This One Wild and Precious Life

 

I finally got around to adding one of my most favorite lines of poetry (from Mary Oliver's The Summer Day) to canvas and know that this will be one of many works I add for inspiration in my home.  I love poetry and quotes and special strings of words that arouse my spirit and find that all too often I keep them hidden in the pages of my journal where there are not reflected upon as often as I would like.  Now I can take my favorite ones and rotate them and even give them away as they feel called to be with someone else that needs them.

This morning after a long walk with Miss Butters I sat down with a cup of heavily creamed but still quite strong coffee and Susannah Conways workbook,UNRAVELLING THE YEAR AHEAD 2013 (which also spends time reflecting upon the current year).  Please check out this link for yourself and make time for this wonderful exercise...I promise you will find all kinds of secrets within your soul just waiting to be written upon the page:   http://www.susannahconway.com/2012/12/2013-workbook/

I needed this reflection after the past 3 weeks of packing and moving and travelling back and forth between homes.  A new family has moved into our old home and I have fingers crossed that in the new year this will be their new home, full of their new dreams.  It is another chapter in my life, and a huge one in my married life, that is now over.  Alan built the home for us right after we were married and we had many dreams of the life that would be lived there, some of which came to be and some that are still to be realized and written. 

Writing about the year and gently reflecting upon it helped me to seek closure and celebration for this beautiful and messy life. This afternoon feels lighter somehow and there is the taste of possibility and a vision of a new path forming in my mind for our future.  I dream of a bungalow near the sea with an herb garden and a vegetable garden in lieu of a lawn.  There is an idea of community involvement and community gardens and paintings hung in cafes. There are renewed dreams of a child and morning walks and evening lullaby's.  There is a sense of hope that I will find the truest sense of love and belonging within myself and there is a vision of a book being written on the same table shared with paints and bobbles of other creations. 

I wish you the warmest of holidays snuggled up with your favorite loves and the bright possibility of an abundantly wild and precious New Year.  xoxo

Days Thirteen And Fourteen: Favorite Things-Painting and Poetry

A Few of My Paintings and Books of Poetry

Even though I disappeared for a few days and this is technically day 17, I wanted to finish this series with two more of my favorite things, Poetry and Painting.  By the way, day 13 was spent  perusing aisle after aisle of books on fiction, poetry, geography, field guides, crafts, and cooking at a local used book store.  My neck hurt a little after over two hours of craning it to the left and right to read all of the book spines.  I left empty handed but with a head full of ideas and headed to a craft store to pick up a few tubes of paint and a new canvas.  On my way to the check out (after fighting the "I want's" for new journals and more paint I didn't need but wanted) I spotted two books on painting and stopped to check these out.  I had heard of both of these books (Brave Intuitive Painting by Flora S. Bowley and Daring Adventures in Paint by Mati Rose McDonough) and have been eager to check them out.  After flipping through both books, I decided I would get Flora Bowley's book since I had taken an online painting class with Mati already but was new to Flora's work. I had a 20% coupon that made the purchase even more attractive and decided this would be my birthday gift to myself.  Day 14 (my birthday) was spent enjoying the gift of time with my family over a shared meal at my mother and dad's house.  We had lasagna, a huge fresh salad and chocolate cake with chocolate icing topped with roasted hazelnuts.

Both the reading and the writing of poetry have long been a favorite of mine.  After years of dormancy I began writing poetry again after attending a retreat and taking a workshop with the most wondrous Susan Wooldridge.  What a gift she gave me in finding this lost piece of myself!  Reading poetry is a balm to my soul and a reminder that I am not alone no matter how wretched I may feel at times. I initially fell in love with Whitman and then Rumi through the translations of Coleman Barks.  These days I find joy and solace in the works of Mary Oliver and John O'Donohue. It is hard to explain how a poem can move you and change you, but it can, and will.  This poem by Mary Oliver is one that stays always near the surface of my thoughts, the last two lines a question worth answering again and again :

The Summer Day

by Mary Oliver

 

Who made the world?

Who made the swan, and the black bear?
Who made the grasshopper?
This grasshopper, I mean—
the one who has flung herself out of the grass,
the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,
who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down—
who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.
Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.
Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.
I don't know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,
which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?

I began painting about 2 years ago when I signed up to take an online painting course, Get Your Paint On, taught by Lisa Congdon and Mati Rose McDonough.  With the exception of a few items (a mannequin face and wooden boxes) that I painted for a friends store years ago, I had not painted since high school.  I loved the techniques taught in this class and the images that began to appear in my work.  While my work is not purely intuitive (I generally go in with an idea) I still see in retrospect how the subjects I painted were reflective of what I was feeling at the time. Two of my favorite paintings, the Seahorses, were reflective of our struggle with fertility.  The dragonfly that I painted around the same time symbolized not only how these creatures were appearing everywhere I went but also served as a totem of sorts for the change and deeper thinking that was taking place in my life.  The painter that has long inspired me for his brilliant color, texture, and emotion is Vincent Van Gogh.

These days I have been contemplating combining words and paint on canvas because there are quotes and lines from poems that I want to have in front of me as a reminder and prompt.  The last two lines of The Summer Day poem will be my first combination. 

I would love it if you shared your favorite poets and poems and painters and paintings too.

Day Eleven: Favorite Things-Questions

My unfinished mixed media painting answering the question, What Brings You Light?

I like questions, more so when I am the one asking them than when the tables are turned.  It almost always makes me feel like a spotlight is shining on me and unless I really feel comfortable with the person asking the question, it feels too much like a test and pressure and my mind goes blank or blurts out goofy answers.  But when I am the one asking the question of myself, well that feels different and illuminating and the question becomes a path paved with my own truth. 

A particular question that resonates with me is What Gets You Out of Bed in The Morning?  I think that while the core of the answer may stay the same, it can also change as your life changes. When I first read this question I wrote it on a sticky note and posted it directly on my computer so I would be forced to answer it every morning before I stumbled blindly into my day.  I never could come up with a good one-liner answer either.  I loved this question so much because I had the hardest time wrapping my head around an answer that was true for me.  My answer was a run on sentence of sorts.  And as I was doing a lot of self-work at the time this question then became What Do You Want to Accomplish Today? One particularly blue day when I felt lost and unanchored the question  evolved to What Brings You Light? 

For days and even weeks every time I came across a word or phrase that described what brought me light I cut it out and placed it on a large square black foam board.  I loved watching the words accumulate and build into their own mosaic story.  And this question is a re-set button of sorts for me, a reminder to seek the light and the things that bring me light when I feel overwhelmed or that darkness is encroaching.  I still have not finished this piece either  I assembled all the words in the middle of a swirly sunshine and I think that each swirly ray will eventually be covered in answers to this question as well.

What Brings You Light?

Here are a few links to other questions that I have also found helpful:

http://personalexcellence.co/blog/101-questions-to-ask-yourself/

http://www.oprah.com/spirit/Martha-Becks-20-Questions-That-Could-Change-Your-Life_1/1

Stellar Debris

Bubbles, Curacao 2009

My name is Copper Penny,
child of turquoise waters and
indigo skies.

An algebraic formula of
harmonious delight.
Star dust fallen to the ocean;
Iron, calcium, and carbon
swirled in salty luminosity.

Alive and calm,
enveloped in a familial embrace,
the gurgle and echo of my own breath
a meditation sparking primordial memory.

She Whispers

collect sacred poetry
as it is revealed
in pools
of illuminated
familial fluid.

And then, unburdened
meet
the rhythmic lessons

      waves
               walk
  clearing     
           bursts
                          listen
                 glint
                          sway

Word Whispers

This morning these words were whispering in my ear....

I am not the piece of furniture that others see as old and ugly and abhor.
I am not the brokenness in the cane of the chair that needs fixing.
I am not the rug that needs to be cleaned or the reason that it is soiled.
I am not the reason you are out of sorts like a rubber band stretched too far.
I am not even the fresh-picked basil that lends the lively taste to the baked ziti,
(But sometimes I would love to be the cheese)
I am not the illness inside of you any more than I am the medicine that allows you to regain your strength.
I am not the lawn or what the lawn will look like months from now when I am gone.
I am not in charge of every holiday much less the universe.
I am not really the reason that you smile even though I would like to believe it to be true.
I am blue, green, and gold with a patina deepening along my edges.

I hope some part of this resonates with you and you too will recognize what you are not and how deeply your truth resides beyond the superficial.

All of This....

This morning I was struck with how very much I am in love with my life right now.  Somewhere between walking through the dewy grass and having my flip-flopped feet tickled, searching for four leaf clovers, telling Butters that the crashing and ruffling sounds in the woods were wild monkeys at play and catching the late morning shadow display on my kitchen window seal I was prompted to write this: 

Today if I listened

I would hear my own voice say

"If not now, when".

And

"It is ok that you have several projects

and works of art in process,

but you need to ask yourself

if you are exploring your creative options or

if you are running away from your greatness?"

And

"Sometimes greatness hurts because it
stretches you and expands you to the point
you think you may burst.  This can be scary, but it
is necessary just like taking a deep

breath before you dive deep into the water searching for

sea shells."

And

"Are you stopping one thing and jumping to another because it is getting harder?

Everyday is a work in progress,

everyday you learn more and push through

to greater understanding,

to deeper connection,
to less needs,

to the world around you is enough."

The splendor of light flooding through the window pane at 4 pm,
the hiss and hum of the air conditioner soothing the need for quiet,
the birdsong that is the background soundtrack playing throughout the day.
Letting my hair air dry,
Wearing an apron
splattered in paint as my
new uniform of choice.

All of this.
And the space and time to write this down.
All such beautiful gifts.

From My Mother's Garden



Peonies in kitchen

Every Tuesday my Mother and I spend the evening together.  It has been this way since I was in college and as long as I have lived locally.  In college she came to see me on Wednesday evenings and took me out to dinner and listened to me talk giddily about whatever struck my fancy at the time or weep in frailty at whatever I was struggling to come to terms with.  She was always there. No matter what. 

After college when I moved back home we no longer had our one night a week because we had every day and every evening together so to speak.  Then I moved to Asheville and then later to Virginia.  The years that I was away we burnt up the phone lines and also the roads going back and forth to visit each other.



Peony close-up

Eventually I came home again and took refuge in my parents home enjoying quiet days on the farm and walking through the woods.  I think this was the year I talked them into to planting one of their biggest gardens yet and later disappeared to be with my friends instead of helping pick and can and freeze all of the bounty it produced.  Before long I was back out on my own but living close by and that is when the Tuesday evenings started.  I bought my first home in the summer of 2001 so it has been 10 years now since we started this tradition.  Sometimes we have taken classes together but we have always been together.  We share secrets, stories, memories, joys, triumphs, defeats, food, poems, books, back scratches, hugs, and the quiet presence of understanding.

In the spring and summer we enjoy talking about, shopping for and sharing plants.  This year she has brought me fern and vinca vine and last night along with the beautiful peonies she brought me blue salvia.  I cannot wait to see how big it gets.  Vila had the first blue salvia I had ever seen when she lived in Virginia and I remember falling in love with it then.



The peonies are transplants from my grandmother's garden.  I remember exactly where they were planted beside the red rose bush between her driveway and the neighbors.  This same rose bush served as my drive through bank when I was a little girl playing make believe and I would drive up to the "teller" on my pink huffy bicycle.  My grandmother would always ask my Mother or me to go cut a peony for her and two rose buds for ourselves for Mother's Day Sunday at church.  She wore the white peony in remembrance of her Mother who had passed and we wore the red roses in remembrance of our Mother's who were still very much alive.

Peonies outside in the sun

I love that these peonies are a gift from both my Mother and my Grandmother.  I was struck with the heady aroma of them as soon as I walked into the kitchen this morning.  And then I thought, the best things in life really are free.

Flowers... are a proud assertion that a ray of beauty outvalues all the utilities of the world.  ~Ralph Waldo Emerson, 1844

Dear Future Self

Earlier this week when I was having a really great day I flipped ahead in my journal to almost the very end and wrote my future self a letter.  You see I have been having enormous shifts lately in perspective, mood, emotion, focus, self esteem, in my home and in my relationships. You name it, it is shifting.  So while I was having this great day where I felt like nothing could possibly bring me down I thought I had better write my future self a note because she was going to need it.  I also thought with all of this shifting taking place I may lose sight of important goals and activities that help ground me.   The funny thing is that I was having such a great day that I think that I wrote to her a little too far in the future because the next day I sure could have used her advice.  That really great day that I was having was followed by three days blazing downhill.

Today has been another great day however.  Ordinary really, but trust me after this roller coaster that is exactly what I wanted.  Just.Ordinary.That.Is.It.  And in the stillness it came to me. Why not send your future self an e-mail or two or 30 for that matter.  Just quick one liners like..Are you doing things for YOU or for other people because when you please yourself at least someone is happy.  I read that somewhere this week and loved it. This may sound selfish but for someone that almost always thinks of how something will effect everyone else before I think of how it will effect me, well this is big.  Or how about....It has been about 28 days and that may be why you are craving chocolate more than normal and crying while watching a butterfly float by.  I mean I do love chocolate and I am tenderhearted but trust me some of this is just hormones too.  Ones I really need right now...This too shall pass.  All of this is just a cycle and you are headed in the right direction.  Think the best of people, that is really who you are and that is really how people react to you when you do.  Have you worked out lately?  Remember how much this gives you an instant mood lift?  Pizza is good for you and makes you happy...maybe today would be a good day to treat yourself to a slice. 

What do you do when you are in a funk and need a reminder that life really is good?  I hope that life is so very good for you right now.  I know it is for me, but like I said my future self may really need a reminder.

Spilling Truth

The truth is
that I had dreams for this room.
I had dreams for every room
that included little voices,
and little feet
that have not yet joined me in this world.

In packing and sorting and purging
I am spilling over with the truth of
what is not
and what may never be
and what was
wished for and wanted.

The truth comes spilling
down my cheeks
in salty rivulets
that make it hard to
remember or
realize or
even understand and accept
that the universe is unfolding
exactly as it should be.

And so I will create.
What I can.
What I am given and allowed.
In place of that
which is barren.