The Ride
untitled, 36″ x 36″, m/m
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Thank you for your patience (or not) as I took an extended break.
I know, having been an artist for so many years,
The process of ANYthing
Occasionally needs some of what I call “GATHERING TIME.”
In my life, it looks like the water spigot
Just has a mind of it’s own
And no matter how much I coo and coerce
It just ain’t happenin’.
That is how I was left following my brother’s visit
And I am well aware this is a signal
SomeTHING is brewing in me..
Family is a great catalyst…
Welcome or not-
None of us are neutral in this department.
Honestly..
At this point, I am still unaware
Of what, exactly, is making it’s way toward consciousness
But I do know enough
To pay attention
And give myself a break
In the ‘YOU SHOULD’ department.
In the news today,
There appears a Japanese hero who rode the tsunami in his little boat called: “SUNFLOWER.”
If he had wavered in his decision to meet the unknown thing
And let the boat slide to the side even a little bit
The end result would have been quite different.
Where does the courage come to ride the wave?
And is it like a cat with nine lives?
Do we run out of the stuff at some point?
I actually have the sense
It has little to do with us
And everything to do with GRACE.
Saving A Life
“CLOUDS”, 2001, 10″ x 24″, m/m
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The Journey
One day you finally knew
what you had to do, and began,
though the voices around you
kept shouting
their bad advice–
though the whole house
began to tremble
and you felt the old tug
at your ankles.
“Mend my life!”
each voice cried.
But you didn’t stop.
You knew what you had to do,
though the wind pried
with its stiff fingers
at the very foundations,
though their melancholy
was terrible.
It was already late
enough, and a wild night,
and the road full of fallen
branches and stones.
But little by little,
as you left their voices behind,
the stars began to burn
through the sheets of clouds,
and there was a new voice
which you slowly
recognized as your own,
that kept you company
as you strode deeper and deeper
into the world,
determined to do
the only thing you could do–
determined to save
the only life you could save.
© Mary Oliver.
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Equinox
detail of painting, m/m
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The word equinox literally means ‘equal night.’
The ancient Egyptians built the Great Sphinx so it faces the rising sun on the vernal (Spring) equinox.
This is a good time to think about balance.
I like the word: “COMPORTMENT.”
It feels like a very old word but I’m not sure about that.
It means ‘behavior’
And I think of the word when I see the Japanese people in their sorrow and utter grief
Over losing the life they knew
Just a week ago.
What do BALANCE and COMPORTMENT have to do with one another?
In my mind, I am pretty darn sure
That had the events in Japan
Happened on our soil, instead,
They would be held in a very different way
By the American population.
We, here, do not know much about containing our state of being.
We are exuberant and messy
In our efforts to wring every drop
Of individualism out of us
In fear someone might take it away.
The Japanese have exercised other muscles.
Not to say either is better or worse.
But witnessing a population
Suffer,
Taking care not to slime their neighbor
In the process
Causes me pause.
Really, the golden rule I follow
Which is truly my most potent medicine
Is the rock solid knowledge
That for every contraction
There is an equal expansion.
It usually does not come on my timetable
Which is unfortunate
But, it does come.
This morning’s example is my arm and leg
Which happen to be in periodic spasm.
I hate it.
I’m edgy and it just came out in a phone call with a friend.
Slime, slime..
This afternoon my body will be different.
Or it won’t
And tomorrow it will.
The point being
The Universe has a self-correcting
Button somewhere
Which creates balance.
We may want it NOW
Or never at all.
But today,
It soothes me
That there is a larger intelligence
Than mine.
Us and Them
detail,earth,ceramic,nails, 2006
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I have been tossed this way and that waiting for my soul to speak up
Regarding what is occurring in Japan.
Everything that surfaced felt colored by fear
Or denial
Or numbness
Or compassion,
Separateness,
Overwhelm,
Awe,
Anger,
Relief,
Curiosity,
Paralysis,
Love,
Terror,
And relief again..
The very humanness of me was/is
So relieved it wasn’t me.
I am saying this out loud only because it is the thing I most don’t want to admit.
The fact is
That it WAS me,
IS me,
And likely,
In the not too distant future
WILL BE me.
I will be the one walking exhausted beyond
Any weariness I’ve yet come through
Walking down a gritty road
Missing my beloved dog
Who I cannot find
And holding a shiny tea kettle
Fresh from my clean kitchen
Of an hour ago
Looking for water
Or food.
I am not a ‘dooms-day-er’.
Just a woman in love with life
As I know it today
And yesterday.
But who’s to say
We’ll get another day
Like today?
BMS and AFMS (before MS and after MS) was just like that.
Without the radiation or the 30′ wave.
But I am different
Because I had to be.
I know the terror of losing identities we are super-glued to
And I know what it takes to make new ones.
It is an arduous
And lonely road.
But along the way there are those who will offer you water
And a safe place to rest your weary head
As we all try to wrap ourselves around this new
And unfamiliar world.
My biggest and most constant teaching
Which MS doles out moment by moment, it seems,
Is that this particular road is not meant to be taken alone.
And so…
Even when we recoil at the thought of appearing
‘Less-than-knowing-it-all’
We have to bow our heads
And say: “Can you teach me what I need to know?”
And bow again
In gratitude
As the stranger walks on
With a cup of water
For our neighbor.
Rocking
untitled, 30″ x 30″, 1998,m/m
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HAIKU
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Someone in Japan
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Lost their tears to a big wave.
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I will give them mine.
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-CA
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Secret Place
“FOREST THROUGH THE TREES”, 2002, 40″ x 72″, m/m
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A friend told me yesterday that she really hesitated before calling me to ask if she could stop by as she was in the neighborhood.
I really felt for her as I have put up very distinct boundaries about disturbing me at home.
I have ALWAYS had what I call ‘a secret place’ in my life
To go to when I need to feel safe and ok just as I am.
In my youth it was a grassy field
Rimmed with huge trees
I would lie down in
And be lost to the world
And protected by the spirits of the place.
I’ve had forts in my youth
And a few as an adult.
I have my special and sacred ‘go-to’ places in New Mexico that never fail to soothe me with their particular salve.
When my friend mentioned her trepidation in even approaching me
I really understood
And had to look at the question:
‘Am I becoming a dyed-in-the-wool weirdo?’
Have I been challenged by a faltering physical body for so long
That I am more comforted by aloneness
And a sort of ‘secret life’
Than exchanging breath with the life happening beyond my driveway?
Have I made my home the secret place du jour?
There are two parts to this line of inquiry:
Yes,indeed.. I need a safe and nurturing place to heal.
And
Yes, I do believe when I really look, that I may have lost some muscles in the social interaction realm.
I guess the trade off for me
Is the fact that one of my greatest and most necessary choices in my own healing has been to lessen the cultural ‘static’
Which seems to severely affect my nervous system.
I see that pulling out of usual levels of cultural participation
Makes people around me nervous.
But I can not really worry about the results of my choices
Except to make sure they cause no harm.
I see that there is a bright and mostly shiny
Woman behind the eyes looking back at me
From the bathroom mirror.
She seems to exude health
Until she reaches for the wall to balance.
My choices seem to be serving me
And a great litmus test I use for health
Has been to watch to see that the secret place only holds my attention
For just so long
And then I must emerge
And tell all the tales
I’ve heard, there in the shadows;
The songs sung to me
The drawings in the sand.
Willow
detail painting, 2000, m/m
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One of the many gifts my grandmother gave me
Has to do with the willow tree.
Each year as I was growing up
So often in her company
She stopped me and took my arm and pointed to a tree.
“See there..” she said.
“See just the barest hint of yellow on that tree?”
(We were standing in an inch of snow on the ground)
“Each year, that little tiny bit of yellow will be the signal that Spring is coming again.”
“Pay close attention to the branches and you will catch the very FIRST tender green of leaves.”
“Make sure you stop and really look,
Because that impossibly beautiful yellow-green color
Only happens for a day or two every year
And is very precious
So you want to make sure you don’t miss the show.”
And I never have.
The ‘good stuff’ always seems to happen in a wink
So we don’t have that much time to wallow in the goodness.
Welcome Shift
monoprint, 1992, 22″ x 30″
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Some important info I did not include in yesterday’s post regarding the FIVE WISHES template for a ‘ friendly’ living will:
It is accepted in most states but not all and you can go here to get all the low down.
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Sometimes I just get so tired of the smallness of living a life that feels so body-centric.
Of course, we know in the broadest sense that the world is held in grain of sand…
But there are days when I just have to say YUK!!!!!!!!!
I WANT THE DAMN BEACH!
I am so tired of mySELF!!!!!!!!!!
SomeTHING.. SomeONE please take me OUT of myself.
I need relief from pills
And healthy food
And finding the higher ground
And fighting to put on a damn sock
And waking up stiff and bent
Instead of lithe and willowy.
So I sometimes go to science.
It isn’t really as entertaining as vodka
To Be Of The Earth
“CIRCLE”, 5′ x 24″, 2002, m/m
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There seem to be very few things we can count on
But the regularity of the seasons coming and going
And the pleasure
And angst
Of it all
Depending on one’s point of view
Can make
Or break
A life
Don’t cha’ think?
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TO BE OF THE EARTH IS TO KNOW:
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the restlessness of being a seed
the darkness of being planted
the struggle toward the light
the pain of growth into the light
the joy of bursting and bearing fruit
the love of being food for someone
the scattering of your seeds
the decay of the seasons
the mystery of death
and the miracle of birth.
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-John Soos
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How Do You Spell ‘YACHT’?
untitled,30″ x 30″, 2001,m/m
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When I was a little girl growing up in the suburbs of Detroit
I led a small band of adventurers.
We would search out the huge (to us)
Drainage pipes being installed below
The many new roads in process of being carved out
To handle the encroaching masses.
We’d light a candle and crawl into the cavernous black
On our hands and knees
Never knowing what monsters lay in wait.
It was absolutely thrilling.
And oddly soothing to me to be underground
Away from my family and making my life follow
The direction I was choosing.. me.. little Cath…
I was captain of my own ship down there
And I loved it.
The dirt, the power, the mystery, the dark, the smells, the secrets.
I came across this amazingly futuristic design of a 100′ yacht the other day.
I find it interesting from a design standpoint
But laughed out loud to myself
As it made me think of my past underground adventures
And my preference for what they offered me
Over any thing this super-yacht might have to give.
I was glad to feel the tug of the underground
And wowed by the boat in the water
But, the pleasure quotient of smell of good dirt
And the perfume of the sea
Are equal to me.
As I recall, traversing ground on the humble power of my own hands and knees
Opened me to worlds beyond what I knew.
I think it was pretty good practice for
My life these days;
Closer to the ground than I ever thought possible.