Today has within it the seeds of possibility.
A blank canvas, my day can have an image of great beauty painted on it. My day is a white journal page, and the thoughts I write on it can speak of miracles.
But fears bay at my doorstep like eager hounds.
I want them to go away, so I'm tempted to let them in and give them something.
They're louder and louder. My legs and hands go numb as I think of the mistakes in my past, the mistakes built into my family system for generations. Like a tiny rocket, I need powerful boosters to escape the downward pull. The atmosphere here is heavy with regret.
But then I remember my metaphor of The Footbridge from an article I'm writing:
"Imagine crossing a footbridge. It’s not so hard, really. You just put one foot in front of the other. Even if it’s as old and ratty as the one Indiana Jones always seems to be crossing, you hold on. You worry, you persist, and after a little creaking and swaying, you get there.
Now imagine you’re crossing a footbridge that doesn’t yet exist. You’re building it as you walk. Each plank appears only as you step down. You have to take it on faith that the bridge will be there when you shift your weight with each footfall.
Now imagine that you don’t even know if the other end of the bridge is attached at the destination you’ve chosen, or whether you’re going to step off it to discover you’re ten miles south of where you wanted to be.
That’s how it is to try and be the good mother you never had."
I realize it's not just a metaphor about parenting. It's about creating a life when I have no clue how.
A thousand metaphors sing to me from faiths of others: "leap and the road will appear; a journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step; today is the first day of the rest of your life..."
My heart aches, wondering if I can be forgiven for my mistakes. Wondering why I should believe I deserve second chances.
But that's a story for another day.
As the words flow from me this morning, I realize it's suddenly quiet. The hounds are gone, at least for now.
Time to pour my coffee and start the day.
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
Sunday, February 28, 2010
A creative approach to life through Law of Attraction
Creativity isn't just pen & pencil or paint. Since my last post here (can you see how busy I've been? It's been a long time), I was exposed to an idea called Law of Attraction. It's fascinating to me, and I have found that discussing the ideas of it at length with others on the same path is very valuable. So I will now include posts that include my thoughts on that subject here in my "Creativity Blog." Because if a creative approach to life doesn't belong on this blog...nothing does! Here goes:
=================================
Looking out the back picture window on a Sunday morning. Dave and Nate had just left for church, and I awaited their driving by. To beep & wave at me in the picture window is our custom.
They were taking a long time, so I was able to look around at leisure. Suddenly a chipmunk popped up out of the ground and sat there in the snow, looking around. A chipmunk? I thought they hibernated all winter. Does this mean something? It sat still as a statue for the longest time. I wondered why; its behind must be getting cold sitting with its rear end in the snow like that. It occurred to me that it may have seen my movement in the window. Sure enough, as soon as I moved it disappeared quickly into a little hole right there in the yard!
My eyes swept the snowy lawn, and I noticed the tire tracks left by the car. Dave drives into the yard every time there's music equipment to pack or unload. The members of my husband's band do, too. We've been taking care not to leave the yard by doing the usual 3-point turn. I mean, I don't know why Dave doesn't do the 3-point turn. Speaking strictly for myself, I stopped doing it as soon as Nate started making his "trails" in the snow and caring what happened to them. So I back out, reusing the tracks I made coming in, and I'm not very good at it. I nearly wiped out that little fir tree that one of the Bonedogs ran over last summer. At the time, we had all been encouraged that the little tree wasn't killed by that act of carelessness. But this month I noticed that the small and valiant little evergreen was not actually green any longer. It is brown. I was tempted to think that it's dead, but I don't know that for sure. I don't know what's going on down there in its depths, or what Mother Nature has planned for it. I was tempted to do something, to prune it or some stupid move designed to "help" it, and then I remembered that it is precisely that sort of action that gets things all wrong.
First of all, Nature doesn't really need my help. Moreover, my helping sometimes just wrecks things. I will never forget that giant insect I found in Illinois back in the 90's. I had been pumping gas on a busy suburban street. The bug was sitting on the concrete, right next to the pump. I had looked around and saw noplace that the thing could go. No green plants or grass anywhere. I was sure it would just sit there, helplessly, and get stepped on. Why I didn't think it would fly away escapes me now; maybe it was a wingless creature. In any case I had picked it up with the intention of bringing it to the tree-lined college campus where I was going. I no longer remember the reason for the errand. But no sooner did I put it on the dashboard than it feel down into the vent between the dashboard and the window, never to be seen again. I was crushed. The bug would have been better off without my help. As vividly as I remember that incident, it took many more instances of helping and meddling in everything from nature to interpersonal affairs to my own career before I finally realized that none of this is my job.
As I looked out the back window I thought of the new philosophy I am studying, called Law of Attraction. What excites me about LoA is the way in which, as I listen to Abraham or other LoA teachers, I hear echoes of philosophies and wisdoms of all kinds, which I've heard all my life. It's like they are all being tied together now, suddenly making sense. It reminds me of those trick pictures that you can get where you stare at a supposedly abstract design long enough, and suddenly you can see an image.
I thought about the little brown fir tree, and started to think about it growing. I wanted to send out vibrations about it growing. But you know, there's a fine line between believing that wishing something will make it so and trying to pre-pave for a desired outcome--as Abraham calls it--with our thoughts. A conundrum, this fine line is only fine in the visual sense. It's so fine one can barely see it, but with discernment you can see that it's actually wide as the ocean. Another illusion! The difference is this: with wishing something into being, you act as though the locus of control is still with YOU. With Law of Attraction, on the other hand, your thoughts are sort of preparing the way for something to happen, but it is not really you who makes it happen. Here's another echo that came to me as I typed this. That old song I sang in high school: "prepare ye the way of the Lord." Picturing a road, with Jesus riding on a donkey, people putting down palm branches which serve no practical purpose at all, but yet they were pre-paving the way for him. But therein lies the difference and it just came to me this morning. With wishing, it is still YOU thinking that YOU are in control of how things go. But that's not the way it is. The Universe (God? Reality? Spirit?) is in control, and I think just wants us to admit it. Once we do, it's surprisingly generous. Reminds me of a parent.
=================================
Looking out the back picture window on a Sunday morning. Dave and Nate had just left for church, and I awaited their driving by. To beep & wave at me in the picture window is our custom.
They were taking a long time, so I was able to look around at leisure. Suddenly a chipmunk popped up out of the ground and sat there in the snow, looking around. A chipmunk? I thought they hibernated all winter. Does this mean something? It sat still as a statue for the longest time. I wondered why; its behind must be getting cold sitting with its rear end in the snow like that. It occurred to me that it may have seen my movement in the window. Sure enough, as soon as I moved it disappeared quickly into a little hole right there in the yard!
My eyes swept the snowy lawn, and I noticed the tire tracks left by the car. Dave drives into the yard every time there's music equipment to pack or unload. The members of my husband's band do, too. We've been taking care not to leave the yard by doing the usual 3-point turn. I mean, I don't know why Dave doesn't do the 3-point turn. Speaking strictly for myself, I stopped doing it as soon as Nate started making his "trails" in the snow and caring what happened to them. So I back out, reusing the tracks I made coming in, and I'm not very good at it. I nearly wiped out that little fir tree that one of the Bonedogs ran over last summer. At the time, we had all been encouraged that the little tree wasn't killed by that act of carelessness. But this month I noticed that the small and valiant little evergreen was not actually green any longer. It is brown. I was tempted to think that it's dead, but I don't know that for sure. I don't know what's going on down there in its depths, or what Mother Nature has planned for it. I was tempted to do something, to prune it or some stupid move designed to "help" it, and then I remembered that it is precisely that sort of action that gets things all wrong.
First of all, Nature doesn't really need my help. Moreover, my helping sometimes just wrecks things. I will never forget that giant insect I found in Illinois back in the 90's. I had been pumping gas on a busy suburban street. The bug was sitting on the concrete, right next to the pump. I had looked around and saw noplace that the thing could go. No green plants or grass anywhere. I was sure it would just sit there, helplessly, and get stepped on. Why I didn't think it would fly away escapes me now; maybe it was a wingless creature. In any case I had picked it up with the intention of bringing it to the tree-lined college campus where I was going. I no longer remember the reason for the errand. But no sooner did I put it on the dashboard than it feel down into the vent between the dashboard and the window, never to be seen again. I was crushed. The bug would have been better off without my help. As vividly as I remember that incident, it took many more instances of helping and meddling in everything from nature to interpersonal affairs to my own career before I finally realized that none of this is my job.
As I looked out the back window I thought of the new philosophy I am studying, called Law of Attraction. What excites me about LoA is the way in which, as I listen to Abraham or other LoA teachers, I hear echoes of philosophies and wisdoms of all kinds, which I've heard all my life. It's like they are all being tied together now, suddenly making sense. It reminds me of those trick pictures that you can get where you stare at a supposedly abstract design long enough, and suddenly you can see an image.
I thought about the little brown fir tree, and started to think about it growing. I wanted to send out vibrations about it growing. But you know, there's a fine line between believing that wishing something will make it so and trying to pre-pave for a desired outcome--as Abraham calls it--with our thoughts. A conundrum, this fine line is only fine in the visual sense. It's so fine one can barely see it, but with discernment you can see that it's actually wide as the ocean. Another illusion! The difference is this: with wishing something into being, you act as though the locus of control is still with YOU. With Law of Attraction, on the other hand, your thoughts are sort of preparing the way for something to happen, but it is not really you who makes it happen. Here's another echo that came to me as I typed this. That old song I sang in high school: "prepare ye the way of the Lord." Picturing a road, with Jesus riding on a donkey, people putting down palm branches which serve no practical purpose at all, but yet they were pre-paving the way for him. But therein lies the difference and it just came to me this morning. With wishing, it is still YOU thinking that YOU are in control of how things go. But that's not the way it is. The Universe (God? Reality? Spirit?) is in control, and I think just wants us to admit it. Once we do, it's surprisingly generous. Reminds me of a parent.
Friday, October 16, 2009
Too little time
It can be a curse to be creative. Take, for example, the Print & Pattern blog that fellow artist Karissa Chase recently shared on Facebook:
http://printpattern.blogspot.com/
This blog is a delight to look at, but at the same time it gives me a crushing headache and the desire to hide under a piece of furniture. How can this be?
I'll tell you. I want to be able to take my art "out there" someday to the licensing world, and in particular this clean style of illustration (for lack of a better term....whatever IS it called, anyway) is something I don't know how to do. Something tells me it is done in Illustrator. Being self-taught and not having enough money to buy Illustrator, I am not yet up to speed on that program. Not to mention the time it would take.
And as I mentioned, I am trying to write.
And market my cat art as it exists in its current form, which is acrylic painted, primitive in style.
And mother, and homeschool, and once in a while wave a mop at my house in hopes that I can make it look a little less like the Munsters' home.
I am whining, I admit it. But I just don't know what to do. Sometimes it is easier just to blog and forget the whole thing. A nice online version of water-treading that gets me absolutely nowhere, not the slightest bit closer to my goals.
http://printpattern.blogspot.com/
This blog is a delight to look at, but at the same time it gives me a crushing headache and the desire to hide under a piece of furniture. How can this be?
I'll tell you. I want to be able to take my art "out there" someday to the licensing world, and in particular this clean style of illustration (for lack of a better term....whatever IS it called, anyway) is something I don't know how to do. Something tells me it is done in Illustrator. Being self-taught and not having enough money to buy Illustrator, I am not yet up to speed on that program. Not to mention the time it would take.
And as I mentioned, I am trying to write.
And market my cat art as it exists in its current form, which is acrylic painted, primitive in style.
And mother, and homeschool, and once in a while wave a mop at my house in hopes that I can make it look a little less like the Munsters' home.
I am whining, I admit it. But I just don't know what to do. Sometimes it is easier just to blog and forget the whole thing. A nice online version of water-treading that gets me absolutely nowhere, not the slightest bit closer to my goals.
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
Pulled in too many directions
It may seem, at first glance, like things aren't that well in my creative life. After all, I have not blogged here in months! The truth is, I've been doing too much to blog.
Some time within the last month or so, I have decided to take my writing seriously. I've been writing personally for as long as I can remember, and have a trunk full of journals to prove it. But I recently became too fed up with sitting on the outside looking in for it to continue one more day.
It's one thing to suspect I probably should have been a writer, when all the writers I know of are strangers, far away. They are mere names at the library, or on the bookstore shelves, or sitting on Oprah's couch on a book tour, smiling blankly at me from book jackets. But it became altogether different when my friends and fellow moms revealed themselves to be writers. Real people--right at arm's length! Human beings! Mortals, juggling family responsibilities just like mine! Oh hell, I can do this, I thought. I ought to get in the game and stop stalling, stop waiting for that perfect world where someone's paying my bills for me and I have 8 hours each day in front of a sunny window, coffee cup in hand and cat in lap, before I start pushing myself to stretch. Not just to spill into a notebook, but to go back, to edit, to improve.
[Mind you, I don't do much of any of that in my blogging. Who has the time? I am lucky I get to speak here at all, but I digress.]
I just knew it was time, not only to work on my non-fiction essays, to polish them up and send them out for publication, but also to tackle the age-old question: why don't I ever write fiction? Personality-wise, and in the way I think and observe the world, I seem so much like so many writers out there--fiction writers. So the other day I bought a copy of The Writer's Digest Guide to Creativity, and started to try their fiction prompts. What fun! And I've also begun to take the advice of every writing book or article I've read thus far: read, read, read. This is where I have historically fallen flat, and could be why I have never been drawn to fiction.
Meanwhile, the daily responsibilities of my life continue: housewife, homeschooling mom, freelance artist....so blogging sometimes has to wait. It's worth it.
Some time within the last month or so, I have decided to take my writing seriously. I've been writing personally for as long as I can remember, and have a trunk full of journals to prove it. But I recently became too fed up with sitting on the outside looking in for it to continue one more day.
It's one thing to suspect I probably should have been a writer, when all the writers I know of are strangers, far away. They are mere names at the library, or on the bookstore shelves, or sitting on Oprah's couch on a book tour, smiling blankly at me from book jackets. But it became altogether different when my friends and fellow moms revealed themselves to be writers. Real people--right at arm's length! Human beings! Mortals, juggling family responsibilities just like mine! Oh hell, I can do this, I thought. I ought to get in the game and stop stalling, stop waiting for that perfect world where someone's paying my bills for me and I have 8 hours each day in front of a sunny window, coffee cup in hand and cat in lap, before I start pushing myself to stretch. Not just to spill into a notebook, but to go back, to edit, to improve.
[Mind you, I don't do much of any of that in my blogging. Who has the time? I am lucky I get to speak here at all, but I digress.]
I just knew it was time, not only to work on my non-fiction essays, to polish them up and send them out for publication, but also to tackle the age-old question: why don't I ever write fiction? Personality-wise, and in the way I think and observe the world, I seem so much like so many writers out there--fiction writers. So the other day I bought a copy of The Writer's Digest Guide to Creativity, and started to try their fiction prompts. What fun! And I've also begun to take the advice of every writing book or article I've read thus far: read, read, read. This is where I have historically fallen flat, and could be why I have never been drawn to fiction.
Meanwhile, the daily responsibilities of my life continue: housewife, homeschooling mom, freelance artist....so blogging sometimes has to wait. It's worth it.
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
Found an old sketch pad tonight
I was clearing out an old corner of the basement tonight and came across one of my old sketch pads. I am so glad I opened it up to take a peek, though I must say it was rather jarring. Inside this modest 5x8 sketch pad was a glimpse into my life in the year I first met my husband. The sketch pad is full of--(get ready for it)--sketches!
You may wonder why that sounds weird, but let me tell you that eleven years later, sitting here typing at 9 pm with a 6-year old still chattering to himself in his room when he's supposed to be asleep, the idea of having a sketch pad and the kind of time to not only DO a ton of fun stuff but then DRAW it all as it happened.....it strikes me as breathtaking. Nowadays, I can't even sit and read for five minutes without some interruption or some duty, beckoning. But I digress. Let me share with you one of the things I wrote in the sketch pad. It's a favorite of mine.
When You Walk, You See the Cats - 4/24/98
"I have lived in this neighborhood a week or two already, and every day I've looked at it through the window of my car. I zoom to and from work or errands, only fleetingly aware that this section of town exudes history and elegance. Old colonial houses, set amid giant trees at least the same age, speak of a time gone by, and I am usually too harried to listen. Today I decided to do what always must be done--set out on foot.
"When you walk, you see it all up close. Slowed down, you can hear it all--every kind of bird, every child's voice, every strain of music drifting through an open window. You can smell the food being cooked, the barbecues, spring's new flowers and the fallen buds that cover the ground fresh from last night's rain. And walking is when you see the cats. In windows, on steps, curled on porch chairs and baking in the sun on the driveway.
"A cat lover, I enjoy knowing where the neighborhood cats live. I don't know what good it really does me to know such a thing, but it makes me smile to pass them by, to see their tranquil, smile-like gazes. Outside, a cat is king or queen of the kingdom. You can see it in their body language. And they are so beautiful against whatever backdrop, especially this one. Quiet, fragrant, alive with spring getting under way. Beneath this blue evening sky, these grand old houses, these are my new neighbors. I am glad I walked tonight."
You may wonder why that sounds weird, but let me tell you that eleven years later, sitting here typing at 9 pm with a 6-year old still chattering to himself in his room when he's supposed to be asleep, the idea of having a sketch pad and the kind of time to not only DO a ton of fun stuff but then DRAW it all as it happened.....it strikes me as breathtaking. Nowadays, I can't even sit and read for five minutes without some interruption or some duty, beckoning. But I digress. Let me share with you one of the things I wrote in the sketch pad. It's a favorite of mine.
When You Walk, You See the Cats - 4/24/98
"I have lived in this neighborhood a week or two already, and every day I've looked at it through the window of my car. I zoom to and from work or errands, only fleetingly aware that this section of town exudes history and elegance. Old colonial houses, set amid giant trees at least the same age, speak of a time gone by, and I am usually too harried to listen. Today I decided to do what always must be done--set out on foot.
"When you walk, you see it all up close. Slowed down, you can hear it all--every kind of bird, every child's voice, every strain of music drifting through an open window. You can smell the food being cooked, the barbecues, spring's new flowers and the fallen buds that cover the ground fresh from last night's rain. And walking is when you see the cats. In windows, on steps, curled on porch chairs and baking in the sun on the driveway.
"A cat lover, I enjoy knowing where the neighborhood cats live. I don't know what good it really does me to know such a thing, but it makes me smile to pass them by, to see their tranquil, smile-like gazes. Outside, a cat is king or queen of the kingdom. You can see it in their body language. And they are so beautiful against whatever backdrop, especially this one. Quiet, fragrant, alive with spring getting under way. Beneath this blue evening sky, these grand old houses, these are my new neighbors. I am glad I walked tonight."
Sunday, July 19, 2009
"Baby books" for dogs and cats
Pet owners, I need to hear from you. Word has it that serious pet owners would enjoy having a "baby book" to commemorate the events of their pet's life. Not to mention it would be a great gift to give a pet owner who just got a new puppy or kitten (or ferret, or chinchilla......)
So tell me, what kinds of pages would you like to see in a baby book for a pet? To get started, I would guess:
--a page for the day the pet first came home (and photo of course)
--a page for his favorite places to go
--a page for his favorite animal friends, if any
--a page for the favorite toys
--a page for silly destructive things the pet did (like the day the dog ate the couch stuffing or pooped out little Johnny's long-lost ping pong balls; that sort of thing)
--a page about the pet's grooming experiences
...now, mind you, there are pet books out there, and I could look at them, but I am trying to be original rather than copy someone else's format.
Thanks for any input!
So tell me, what kinds of pages would you like to see in a baby book for a pet? To get started, I would guess:
--a page for the day the pet first came home (and photo of course)
--a page for his favorite places to go
--a page for his favorite animal friends, if any
--a page for the favorite toys
--a page for silly destructive things the pet did (like the day the dog ate the couch stuffing or pooped out little Johnny's long-lost ping pong balls; that sort of thing)
--a page about the pet's grooming experiences
...now, mind you, there are pet books out there, and I could look at them, but I am trying to be original rather than copy someone else's format.
Thanks for any input!
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
Mini Journals
I am so happy to say I can finally make & bind my own journals!! So far, they've been featuring my kitty art, but the sky really is the limit. The hardest thing seems to be narrowing down my options. Kitties? Doggie "baby books"? Scrapbooks, journals, text, patterns.....? Oh my.
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