Aad guray nameh
Jugaad guray nameh
Sat guray nameh
Siri guru devay nameh
I bow to the Primal Guru,
I bow to the Guru woven through time
I bow to the True Guru, the true
identity of the self.
I bow to the Great Guru whose great
glory will always be.
Guru: that which brings us from darkness
(GU) to light (RU).
It’s funny how sometimes the people who don’t know us very well make the best observations because their thoughts are not colored by “how far we have come” or “if it will hurt our feelings.”
I unknowingly had this experience a week or so ago and am now just beginning to get the message. A friend of a friend was traveling with a group of us to an event a few hours away and as long car trips are want to do there was lots of conversation there and back.
At some point he and I started talk, not knowing each other there were the usual, “what do you do for a living?” and “do you like it?” kind of questions. Somewhere in the middle of all the “fluff” conversation two things stuck in my head. One that his sister died a few years ago and that he said he couldn’t stand people who wasted their talent (pointed in my direction). At the time I did think much of it- I personally think that I do waste what ever talent I may have had.
Just look at that last sentence- this is what he was referring too. Lots of people are not “really” good at anything notable (whatever that means) but there are people -like me- who know that they are good at something but don’t necessarily do anything with it. I know this is a little convoluted but stay with me I’m almost there.
This brings me to today, a random Sunday afternoon. Nothing special going on, just finished the chores (sorting paper work and filing it- I really hate that) when I happen to open my closet and see art supplies. I should say that, I have not painted, drawn really taken photos or done anything that used my skill as an artist in almost a year.
As my hand brushed over the bamboo pain set I knew that it was time. My excuses had outlived their reality. I told myself for a long time that I just didn’t want to make art but that was not the truth. At its core I did not want to feel. For me to create something I have to let go of the logical controlling part of my mind and open myself to were the art wants to go.
From the moment the brush or pencil touches the paper it is not about a plan or a destination, it only about how I feel as my hand creates mark on a page. This is why I was not making art, I cannot lie to myself and create, it is just not possible. So today I stared down the white paper and though if this friend of a friend who goes to work every day living with the death of his sister. I could tell from the way that he talked about her that he loved her very much and that her loss was still in someways painful to him- if you can ever get over something like that. And it made me think about my own losses.
How long will I choose to use the loss of my old life and an excuse not to live? This man gets up every day and lives, so why can’t I? Why have I let myself fester for so long? I think I was afraid of what would come out of my hands, what I would feel once I opened the door. It was not what I expected.
At first the novelty of it all amused and distracted me. It was pleasant to see that unlike signing, my hand remembered the shapes and colors. But as I went on and I could no longer ignore myself. I could see my lost-ness in the water, confusion in the clouds; a restlessness in the brush strokes…I began to make mistakes.
I could have given up at that point and given myself a great lecture about how “untalented” I really was but I didn’t. Some how I heard a professor telling me that when you get frustrated put your work across the room and look at it, because half of your issues come from being to close to the work.
So I did. It did not make the flaws any less visible but…I saw hope in the dragon fly’s wing and inspiration in the petals of the waterlily and joy in the speckles of the coi fish. I think I have the same problem with my life, I am too close to it. It is easy to stand in the middle of a mess and scream in frustration about how you’re not getting anywhere. It takes more courage to realize that getting past a death or loss of someone or thing in your life is not easy or measured in large steps.
As I look back over the past year I have done a lot of things, most good and all towards finding a life by myself and for myself again. When I stand across the room I can see the progress I have made and I don’t judge the size of the steps against one another, I see how they fit together to make something better than a blank page or scared canvas.
I am not done with the painting, it needs a little more time and attention like my life. But it is beautiful in its own right and so is this new beginning I’m working on. It won’t be done in a day like a painting but it will be just as rewarding when I get there.
So thanks Dave for your insight and willingness to talk to a stranger about your life. I made a difference to me.
I threw my life on the ground and watched it shatter.
In a single moment everything, everything that I knew changed.
I raged, wept and futilely tried to put the pieces together.
I do not remember the moment I realized that my hands where cut and my blood dulled the once bright edges.
I put the shards down and backed away.
From a distance I could see the irrevocable change
But my hands still reached out.
Sheer force of will and the desire to heal stayed them time and time again.
Now a few scares stretch as my hands move once more towards the pieces.
Instead of seeking to replicate what once was, they nimbly dust and wash each;
Looking for the qualities that only it contains: a color, a shape or curvature.
Carefully I lay them out in the mud of this new life.
I am unsure how one piece will sit next to another: if the edges will combine to please the eye,
If the colors still compliment in this erratic new state.
But as each piece finds its place I see the whole better, I trust the wisdom of my hands.
It is not the piece I set out to make, not in its function or form
But it is stronger and more beautiful for the breaking.
AC 2012
I must start by saying how sweet I think this is!!! Also that I’m not sure I deserve it. I have ready so many wonderful blogs that are really dedicated and half the time I feel that mine is all over the place. It’s nice to know that some where in all that rambling and hit and miss that it touched some of you and made a connection.
So here’s to the blogs that I read and some randomness about myself.
There are rules to getting awards.
1. Thank the people who give them to you and link to their blog.
http://nuggetsandpearls.wordpress.com/ (a wonderful spunky blog about life)
2. Next nominate 15 Bloggers for this award and notify them about the nomination. I’m not sure I follow 15 blogs but here goes:
3. Finally, tell readers 7 things about yourself.
Where to begin…for the first time in the better part of a year I am starting to feel like myself again. I have my own place, stable employment and I’m not an emotional train wreck. So where do I go from here? I have had several interesting conversations in the last month or so that have me re-thinking “The Plan.”
To begin with I should state that “The Plan” has already had several revisions and was crafted in a time of utter confusion and emotional instability- hence the need for revisions. I started with something along the lines of “get the hell out of dodge!” this early stage had notions of running as far to the other coast as my little Neon would take me. Thank God my best friend made me sleep on that one.
Then it moved on to “Survive, we must keep safe.” So I focused on my job but in my semi crazy state any change made me even more neurotic and so I moved again. To a place with a little more space and a lot more issues. Finally, I reached “Remember how to breathe.” This actually being the most challenging phase of the transition to reclaiming my life. Without the distractions of pain and survival to take up my waking thoughts and am now faced with the wonderful question of “What do “I” want to do with my life?”
The obvious answer would be to double my salary and go back to teaching. But after five minuets of logical thought I know that is not the answer. Because the truth is that I loved my students more than I loved my subject or teaching itself. And I know that I cannot go back to throwing myself into a life that is empty or diminishing. So I am left to ponder what kind of life/do I want?
In my head I can see a new path for myself and at the same time I have a lot of nagging voices saying things like “You went to school for five years to throw it all away? You want to go to night/correspondence school? isn’t that just a rip off?” But deep in my heart I know that I cannot go back to teaching and I cannot stay where I am either. My life here is good but it is only a stepping stone to real health and stability in my life. And I realize that I could pack up and move across the US and probably be okay now but I would be doing something that I don’t love in the name of money and I am not that kind of person.
I’m not saying that I won’t work a job I don’t “love,” I’m saying that I will not dedicated more than a year of my life to it if there is not an end goal and I think that is what I have finally found. So I’m going back to school to be a Vet Assistant. Other than teenagers my other great life long passion a has been animals. In fact I almost went to college for zoo keeping.
I know if you have been reading my old blogs you’re thinking “wasn’t she writing a book?” and I was and have. But I also realize that I have to eat, and the writing will always be there waiting for me. I know the “real” writer’s are rolling their eyes and rightly so. I am not a real writer. I am a person who loves stories. Real writers write when there is no bread. Get up and do it every day and don’t wait for inspiration and that is not me. All I will say in my defense is that the birth of my would be novel is very much rooted in the death of my marriage and for now they are too closely bound.
There are
many things that I am just awakening to. I took my first pictures in months of my bran new niece. It felt good to do something creative but I feel myself holding back. I know I am afraid to open the door. Anyone who works in a creative way knows that whether you mean it too or not your life ends up on the page, canvas or plate. It is the nature of creativity and there is a part of my the is still scared.
This is step one: imagine a different life. I was talking with a friend when I realized in some small way I already have done this. When I used to sit in my best-friends house crippled by a broken heart I would dream about the place I knew I would one day have. I saw an open room with lots of light a large window and I felt happy there. The other day I realized that I was already there. Sitting in my living room with the sliding glass door open to the balcony. Light streamed in on my two cats blissing out. I smiled looking at the tree just beyond and realized I was home. That place I had dreamed about finding was here.
Now I have to dream a bigger dream, one where I’m not just safe and stable: one where I am creative and passionate, one where I am brave and bold and not afraid to try again and again because I and worth it. My dreams are worth it and I still have lots and lots of time to be and do what-ever I decide. I’m about to be 32 and I am starting over- Yay me!!!
dinning room
Okay so I think this will be my last move for 8 months to a year. When I look back over the past year it has been one hung change after another. First I moved last Sept from Tx (where I had loved for 4 yrs) to Charlottesville Virgina. In Nov my mom was diagnosed with cancer and I flew home to be with her for two weeks and spent Thanks giving with her and my sister.
I came home and my life as a knew it fell apart and I moved out in Jan to live with my best friend in Hahira GA. I lived with her until May when I moved in with a co-worker. I lived with Laura until Labor-day weekend when I moved into my own place!!!
My life has settled down quiet a bit since then. My personal life is 89% sorted and my mom is doing amazing and well on the way to recovery. My cat (Ben) no longer hisses, growls or cries all the time. My other cat (Sandy) has only thrown up once since we moved and he had been up to two times a week not to long ago. The improvement in their comfort and disposition warms my heart.
living room
I have really enjoyed seeming all of my things again. I forgot how when you see your personality reflected in the things around you there is a sense of “I belong here” that naturally goes with it. In its own way it is quiet telling that for the better part of a year I have in very real terms felt homeless. Not that I was not loved or cared for but that there was no possibility of permanence in the places that I have been.
Now I feel the opportunity to be expansive not just physically but in the ability to let my guard down and just be me, what ever that looks like. I get up at 7 am because I like too. I work out for an hour because I want to. I have a quiet time because I need to and then I shower and start my day.
I know it is not the life for everyone, quiet and full of cats but it is the life I choose for myself. For too many years i was not strong enough and then when I was I chose to give it up for something I though I wanted more. Now I find myself re-learning how to live on my own and I can say I’m proud that at each turn though hard or frightening I keep on going.
I keep fighting for the life I know I want and deserve and will have again; with or without someone else in it. I have come to realize that the main component that matters is me. If I am calm and dedicated to my goals the rest will follow in its own good time.
So here’s to all of us that life shook up and said “try a different path” weather we thought we wanted it or not and made the best of it; keeping our harts warm as we learn to live again.
