365 Lessons-Lesson 135: Express Your Inner World Through Art

Today was an art and yoga workshop at Yoon's Yoga Bliss, my husband's yoga school. It was a beautiful day outside but six of us gathered inside to do art and yoga. My best friend from elementary school, Helena Hillinga Haas, is an art therapist. My husband is a yoga teacher. They combined their talents to bring us all inward and bring the art that is within us out.

We started out by doing simple yoga asanas to help tune us in to the process. We meditated a bit before we started creating. There was not much instruction once we started. One by one, we got up and silently went to the art table to collect supplies that resonated with us. There were pieces of paper with circles on them. If we wanted to, we could create a mandala. The circular shape of the mandala helps to center the mind.



It was a very intuitive process. People worked silently for an hour and were very engaged. The hour flew by so fast, I hardly realized time passing. I think we were all in the moment.



When we finished, we all stood in a circle and meditated on what we had just created. Then, we slowly walked around the circle and stopped at each person's creation and took it in. It was amazing to see how different each work of art was. It truly showed the diversity of each of us.

We closed the class with a short meditation. It was very nice to share yoga, meditation and art in a lovely yoga studio today. I feel that by tuning into the creative process, we can learn so much about ourselves and others. It was a wonderful experience.

Raining Acorns

     I do not believe the saying “into everyone’s life a little rain must fall.” To say “I believe” means I have the choice to not believe, to disbelieve the saying. The reality is, whether the physical rain or the metaphorical rain of life’s challenges and disappointments, rain, yes, will fall. In the end, it is not a matter of belief or disbelief. The rain, simply, is and the nature of rain is to fall.
     I may not like it and pout or rail against the rain. Alternatively, I may embrace it with the fullness of hope. To curse or question the rain that falls and not also mourn the seed’s husk that is shattered, when the sprout seeks the sun, suggests my focus is not so much on the nature of rain or growth but what happens next, what I see. One rains on my picnic and I’m not pleased. The other, the seed’s husk cracking wide upon, is masked and unnoticed by the beauty of the flower. I do not tell the acorn that is shattered, so that the oak may grow, that into every acorn’s life a little rain must fall. No, it is the wonder of the beauty and strength that springs from the tiny seeds and acorns that arouses the poet’s heart.
     Do I dare to think both are the same- rain and the husks of seeds?

[also posted on blog]

Go confidently...

Yeah, I wrote a book. You can see the nifty cover to the right of his post. (Located on my blog page) Nice reflective cover representing the material. Paid a guy to that. A year’s worth of work went into that little project right there.


Now I am not here to sell it today. True, I would enjoy seeing a copy or two float off into other’s hands. But again, not why I am here.

I was speaking with my wife yesterday on the “state of the union” of where my book stands. This nebulous project that kept me still, focused, and challenged since this time last year has been this odd, somewhat unspoken subject between us. Perhaps she wonders if I wrote of her. Maybe she wonders if it is a narcissistic memoir slamming those nemeses that challenged me which I victoriously slayed. Maybe she doesn’t get it, this whole writing gig. Maybe she doesn’t care. The only thing she mentioned was she hoped it brought in some bank.

Momentarily I reflected as she left the room how it would feel to become this mysterious, successful author who would sit in reflection in front of a window of an old home, sweater with the patches on the elbows adorning me, spewing words, randomly accepting and tossing appearances as my bank account grew. Ahhh...

Quickly that faded. Back to the present there turbo–don’t put the cart before the horse.

As I came to completion of this dream I have had for nearly two decades, I reflected on a few things. For one, I wrote a book dammit. I wanted to write a book, I wrote a book. Mission accomplished! I sat for hours. I wrote hundreds of pages longhand, then placed them on a laptop, and then to a desktop, adjusting, thinking, editing, manipulating text to become what I felt was my music. I was the only one listening, and I liked my song.

The satisfaction in doing this little endeavor was originally to simply journal thoughts I wish my kids would know, or know about me should I ever leave this world too early to tell them. I wanted my kids to have a personal slice of me they could sample at their whims at any point in the future where I was not able to tell them directly. Another mission accomplished. It was originally for them, not me. It just evolved organically.

I see that I had a void and I have now filled it. I had a gesture I wished to extend to my kids, and now not only do I have the original, but a printed book my kids can read and forever hear the voice of their daddy should God take me home tomorrow. I did something very challenging and time consuming I set out to do. Something that the little voice in me told me I probably could not do. Something many may have the desire to do, but let life get in the way. The same type of life I had to navigate to find the time to follow my dream. If I knew exactly when I may die, I may have waited to start this project, but I do not have that luxury. Go confidently...

What I found that whenever I placed any importance on how many copies I will sell, or how many people will read, or if Oprah will wave a copy at her flock, I am cheapening my dream by placing my accomplishments’ value in the opinion of others. True, who wouldn’t love for the Grande Dame herself to give your book a nod and then your heart’s desire no longer be in question. However I see that now I am extremely fulfilled I did what I set out to do; once being a character defect I often shrugged. I refuse to let what I have done thus far be diminished if my “numbers” are not strong.

Of course I would love to see my message shared by others in the context of how it has affected their lives. I would love to be a “finger pointing the way” so-to-speak. Making a buck or two would also be a nice perk no doubt. But this dream I consider accomplished, and I will simply revel in the fact I did something I love, am passionate about, and can share. My message here and now? To share the hope that others can do what I did. What is your dream left undone?

I like the fact that I realized the engaging of the dream, the pursuit of the dream, and the completion of the dream is where the reward is personally. To release it to others for adoration and capital gain is another venture. I consider it “marketing” of the dream–a by-product mind you. I do not place any validation of the success of the dream on the acceptance of it by others as much as the value of the fact that I am happy with my work, and that I did it when I thought I couldn’t. Therein lies the reward that will forever remain enduring and more valuable that monetary gain. Again I ask, “What is your dream left undone?”

I like the quote by Dr. Wayne Dyer where he states, “Don’t die with your music still in you.” (I will let that marinate in you for a moment.) With every tick of the clock passes a missed opportunity to set sail upon your life’s potential. Sing your song and unfurl your canvas my friends as those ticks are precious.

Go confidently in the direction of your dreams! Live the life you've imagined. As you simplify your life, the laws of the universe will be simpler.
                                                                         ~ Henry David Thoreau  (1817-1862)

* (Oprah, my contact info can be found to the right and scroll down a bit!)

    *Note - Repost from Artisan of the Human Spirit - so I apologize for
      the mentions in the beginning of the post of items on my blog!

It isn't Writer's Block

As I mentioned in an earlier post, I've been on a break of sorts from blogging recently. Nothing has been wrong to cause this. Life, as it often does, has gotten in the way to a certain extent. Beyond that, however, I've had an extended 'moment' of...something. I have said it before and it bears repeating that I am not a daily blogger. I write when inspiration strikes and enjoy that particular personal rhythm, as it works for me in my own peculiar manner. When inspiration doesn't strike, I simply don't write. Again, it works for me. It is, however, a bit unusual for inspiration to be on such an extended vacation. What I have discovered, over the years, is that this isn't Writer's Block, per se. For me, it is a pause of sorts...a pause, a breath held for long moments, waiting for magic to enter. And it always does.


Most writers would label this the creeping monster of doubt known as the aforementioned and dreaded Writer's Block. I don't identify it as that, but I will admit to being quite aware of a different pace of sorts causing a hitch in my normal writing rhythm. I also admit that as time stretched on with no familiar burning need to write thoughts out in blog article format, I did begin to question what was taking place. Being the researching, analyzing personality that I am, I studied this experience from all angles. Poked at it. Nudged it sideways. Shifted it a fraction of an inch that way, then back again. Walked away from it for days only to return and regard it through occasionally narrowed, contemplative eyes.

Finally, this morning, I had had enough. Time to joust with this unruly, temperamental, irregular jog to my writing stride. "Don't worry so much, just sit down and write," I have often suggested to writing students that I have coached. I know this to be a valuable bit of advice, as it can be helpful to knock loose the logjam of thoughts in every writer's mind. Once you begin writing, it can magically open up the floodgates and inspiration once more comes rushing forward. So, adopting a 'physician, heal thyself' philosophy, I began musing with much more intent than I have implemented in the past month. And suddenly, before even setting fingertips to keyboard to begin the writing process, the thought occurred.

Perhaps we have all inaccurately tossed the cold, sterile phrase of Writer's Block around as a throwaway concept. Perhaps it isn't a block at all. I have written in a past blog about the concept of useful limbo, as I experienced that very thing in the recent past. I believe there are definitely moments in our lives where God/Universe intentionally isolates us in order to forcefully focus our minds in a direction we would otherwise never have time to notice and open up to. This, I boldly suggest, is that ephemeral moment, that opening up to allow magic to flow and embrace the writer's mind.

I have been experiencing what I would now identify as a mini-useful-limbo stage. It definitely has not been a block of any kind in regard to writing, as my mind and imagination have been as fertile and active as they always are. Indeed, there are stacks and lists and jotted notes in abundance waiting to be completed and given voice in blog format. They just aren't ready yet. My mind, my Spirit has been attending to another task. And in the process, I have stumbled across the novel concept - to me, at least - that there truly is no such thing as 'writer's block' in the concrete sense of the description. How liberating for writers the world over to revise their definition of this moment when their pens refuse to write, when the thoughts refuse to flow, when inspiration is elusive....it is not a block, it is a sabbatical!

By definition, as is my wont and love of words:

Webster's Dictionary describes the word 'sabbatical' as 1) an adjective, meaning of or relating to a sabbatical year; or as 2) a noun, meaning a leave or break or change from a normal routine or employment; or again as 3) a noun, meaning a year of rest for the land observed every seventh year in ancient Judea. (http://www.merriam-webster.com/)

I think we are all aware that life is a series of neverending cycles, of beginnings, middle stages and endings. Curiously, I have noted over the years that my own life tends to run on periods of 5 - 7 year cycles. I recognized a little over two years ago that I was in the midst of a new cycle and with that huge chunk of grander change, I am also aware that there are mini-cycles taking place. This most recent one has been that sabbatical of sorts where, I am now aware, my psyche has been doing some necessary shifting. Adjusting, realigning, perhaps disposing of certain patterns that no longer serve me well, and embracing new patterns that have fresh, strong purpose. This is an inward journey for some, and others choose to physically travel the world and discover themselves outwardly.

All of this is time consuming, but while I am in the midst of the process, time seems to slow down and stretch, as though I am in a slight time warp. Where normally I might be jittery and a bit impatient, not wanting to lose momentum with my blog following, the stronger pull has been to honor this mini-sabbatical. In the back of my mind, something is resonating softly but with bright purpose and I know it requires clear energy and full attention to bring it together into a cohesive melding. Do I know what all this means? No, I really don't. That may sound a bit off kilter, as I have dedicated a full blog post to talking about what I am experiencing.

I guess I could've whittled this down to a few simple paragraphs that said I have recently taken a mini-sabbatical from blog posts. It would be true, but it wouldn't have allowed me to go on this winding trail of self-discovery. It also wouldn't have allowed me to write this stream of consciousness that I often find turns out some true gems. And to be a bit self-deprecating, I admit it wouldn't have been half as much fun, half as enjoyable as sharing my thoughts in this manner, here, with you. I like to think that many of my friends and readers enjoy going on these jaunts with me in written format, meandering the long way around and about the proverbial Back 40 before reaching the destination. Some days that destination is clear and I know where we'll end up, but more often the journey brings me to a different 'home' each time.

As I'm writing this, part of my mind is noticing that this post bears quite strong resemblance to a couple of past posts. My writer's preference is to never repeat myself - it's just a personal peeve, but this time I'm going to go ahead and give this one voice. I am posting it because I recognize that sometimes repetition occurs in our lives for the very simple purpose of imprinting a lesson. Commonly held belief is that doing something 21 times creates a pattern of habit in our brains. I cannot argue with the thought that a bit of repetition on a common theme in blog posts might help not only me, but maybe click for other people who read this post and compare it to past blog posts that have been steps in this mental reflection of mine. So, I will write this one and post it and see where it resonates, and what results occur.

This time it has brought me to the realization that for me, at least, right this moment in this past month of curious inactivity from a writing standpoint, it hasn't been writer's block. It has been a spiritual sabbatical that has allowed my Soul to do some honing and refining. Where I will admit that I was beginning to question the possibility of some true manifestation of blocking, instead I sit here, writing and smiling as I embrace a much friendlier, useful description. Not writer's block. Instead, a pause for magic! Maybe a lull...but better adapted as a sabbatical. I like it, and I think it will become a new phrase in my personal library.
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If you enjoyed this post and would like to read more, you can find me at Healing Morning blog.

my night of the sarcophagus

I began a letter to a friend...

"This is where I like to sit. The exact spot where I go and let it all come to me. I am alone with my thoughts and I feel for that moment...and realize that not everything needs to occupy my time....where the world doesn't need to model for me. Where I explore the abstract corners and wonder why people fear the questions...and are so afraid of being original. Not all are, of course..It is in the fear of failing people fail...and because of that perfection mentality people never become no more than average...fitting themselves into little compartments of acceptability.

This is not a lonely place to be...no, there is a universe of thought, of imagination that has come from this bench. A place of wonder and delight where I look at all of the pieces around and wonder what else I can see. It is the very fear of only being allowed to say certain things, be a certain way, believe in a certain set of values....that has killed the course of imagination in our world....because people believe there is nothing left to imagine...all of the ideas are bought....and in the end all of the wallpaper in the world does not produce a thing."

and I continued...

"What we give power to in our lives tells us where our hearts lay....and we raise or lower ourselves in accordance to the heart. And if that heart is sacrificed to having and acquiring things that are against what our hearts want...we are already dead and have come soulless beings that populate this earth. Reality is how we design it for ourselves. We create our lives, and if we choose not to...someone else will create it for us because we have then surrendered our ability to live."

I am not afraid of what I will say, I know what I must tell them, and most importantly, I know how to tell them.

I have had students that showed me how...and the demonstrations of not having to be perfect and allowing them to be human...within three weeks showed them miracles that resulted in tears. The shock on their faces when I told them I did not want perfection...collapsed their stress and

fear...

and revealed to them what could happen in other areas of their lives.

If you fall down, you must rise....If you fear failure, you have failed already.

Failure is an option, the best one...and now I realize why I chose to fail intentionally at certain points...I couldn't be afraid of it...

I had all high marks one term in high school...and I looked back and realized I never failed anything...and I did not know what pushed me to the thought, but I needed to fail something...and hold on to it. I picked an area I excelled it...for the next term. I went to the instructor at the beginning of the course...and I told her I need to have the experience of failure...I advised her I would not attend a single class, take a single test...I would not participate in any way...I would, in short, not show up. I told her not to drop me from the course. I needed the F. I needed that mark more than an A. It is the only F I ever received. It was my crowning achievement. I could stare at that F along with all of my As on that term and realize it was the perfect term. I had to accept the fullness of life.

Art, drawing, painting, sculpting were things I always wanted to do...Music...as well. I failed because I didn't understand that I would have had to allow myself the freedom to fail...I could sing, dance, perform, speak, write, and record....I could have been a scientist...anything of concrete nature...the perfections I saw with that kind of mind....skilled hands with dissections...biology, human anatomy...so many things I was able to do...and I wanted all of it and I wanted more. I wanted multiple lives and experiences the full expanse of each and every experience of what it meant to be human, taste here and do that...and the freedom to have a rich life.

So many adventures...experiences...and I viewed my life as having this need to do absolutely everything...I learned so much about people, and since I was never afraid where ever I went, only viewing it as another mile marker along the way...no permanence...because I saw the stream.

The range of insanity is only defined by a society...for once killing was acceptable in countries throughout the world...genocides of peoples that all nations have participated in to create room for their own. We act like viruses to each other to preserve and protect...and it betters no one.

If people think I am crazy, I would ask a careful study of one's own reflection and state simply this...you are afraid of yourself more than anyone else. You are afraid of the light and darkness that lies beneath the surface. You are afraid to find out what you are capable of. Because you are afraid of the very unknown in your own being, you will never know yourself. You will never become anything."

Pictured above is a miracle. I realized the miracle of allowing my students to fail, to imagine, to create. I was told it was impossible by everyone. "They can't do it. They don't possess that kind of ability. They can't write, they can't...they can't..."

They can. They did...and I bound them all together into a book and I sent their visions into the world. From a place where everyone told me no one can imagine because everyone has to be perfect. Information for a city that has been destroyed economically ranked as one of the worst cities in the states. The friend I wrote has been my place of solitude for years. It was often just with an open ear and heart we gave each other the freedom to fall down without judgement or criticism. I appreciate this friend for at times just in our communication it reveals truths within myself I had not seen. To have that night in the sarcophagus and face the totality of my being...to reveal the path I have to walk along the way.

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About Marilyn

And the pigeons won

I know what you're thinking: "Eew, gross, a post about pigeons? Thanks, I'll pass."

I would have felt the same. Before losing the battle with them.

Pigeons are like the vermin of the sky. Dirty city birds, associated with disease.

They have conquered my balcony.

When we first moved in three years ago into this lovely apartment in Jaipur, India, I tried really hard to banish them from our otherwise unused balcony. Scarecrow, barbed wire, the whole works. I even considered getting spikes shipped from the UK, where they have pigeon prevention down to a science.

They would make spine-tingling scratching noises on my air conditioner, like fingernails on a blackboard, on the other side of the wall, just above my head. They would try to perch along every possible and impossible window ledge. They would even enter our apartment as unwelcome guests, through a window or a door left casually ajar. When we would try to chase them out, they often flew into the glass panes of the windows.

The last time we went for an extended holiday, they took over our place. Apparently we had left a door unlocked, and it had been blown open by a gust of wind. My mother-in-law found them all over the place, managed to chase them out, and thankfully did the cleanup job. But she didn't have the heart to discard the two eggs in a nest on the balcony. She's Jain.

So we waited it out. It wasn't actually that much of a bother, except for our balcony getting covered by an ever-thickening layer of their excrement. I actually enjoyed peeking at them, inspecting their growth. At first, they were fuzzy and indistinguishable from any other cute chicks. It wasn't long before they took flight.

But now, they're back. I had discarded three nest attempts. I suppose the mother was just dying to get the eggs out, because it happened so suddenly and with so little support--just a few twigs, and the concave drain-covering as a base. I also found it difficult to chuck the eggs, so decided to leave them this time.

Who am I to get in the way of Mother Nature?

--Becky blogs at BeckyBlab.

On Domesticated men and Handy women

 It was Mother's Day, I entered my mother-in-law's kitchen, to behold a sight I would rather not see:

Mother-in-law and sister-in-law cutting up fruit and sausages and cheese and things for consumption by the brothers and husbands in the living room. 

If my husband was there, he would not be sitting down. (He was at a soccer referee training day). 

I asked them about this curiosity, especially considering it was Mother's Day - my brother-in laws are not inconsiderate people - they were acting this way by habit, in fact everyone was acting in habit. 

Like the habit of saying this in response to my question ( I think I have been asking this for years) offered up by both mother-in-law and sister-in-law:

"We would have to explain too much to them, so its just easier to do it ourselves."

WAH?

Indeed. If you have a husband or brothers or sons that never get in the kitchen because it is too difficult to explain how to do stuff, then you have created your own problem, it seems, to me. Someone took the time to explain stuff to you  - and my mother-in-law did not find it frustrating to explain this to her daughters...as did my mother....hmmm. Is it the idea that men are not naturally capable? How come there are so many male Chefs, sous, pastry and other? How come there are so many men capable of running their own households laundry, cooking and all? Are they freaks of nature? I think not.

I will be bold and say, flat out that men are not naturally incapable in the kitchen - it has nothing to do with nature  - and everything to do with nurture and socializing - everything to do with whether they are given the keys to the kitchen...or not. If they haven't, it is not too late. Start small, appeal to them on mother's day - of all days, I think this is one day even the most gendered of men would feel an obligation to help out if asked. 

goodness, is it 1957 ?

If you want to teach them how to do stuff, teach in a conducive environment and start with small successes that build on eachother - And don't be too picky about artful placement on a plate, just be glad the fruit is washed and cut in nice pieces, artful arrangement is a lesson further down the road, I'd say. Before you know it - voila, your man is making crepes for breakfast !

My theory is that its all about getting late-blooming men (like these specimens in this particular living room)  to do stuff in little bits they can feel comfortable with, and keep asking them to do that, and then a wee little bit more - with more experience in the kitchen, they become more open to doing more because they are getting used to it, if starts to feel.......normal...

This is just like my exposure to the preparation of a room for painting (TSPing, sanding, filling in cracks and holes with plaster and or wood filler...more sanding...priming, then painting). It took a few exposures, but now I can do it all myself if I have to - this takes the load off my husband. My husband had to have some uber patience, I will admit, but it paid off :) Misplacing his tools is another thing...

Cutting up things, like the fruit, cheese and meat in my mother-in-law's kitchen is not gender specific - men can't use knives to cut fruit but can use knives to carve turkey?

If your husband/partner can't even cut basic things in the kitchen, I think there is something going on...like someone holding too tightly onto the keys of the kitchen and maybe even to the idea of gender separation.  Maybe some people like it that way and all the resulting gender drama that ensues...?

Women who hold on too tightly to these keys, loose out on some freedom, and, I will boldly state that they cannot complain about their useless husbands or laugh at them with their girlfriends, because they had a hand in making them that way.

 My husband's family say that my husband is the most "domesticated" of the brothers and brother-in-laws - said perhaps with a bit of jealousy (?) and I think maybe an accusation that I, with my studies and such have forced the poor man to be hen pecked into the kitchen...I am not bothered by this - my husband and I are more of a partnership in the end - its useful to learn how to do stuff from eachother - useful for both of us.

I can paint/prep for painting, refinish furniture, sand, design and garden and haul things and can build Ikea furniture - I can use basic tools...and he, this life-partner of mine,  can make crepes, cook eggs and bacon, make a square meal, and with directions can make more complicated things, he vacuums, does laundry and can go grocery shopping without getting lost in aisle 3. 

We don't genderize tasks he and I - though I am far better at cooking and baking and grocery shopping, and he is far better at renovating and building - no doubt - and this is from all the experience we had in these areas before meeting eachother - our exposure to these things - and our gendered training. It is what it is. If I was exposed to building right from the start, I know I would be an ace at it by now - its not rocket science. Neither is baking or laundry. Only inexperience makes it so.

To maintain a NON-domesticated husband - is it that one wants to keep control of the domestic that gendered lines can maintain? Perhaps a status as the master of all things domestic? Maybe, perhaps...

I now have to give up my status as highly regarded crepe master, as husband has cracked the code this mother's day, and with practice, will only refine his skills...I can no longer lay claim to being the master.

Neither of us will be masters of all, but at least we can feel comfortable in the margins of these things that used to be in one gendered domain. We can provide helpful, useful support when needed - partners rather than gendered opposites.

Venus and Mars you say? People can actually create and or perpetuate that planetary divide by not trying out new skills from the "other side".

So if you want to be Venus and Mars, you can, because its your choice - it is not inevitable, it is not natural, it is made, woman/man made. I wonder how many limitations are placed on people's gifts or interests by this maintained and regulated gendered line. Yep, regulated. 

If it was natural, it wouldn't need to be regulated would it? 

If it was natural, gendered lines would naturally occur on their own. But no, we need to have social pressure put in place to "Be a man" or "act like a girl"...or there will be shame.....interesting huh?

How do you perceive the gendered divide?

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