The Problem With Compassion
“BLUE FACE”, 2001, 14″ x 14″, m/m
_________________________________
I have had a misconception
About what compassion really is.
We think about Mother Theresa and seriously wonder
Where she finds it in her physical smallness
To be so big?
I think it took us, as a country,
Ten full years to even approach
Climbing over the fence of horror and fear
To reach compassion where 9/11 is concerned.
It was just too big
And we are so very small.
We had to turn away
And wait until we had the capacity to bear it.
The problem with compassion
As I see it
Stems from the mistaken understanding
That in order for me to feel compassion for you
I MUST FEEL IN MY BODY
EXACTLY WHAT YOU FEEL;
I should be feeling so deeply that I cry with you,
Or at the least let my chest curl in on itself
As I let you know your angst over a divorce
Or death of a child
Has been registered over here
And is therefore real.
No. This is not compassion.
With understandings like these, is it any wonder that we turn away
In favor of lighter territory?
When you sit with me
Or see me out and about,
My heart’s desire is only to meet your clear and soft eyes
And be blessed with the ‘take away gift’
Of having been witnessed in some real way.
You see my limp. Yep.. There it is.
You notice my frequent disappearances from my historical ever-presence around town?
Uh huh.. that too.
Do you pity me? Yuk. Please don’t.
That pity may be your own very visceral reaction to what YOU might feel in my situation.
Really, that is probably a dream on your part
As we never can know who we will be in a situation
Until we are there.
Compassion is not ‘work’.
Compassion is the easiest thing you could imagine.
It demands nothing from us
Other than the capacity to WITNESS ANOTHER PERSON.
That’s it…
Just to be still and let someone tell you whatever they have to tell you.
If Mother Theresa were to ‘take on’
All the angst and sadness
Of those she tends,
She would have used herself up long ago.
She sits.
She listens.
She makes it known she has ‘seen’ the other
And that they are NOT ‘other’
But instead: not separate.
Compassion doesn’t even need a word or any sound what-so-ever.
Could be just a gentle and knowing look
Or a wave from a neighbor.
Compassion takes nothing from us.
But it has the capacity
To give us back our humanity.
No work involved.
We Are So Beautiful And Terrible…
“FACE”, 1997, 12″ x 5″, ceramic
_______________________________
We are so beautiful and terrible,
Broken and resilient,
Inspired and bored.
We are full of wrath one moment
Only to wipe a tear from a child the next.
I know light
And I know shadow.
How could it be
That we hold all of these things
Right next to one another
In our hearts?
In my wider moments
I love all of it.
Because if I don’t
I know I am armoring-up my heart once again..
(Something like: “You can have my attention because you feel good but if you don’t- leave me alone..”)
That hardness is now becoming intolerable.
This is one of my favorite photographers.
His ‘eye’ helps me make room for it all, somehow..
Practicality Is The Antidote To Emotionality
UNTITLED, 1986, 5′ x 5′, pigment on wool flannel
________________________________________________
I know there are people in my life absolutely ecstatic
Over the appearance of the word: ‘PRACTICAL’
In my vocabulary.
Fact is: We, humans have leanings toward particular
Ways of being.
I have been an artist longer than I can remember.
My primary tool in this vocation has been
Access to the watery and indistinct nesting grounds
Where inspiration lives.
My current path in life demands I pick up other kinds of brushes and paint.
My desire is not to displace my emotions
In favor of something ‘better’ or more effectual.
No.
The root of the word PRACTICAL is ‘PRACTICE’.
It has to do with ACTION in the ‘real-time’ world
As opposed to the theoretical.
Living in partnership with chronic illness
Demands we give our precious emotional lives a rest
And enlist the support of the practice involved
In carving out the logistics of a new kind of life.
A very good girlfriend (an artist in the practicality realm)
Helped me, yesterday
With a fabulous tip:
She wanted me to tell her THREE THINGS
That were causing me pressure in my life this week.
I said:
1. No energy to do the dishes.
2. My dog has a barking issue.
3. The woman that grocery shops for me told me she would not be here but I forgot.
Just the action of saying the things relieved me.
But she stepped in and gifted me with some housecleaning!
And I asked another friend if she’d shop for me and she said yes.
I called a dog trainer.
PRESTO!!
Pressure vanished.
It was THRILLING, I tell you…
The alleviation of my previous interior machinations
Left me feeling
GRATEFUL, NOT ALONE, CONNECTED, RELIEVED, HAPPY, LIGHT.
I think this THREE THINGS CAUSING ME PRESSURE admission
Could be used in anyone’s life at any time.
Ask your lover, child, friend:
WHAT THREE THINGS ARE ADDING PRESSURE TO YOUR LIFE THIS WEEK?
And see if you can do something about it
Even if it is just to listen.
I’m here to tell you
This is a fine, fine paintbrush to have at the ready
As we all make new lives for ourselves.
Clemency
detail of monoprint
___________________
I have what I consider a strange habit.
I look to my eyes in the mirror probably 10 – 20 times per day.
What is the need to keep checking?
It really is not a vanity thing
But more of a temperature reading:
Does how I feel physically, emotionally and spiritually
Match up with what I see in my reflection?
My quest for authenticity
Helped me find this tool.
“I feel GOOD!” and after a brief gander at my eyes, sometimes I see the hardness there and the worry.
A lifetime of hyper-vigilance
Has taught me the difference
Between smooth and gleaming waters
And the rugged chop of an unknown sea creature
Barreling it’s way to the surface to sound.
My nervous system is stuck in overdrive
And God is the only force
Which seems to actually calm me.
I worry about getting to the next wall to hold on to.
Taking too much time to get dressed and being late for an appointment.
Unanswered phone calls. Wrapping a large wedding gift; (no wrapping paper, no card in the house, no strength to get them) and delivering it in a timely manner.
Bills unpaid.
Dishes in the sink.
Not wanting to eat when I SHOULD be eating..(I tend toward gauntness and am willing myself to eat more often and just MORE).
Are you bored yet?
I am.
I had to look up the definition of the word: CLEMENCY.
It means mercy. And leniency.
Mercy and leniency and mildness.
Yes, I know the word is usually used in association with crimes and misdemeanors..
Yet, in my book, a sin is only that which acts against our natural state of perfection and well-being.
Working my way through the ancient propensity
To live inside this ever-present nervous static
Is another exhaustion!
I know it’s there.
I am altogether sure it is not my natural state.
I am acutely aware that I needed the skill in my family of origin
And that it likely saved me.
Today, I do not need the thing
And yet.. I continually see it there behind my eyes when I look.
I can hate the static and demand it’s departure and blame it for all my woes.
But that sounds like what the general population
Does with any energy that stands in the way of what they want.
God is my last ‘go-to.’
For me, MS stands for ‘my static’
And of course, I WANT IT GONE!
These days I am practicing small gestures
Like a pause or a metaphorical hand smoothing my hair with the tenderness of a good mother.
Or drinking the air on my morning roll ’round the neighborhood with Olivia
And finding it fine as wine.
My nerves are so scarred and taut with anticipation of the worst
That they need mercy
And leniency
And forgiveness
And appreciation.
For here I AM still…
A courageous and continually curious woman in love with Life.
And that, dear readers, is a high accomplishment, indeed.
The Elevator Is Stuck
UNTITLED, 1999, 20″ – 25″ x 3″ (varies), ceramic, steel
_______________________________________________________
I was brought up in the suburbs of Detroit.
I never learned how to be a neighbor
Because I didn’t have to.
We lived in ‘auto-executive-manicured-lawn-land’
And I took cues from my parents as they slid
Conveniently behind trees
At the sight of another human
In order not to connect.
I realized that I now know exactly how to gather my TRIBE.
I know what a tribe is
And I know who is in mine.
The startling recognition of tribal members
Can come in an instant
Or after years of tending a relationship.
These are people
I would still be curious about;
Spiritually, emotionally or mentally fed by
Even after spending a week with them
Stuck in a tiny elevator.
These are people I remain ever interested in.
Could never know all there is to know.
Believe me, my tribe is quite small.
How does one gather a tribe?
For me.. I notice how my body feels when in the company of a person; defended? safe? electric? familiar? open? wary?
Then, over time, I gauge the distance between their heart and mine;
How far have we moved together?
Are they friends with their own shadow so I can trust them with mine?
Can they see the largest part of me and remind me of her when I forget?
If I tell them my truth about something, can I count on the intent to give a thoughtful reply or will I get a ‘reaction’ we may never recover from?
Do they know their own worth and share it generously with me and others?
Is an intimate sense of the sacred in all Life of value to them?
Can I cry and laugh with abandon in their company without reservation?
Is there a distinct feeling of luxury in their company? Gratitude?
Very, very occasionally someone will appear
Who I recognize instantly
As a part of my clan.
A meeting such as this
Has the feeling of ‘everything of significance known’
And all that’s left to do is enjoy the theater of the thing.
My tribe includes humans, yes.
But also a dog and a particular tree I adore which is very alive to me.
(Did I just lose you?)
I’ll offer no apology.
If the elevator should become stuck
I’ll have no regrets, what so ever…
Frailty Quotient
“LOWE INSTALLATION”, 2007, 56″ x 72″, earth, ceramic
____________________________________________________
I have been thinking about the word: FRAILTY recently.
We tend to use it for the elderly and infirm.
It’s use marks a serious decline.
The ‘backstory’ of using the word
Carries visceral sensations of curling inward
Out of fear and desire not to hang with the concept too long.
We think it might be catching
And so we give it lip service
And move on to a heated tennis match or a rugged workout at the gym
To assuage the possibility
It could be us someday.
If you did not know me
The label: ‘FRAIL’ might be your first choice.
My physical balance is very compromised.
I walk with a walker and hold onto walls when navigating without it.
Long distances require the support of a wheelchair.
And there are too many pills on my countertop.
If you ask me to describe myself
FRAILTY would never be a part of our conversation.
I would say that my physicality is extremely compromised, yes.
But that admission covers only one part of me.
Am I spiritually frail? No.
Am I mentally frail?. No.
Emotionally frail? I’d have to say I am one of the most emotionally healthy people I know.
Yesterday, I went to a wedding.
I knew there would be too much ground to cover for me just using my walker.
If I wanted to go, I’d have to use my wheelchair
But I had never been out in a very public place with it where I’d have to negotiate a crowd.
I’m not really that great at driving the thing
As it is so acutely sensitive to any tiny move of the joystick.
I went to the gorgeous wedding.
I went solo.
I did what it took to make the evening work
Which meant arriving into the assembled crowd as a single woman in a wheelchair decorated with one rose
And having people adjust themselves to the height difference by stooping.
There were curbs to negotiate
And I asked strong men to help me.
And they did.
I found a place to sit for the reception
But how would I manage the buffet?
I asked for help, again.
All this I did and kept my center close to me and alive enough
To participate authentically in the evening.
When push comes to shove
And we are asked to enter unfamiliar waters,
These times are a good litmus test for
The ‘FRAILTY QUOTIENT.”
Can I do it?
Can I do it without losing mySelf?
I see that I am so very able.
And when that is the case..
Everyone wins.
The Smallest Thing
“TREE OF LIFE”, 1999, 30″ x 18″ x 3″, ceramic
_____________________________________________
The other day, I was just BEING
As I tend to do
Because my physicality
Prohibits any fussing around
With pretense
Or trying to be cool.
I has been HOT here this summer.
Recently, I accepted an invitation to lunch from two neighbors who have interested me for awhile.
I drove there and come to find the way to the house is all gravel and there are stairs too
And I am already wilting from the heat.
I use this ‘adventure’ to practice educating people how to be with me
As I know there is always a conundrum as to whether to assist; ‘Will she take offense?’ “Does she want to do it herself?’
The thing is that in new situations I have to figure out on the spot what I need.
That day, I needed a strong arm, bent at the elbow
Offered to me to help pull me up the steps.
I needed to sit down once as my hosts took pleasure in telling me stories of their fruit trees and wisteria (spectacular!)
I almost let myself slip into embarrassment at the awkwardness
Of my apparent physical frailty.
But I didn’t.
I did not go there because I felt safe enough to just BE with these two people.
That, right there, told me a good deal about them.
I settled into a soft chair under an umbrella and the three of us shared a gorgeous and lovingly prepared meal.
I didn’t even have to act like ‘a weird food person’ with all my dietary restrictions
As the table was filled with pure and healthy sumptuousness.
I felt so happy,
Easy in my body and grateful for the inspiring and charged conversation.
I was smiling.
Which I tend to do quite often.
It is a small thing.
In my past, I used smiling as a cover;
Shadowy corners of my being needed tending.
And I had not given them their due.
These days, my smile is genuine.
It has a clear and present energy to it.
There are many, many variations of the thing.
I use it to make sure people know I have ‘seen’ them
And their very beingness has made a difference to me.
I use it to let people know they matter.
I do it because it feels so good.
I have voluntary and involuntary ones..
It seems a very small thing
And yet, I see it’s reach is farther than I realize.. Read here:
Be sure to check out the Charlie Chaplin video at the end.
Myopia
“ABIQUIU”, detail, ceramic, earth
_________________________________
My resolve has always been
To become the best I can be.
For me, that has meant
Things like meeting hidden traumas
Of various forms,
And mining the shadows
For energetic obstacles
Intent on preventing me from thriving.
It is a dirty job.
Messy job.
But, in my case it has been the only way
This beautiful patina
I now am seeing on me
Had any chance of making it’s appearance
And remaining uncovered.
I would not be surprised
If I knew
The actual number of people in my life
Who had taken a few steps back from me
For fear
My relentless quest and it’s intensity at times
Would upstage any chance at
An easy and comfortable exchange.
Believe me, I don’t blame the reticence.
It likely was a fine, fine choice indeed.
And so.. my path in healing my body and soul
Has been in partnership
With a good deal of solitude.
And I really get sick of myself, sometimes!
So- When I do,
A good dose of a grander perspective
Is in order.
Today, I went here.
I mean, REALLY….
Can you look at that and not remember
Your lovely
And purposeful
Part of the plan
Which is a supportive role
And not the lead?
I’m Not Giving Up
detail of painting on textile, wool flannel
___________________________________________
I wrote a post the other day entitled: “I’M GIVING UP.”
It was in reference to hosting an event in which I chose to sell most of my private collection of remaining art.
I orchestrated it as a mark in time
To help me and all parts of me
As well as letting the Universe know
That I am laying down my 30 year identity as an artist-in-form
Because my body is ‘different’ these days.
I did it with a very full heart.
With gladness.
I sat there and witnessed a good chunk of ‘time’ leaving
With my blessing.
The gift I gave myself was/is open space.
Emptiness… to love as is
Or, perhaps be filled by the Mystery.
Inside this process of give-away, sell-off, bye-bye darlings
Is wrath.
Wrath.
I have to say it again as I am quite sure I’ve never paid attention to that word
Let alone used it before.
And yet, there it is…
It’s visitation (for I know it will eventually knock on someone else’s door)
Shocks me.
I love my center.
It was lost for so long
And now I’ve found it.
I see I may have settled into a bit of complacency.
What to do with this quicksilver and searing
Unconsciousness
Directed at the beloveds in my life?
Yes, there are ‘reasons.’
Plenty of evidence to use as fuel.
But it’s dirty fuel.
Anger’s favorite gas is evidence.
It will run on and on
And on.
The fumes are so toxic, though.
It is inefficient fuel at best.
Today, I promised myself I would not give up
On my gentle heart.
The actions needed and the effects of
DESTRUCTION AND CREATION
Are messy, indeed.
Did I think I could sail through this life event
Of choosing to silence one voice
In order to make room for another to be born
Without any kind of fallout?
How silly of me.
I AM a gentle heart.
AND..
I am ‘other’ as well.
If I love and respect my own beingness
As I surely do,
Can I be humble enough to just notice what’s here,
Give it a nod or a bow
And move forward from the soft place
That seems to have the almost unbearable capacity
To house all these heretofore
Orphaned parts of me?
I am not giving up on myself.
I AM.
Picking Up The Sword
ceramic sculpture (detail)
__________________________
Crafting a weapon such as a sword
Is actually a very organic process.
Heat and more heat..
Folding, pounding.
Then do that all over again
A thousand thousand times
And you might (just might)
Get an edge you can be proud of.
I am wary
When I hear myself say that I don’t like something.
These days, it just plain takes too much energy
To have a judgement about ANYthing.
I heard myself say in this blog, recently: “I don’t like metal.”
Why, I wondered?
It is a neutral element
Save for whatever I put on it, meaning-wise.
When I think of metal
I think of swords;
Wielding a sword, in particular.
Every girl should have her own personal gleaming edge
At the ready.
Don’t be afraid..
Or, rather: BE VERY AFRAID!
Surely, we are speaking metaphorically here
But the journey from the tiny spark of God
We were born with
To the embodiment of ‘SAMURAI’
Is an arduous path, indeed.
Picking up the sword
And using it effectively
Asks us first,
To even know WE HAVE ONE.
Asked even last week what my sword looked like
I would have said a pretty flimsy and warped piece of wood;
Slightly waterlogged and bereft of patina.
Today, my answer is different.
I will tell you about it in a minute.
What do we need a sword for, anyway?
How do we hold it?
Where do we keep it?
How do we honor it?
What noise does it make when used well?
I want to survive
And thrive.
In order for me to do that
I MUST separate the wheat from the chaff;
Be ruthlessly
discriminatory in my choices:
People around me, how far I choose to let each in, places I go physically, food, thought and emotional patterns, beliefs, what I hold sacred and how I tend such…
These choices, and many more
Are what will keep me alive.
Saying the kind of “YES”
To these kinds of ‘medications’
Means there must also be an equal and potent
“NO.”
And this is where the sword comes in.
Being this discriminating
Makes my previous tendency toward acquiescence
Shake in it’s boots.
I haven’t the energy to whip around any long piece of metal
Willy-nilly
Until.. by some miracle
It meets it’s mark.
No.
I am going for the whisper of an almost imperceptable
“Fffffftttttt.”
I will turn and walk away without a smile.
Forfeiting grace, connectedness and my place in the community of fellow humans is not my objective.
Whatever is back there
Will be wondering just what happened
And I will have earned
The right to choose
Again.