A Time to Just Be

A friend contacted me today. We hadn’t spoken since February. She’s an amazing writer, artist and creator of so many things. She explained that she hasn’t been able to create anything since the virus took over our lives.

Zilch. Not a painting. Not a poem. Not a post. No photographs. Nada.

I listened while a herd of children were being menaces in the background. I heard her. I felt her disappointment and frustration. She said that to have been gifted all this time and not create feels like she’s failed the Universe in some way. Somehow she’s got shame.

I suggested that perhaps this time was not about being creative for her. But, it was about just being. Not keeping busy. It was about allowing healing to come through. And the healing didn’t want to transpire into creativity.

There was silence on her end. Even my children were quiet and I found myself breathing the space in between here and there. I found myself channeling that energy of just being. Exactly what I was expressing to her.

I feel that so many have felt disappointed because they didn’t create music, wrote a novel, painted oil on canvas or anything else that was expressed as “if I just had a month off I would do this and that….”

The collective has been so chaotic energetically. Trauma has been a huge theme and many have had to purge old programming. Creativity arrives from a place of divine guidance and if we have been bathed and consumed in heaviness there is little that would come through. The creative process needs sparks of positivity. It needs to rise from ease.

There is time for creativity. There is time for prayers and contemplation. I have had very little energy to create so I get it. But I have been able to do other things. We cannot push what’s not here at this time. We cannot feel guilty for ego scolding us for not doing more. We cannot do what we cannot do while merely living through the most radical times of our lives.

Please forgive yourself for your muses not helping you create. Forgive yourself in thinking you have slacked off on some precious chunk of time; For coming out of quarantine with nothing to show except long gray hair and extra body weight. You don’t have to feel bad about anything because you are still here on this world. You are one of the lucky ones.

Let’s honor ourselves for all that we’ve done or not done the last few months. There may be time tomorrow, or whenever. Love yourself enough to just let go of all expectations. Take this time to manifest a new beginning. May you accept what is and let go of what isn’t.

I love you. And, for those who have done magical things during this time my hat goes off to you. Bravo!

The Canvas

 

There is a composition unlike any other
in perfect harmony
that only its artist could create,
without duplication,
stipulation,
colored to perfection.
This is the canvas of my soul,
in hues of purple and pink,
with hints of mint and greens
splashed to run against the light.
There is a sanctuary
upon the curves and lengths of its frame,
so full of imagery,
of love,
of a silent language spoken from the heart.
There is an arrangement of places,
among the horizon
that landscape the shapes,
shades,
mosaic of my thoughts.
There are feelings covering its values
and depth painted in the chromatic of truth
proportionally expressing all there is.
And, somewhere in its tones
there is undeniably the casting of faith
grasping to the atmosphere swimming
in a composition of integrity and serenity.
This is the canvas of my spirit,
with all its illustration,
a Renaissance of antiquities,
that lies deeply only in me
while the Creator watches
and smiles at His one-and-only masterpiece.

Fairyologist on Duty

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I just recently became a Certified Fairyologist. Yes, there is such a thing and for my birthday my hubby enrolled me on Doreen Virtues’ online class. Now you may ask, “What does a Fairyologist do?” This is a valid question. I don’t really know what they do except what was taught on the class: history of fairies and how to live among them.  I can only tell you what I do and who I am in regards to nature. I am a play-in-the-mud-jump-in-the-creeks-sing-silly-songs-wear-tutus-and-love-everyone eccentric type of gal. I don’t take myself seriously.  I have a quick wit and find entertainment just about everywhere I go. I respect Mother Earth. I feel grounded being outdoors. I love to get lost in hikes, travel to new places, talk to people, hear their stories, and enjoy the silliness that’s out in the world. I am not here to tell you how you should live, but I can surely provide some entertainment on what works for me. I am not much for adulting these days. I have little respect for the stressful life, and anything that helps me release burdens…I am on that path.

I have raised six children and now raising a 2 year old (number 7). Now in midlife, she’s teaching me to revert into childhood and take no crap from social programming. She keeps reminding me what it is to view the world from the simplicity of innocence. She is reminding me how we all come in with such incredible awareness and gifts. It’s in those moments that she has become my hero. Children have a magical way of focusing on this. They react to the world around them with curiosity. “Forget that over there!” They don’t worry about tomorrow. They are consumed with the over stimulation of play and what’s right in front of them. They change their minds one minute at a time. They celebrate life through the smallest of things, like picking up a rock. They can observe a worm moving for an hour. They don’t see fear. They accept what is right in their vision. They are the greatest source of spiritual connection available to us.

As I finished the course and got my “certification” things have shown up. The ideas have run overboard and I am trying to find a way to organize the things I can do with my Fairy Whispers and Play. I want to do workshops on how to live life guided by the joy from your inner child. Let’s face it, this “adulting” business is pretty intense! We have forgotten what it is that we wanted to become as children. We forget how to play because there is always a to-do list, a set of rules, work, schedules, children, parents, spouses and the constant derailing of responsibilities. We forget that art, writing, music, and all sorts of creating weren’t gifts for childhood. They are gifts for our entire lives. We didn’t come into this life to spend the first 13 years, or so, being one way and then disregard our desires, passion, and dreams. That’s an instruction via society that is false and corrupted. We are here to follow our bliss, and when we do, mysticism follows.  We create our stories.  We are shaped by them.

I am embarking in a new life. I cannot describe the pathway. I can see it clearly but don’t quite know where it will take me. Meantime, I am putting together a program to see if I can actually help the contagious spirit of laughter, play, and creation. How did we ever forget that our happiness comes from our inner child? And, yes, many of you have had some disastrous upbringings. We have all been wired and programmed to believe that “growing up” means “not participating in child play.” That’s okay! The beauty of programming and beliefs can be altered with conscious awareness. You have the power to dream, visualize and create the life you always wanted.

How do you get there?

By being truthful with how you are right now. If you aren’t happy then it’s time to see what’s stumping your dreams. Things don’t change over night, but your perception and acceptance of decisions can begin to create a plan. This plan is what can help gather your wits, joy, freedom and a new beginning. Sometimes fear of success is what stops us from performing. We are all waiting for failure. That’s a given…but how many of us can actually move through the voices of our pasts and be willing to lose ourselves in our childhood dreams again?

Change starts and ends with your inner child. Holding that little girl/boy, and assuring him/her that you have a handle on this is the first step to creating a space of joy. Taking a new hobby, making time for yourself (even if only 30 minutes a week), or joining a group of like-minded folks is recharging for your spirit.  There are ways to open up the memories of who you are and what you have forgotten for so long.  There are tools to release the hurt and move through the joy. You are not alone.  You can finally set those dreams in motion.  It’s never too late to be what you were suppose to be before the world told you otherwise.  It’s never too late to be that child again.

I am working on a some things that can bring you joy. I hope you have allowed your little person to laugh today. I hope you have done something magical and empowering while looking at life just a little different. Go get yourself some multi-colored-silly glasses and let’s begin the adventure!  Let’s meet up in a playground soon!

Paint Me like This

Search inside the window of my soul

without placing the turpentine

to remove

the bright colors of me

and love me

like the artist loves

the strokes of paint

brushing slowly on a canvas.

 

Listen, but with your heart

not your ears

because love is like wind

felt but not touch,

flying invisibly without destination.

 

It is simply like this…

without expecting anything

but a beautiful composition

that comes from the mysterious

and my spirit reflects it all.

 

Touch me but without hypocrisy,

without ill-mannered words

that get caught in deception.

You are more than this,

more than those words,

poisonous thoughts,

insecurities,

that die inside of you.

 

Kiss me,

grab me tightly,

but not so much like a possession

of a car, house, or doll.

Place your hand over my heart,

notice the rhythm

and follow it.

Draw its lines,

its need for more,

full of life for us.

 

Love me, like this…

as love should be loved,

held with compassion

and faith leading the way

to wherever the Divine wants us to go.

For the love of art

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Last night I had a breakthrough. I did something I’ve been fearful of doing for years. I painted. I went to a painting class with a friend and I created something out of nothing…of course while following instructions. Most folks do not know that I used to paint a million years ago. I was actually quite good. I was going to attend the Art Institute in Paris in my late teens. And….then tragedy happened. I allowed life to dictate my worth. Funny how we give others that power. I stopped painting all together for years. I gave my power away along with every paint, canvas and art supply!

In 2001 I had a head injury and I lost my mind. I lost memories. I lost fear. I had amnesia and didn’t recognize my 6 children. I was 33 years old and I returned to being 19. I left the hospital searching for my paints and canvasses. That accident opened up my creativity for a short while. Then, again, I allowed with great effort and lack of responsibility others to dictate my worth. I stopped painting. I went to several therapists trying to get back the juices. I would stand in front of a white canvas and shake….violently crying in a massive overwhelming phobia as if it was a giant spider coming at me. I cannot verbally express the anxiety that the thought of painting kept bringing me. I stopped because the thought of painting literally made me sick.

Last night, with a birthday friend in tow, we went to a restaurant to paint. It was one of those Wine and Art sessions. I didn’t shake. I didn’t hesitate. I didn’t judge myself. It was kid’s play. It was a fun elementary-school painting that I did not take as serious. There were several moments, while painting grass, that my old strokes appeared. I began to feel like Van Gogh again…for a few minutes. Then the internal critique began, “Oh my, the jar is lopsided. Oh, my God, this is crap….” But something mystical happened….

As the adorable young teacher was taking a break a young intoxicated man stopped to talk to her and tried desperately to get her attention. He was slurring his words, being silly, and she tried in a kindhearted and gentle way to move the conversation along so he would leave. I sat there watching this and laughing. EGO had just entered the space. There it was intoxicated, making a huge fool of itself. I saw it clearly. EGO was trying to seduce her just as much as it had been falsely seducing me with my art. I got it. I didn’t see a man. I saw years of self-sabotage waiting to be acknowledged. I stared at it and laughed out loud. My friend and I just giggled like two school girls at the scene developing in front of us.

I returned to my painting. Ego had been critiquing me. It had been denying me from moving forward. So what if it was a silly painting of fireflies coming out of a jar. It didn’t have to be perfect. At that moment I heard my eldest son’s echo, “Mom, it doesn’t matter what you paint…just do it. Create something and little by little you will get your mojo back.”

I have had many who have tried to encourage me to move past this issue. My partner, friends, children and even the little itsy bitsy voice in my heart…but to no avail. Last night watching the young man stand there making a fool of himself while saying something about the paintings I got it. Ego had no business being in my creative time. I love my lopsided Van Goshish painting of stars and fireflies swirling in the night sky. I loved my hands covered with paint. I loved how I felt breathing the mountain fall air as we waited for the next instruction. And what I love most is that I conquered one of the biggest fears I have had for decades. I allowed others to dictate how I should feel about my art. It paralyzed me. It killed part of who I am.

How many of you have allowed another to dictate your worth? How many of you have been paralyzed into deadly anxiety from living out your dreams? How many times can this go on without you shutting the drunken ego off? Sit that bastard at a table and give it some water. Let Ego cool off and move on. YOU get to decide what and who you allow to dictate your creativity, your worth, your love and all that you are meant to do in this world. You got this! I can’t wait for the next class. I might just be inspired to channel Monet!

Create for Your Sanity

writing

Poetry is an echo, asking a shadow to dance.”- Carl Sandburg

One of my closest friend who’s a phenomenal writer, asked me a question the other night, “What is the purpose of poetry?  Why do it?”  I gave her a short answer but throughout the last few weeks I have thought long and hard on this.  And now as I prepare the compilation of love poems I have a better sense of what poetry means to me.

Poetry is my favorite type of writing.  I have thousands upon thousands of poems.  I have no clue how many since a lot of them get thrown away.  I write one or more a day.  Do the math!  I’ve been writing since I was a little girl.  I write poetry because it tells a story in minimal words. It shows through simple phrases how or why, when and what…etc.  It requires the holding back and manipulation of allowing another (you the reader) to enter through lines of voyeurism. Fiction, narration of long stories, well, they tell you how to feel.  Poetry places it so you inhale each line and make it your own.  I don’t care about form, style, punctuation, vocabulary, or anything else that marks a poem as a literary work of art.  I want to know how it feels inside of you and you translate it into words.  Poetry, to me, is the simplicity of adjectives through emotions.

I look back at times at old pieces from years ago and the anger, frustration and sadness fall line upon line.  Yuck!  I can’t even go there but I recognize that it was a part of my life.  I held poetry imprisoned with lack of emotions.  It was forced without flow.  Some of these poems were held in shackles, bonded to some kind of structure, forcing out what I thought was good writing.  It wasn’t.  I am by no means an expert in literature.  I often times don’t manipulate English well enough to be coherent since it is my second language.  But, something is said about finally allowing poetry to write itself without control.  When a line wakes you up in the middle of the night nagging with persistence to birth it on paper, well, that’s a poem from the soul!  Poetry is Divinity in all its glorious and grace.  It is a direct connection to a higher source.

Words fall out quickly when we allow the emotions to unload onto a page.  I believe poetry is a song from the heart.  Worrying about rhyming, structure, and other important literary elements stops the flow of what is really inside.  Yes, these parts that make a poem should come way later after the words are out and about.  Let the spirit of your truth say what it needs to share.  Don’t hold back.  Allow each word to come out without restrains, handcuffs, and enforcement.  Poetry is not about sharing with an audience.  It is about releasing and surrendering.

So, why write poetry?  Hmmm!  I believe to exhale the gaps between the heart and the outer world.  When I write a poem I come in contact with Spirit, the part of me that finds freedom.  Any other form of writing doesn’t come close to it.  The older I get the easier each line falls out.  And, that’s why I write poetry.  It is allowing another to hold my heart in theirs for just a few seconds at a time.

If your soul calls to create, please do it!  To find sanity create what the voice tells you, whether it be a painting, a piece of music, a story, a part of a dance…whatever it may be do it.  This is the Divine speaking through the creative genes in you.  For the sake of my sanity, I pick words.  Whenever I don’t I start to get into a funk.  Writing, as incoherent as it may be at times, is my Valium, my Prozac, and my favorite form of drug.  It alters my moods.  It brings me back to stability.  Don’t hold back.  Just do it.  Whatever it is, please find the courage to follow through.  It is a duty to your spirit.  You weren’t created to not create!