonged inside of that picture called home. Mainly, what I recall is that feeling of deep loss and total disorientation. And those feelings didn’t disappear. On some levels they became a part of my person, affecting the shape and form of my personality that was still developing at the time. A very deep need to know and to understand was born inside of me that day. A Wild Thing, desperate to regain that secure sense and deep desire of knowing that I belonged.

I used the word desperate because it is the only one that fits. I became the little girl with all of the questions. Constantly asking about all things in an attempt to put them in their proper places, and to regain some control.  So, all of that seems pretty natural under the circumstances, doesn’t it? Why would I define it as a Wild Thing? Because I grew up, on the tail end of that generation that expected well behaved children to not question what they were told, but simply accept whatever was handed down to them by the all-knowing adults within their environment.

In a very real sense, my personal need of the moment, became one of the Wild Things inside of me. My questing was often frowned upon, dismissed, even ignored, and on occasion, was actually answered by more telling questions. “Why would you ask such a thing, where did you get such a weird idea, or what would make you ask about such utter nonsense?” I learned through those actions, to still and silence many of the questions I was seeking answers for, inadvertently developing yet another need, that one for reassurance.

I had been through surgery, head surgery. My sense of loss was far deeper because of my own lack of understanding. I had had a hole in my head that was patched up, then sewn permanently into my person. What had escaped through that hole? What had seeped out while the doctors had debated about just what they could do to alleviate the problem I had created on that snow-filled afternoon of play with my younger sister? I had, in essence, become a complete question mark to my own person. That is not a place I would wish on anyone.

Many other issues arose from that first step in my developing awareness. Issues that also became Wild Things kept within the confines of the wilderness of my imagination. And please remember, there is nothing so imaginative, or creative, as a four year old child. Nothing.

That was the beginning of my map of awareness. I have backtracked over it, exploring the mile markers that I left in one form or another, on countless numbers of occasions. And inside of that process, I have been told that I think way too much, get way too deeply involved in introspection, know nothing of value or worth because it is all subjective conjecture, and have been called dumb, scatter-brained, and even a liar, completely out of touch with any form of reality.

Many of those things were no more than careless words, thrown out to stop me from exploring my world on the only terms I had at my disposal. Those terms were a mind, a physical brain that had endured a hell of a wallop, and might prove to be defective at any moment. That might actually prove itself to be nothing more than a Wild Thing, needing to be caged, contained away from polite and acceptable society. Oh, my.

My map of awareness has led me to the Wild Things that inhabit my own inner wilderness. A wilderness I share with every thinking, breathing human being that exists on the face of the earth. That wilderness may be as different, as diverse, as the number of those individuals. But, I doubt that, because I am aware of meeting similar Wild Things throughout my journey. Each of them has a story to tell, and they do, expressing it in whatever manner they have developed within that wilderness we share called imagination.