When everything you think you know, changes…
When everything you think you know
what do you do then?
When all that you dreamed you might cause
what do you dream then?
When who you thought you were
how then to re-invent?
When how you believed the world to be
how shall you trust again?
When the ideas of childhood are no longer
how do you re-connect to innocence?
When the instruction manual you have been using
what step-by-step do you follow?
When the life you thought you would have
is out of view
how then shall you claim a new one?
When the paradigm you were living in
no longer makes sense
how do you enter one that matches who you are?
When your heart hurts and the crack is opening
how do you continue to love and to listen?
When the unraveling has begun you must just wait
on the Beloved.
Sit in the broken sanctuary of your own heart
even if the wonder and cries are so loud,
that you cry all day. Know that you are not alone.
Don’t try to get through it, get it done
or rush to the next thing or to resolution
or the illusiveness of completion.
Don’t make up new stories to go in the place
of the old ones.
Sit in the discomfort and the spaciousness.
Practice the thought that somewhere in your consciousness you have a memory or thought that sounds something like this…. Make it into your own prayer if you can…or make up your own and just keep the prayer wheel turning.
Healing is possible
Creator built renewal into my bones
The heart knows how to do it’s work
Allow me to be present for this process
Give me the strength and courage to hold on
I surrender knowing what it will look like
while at the same time claiming to be a part
of the great unfolding of my life, and this life
I will not rush myself
I will not let others dictate my own cadence
I will wait on the Beloved
I will practice faith even when I don’t know what that is.
And I will continue to open myself to miracles
Don’t let your paintbrush get to dry. Don’t let your dancing shoes stay too new. Don’t let the ink in your pen dry up. Don’t let the words in your heart remain unsaid. Don’t stop paying attention to the sparkles. And by all means, make another cup of tea or coffee and take a walk with God.
How can I explain how writing is, for someone who has her eardrum pressed to the earth? Thump thump boom boom boom thump thump. Shhhhhh listen…
You pick up the pen and follow a tiny red thread where it leads. Just a bit of fluff no bigger than a loose thread on the edge of the cuff of your favorite red coat that you just snap off quickly and then you have it in your hand. But instead of stuffing it in your pocket or just dropping it for the wind to carry, you look at it. Touch it. Roll it between your fingers.
Hmmmmm. Someone made it. Someone touched it before it got stitched onto your favorite red coat. Even this tiny thread has a story….you begin to hear it….thump thump boom boom boom as if the tiny thread connects you to the unraveling story of a stranger you have never met. If you keep going, you will follow your thread to theirs. Sometimes
that is how stories are written, and poems. It may have a tiny thread from you and so be connected to you, but it becomes something wider and deeper than you are. Hence we could write something profoundly depressing and not have to be depressed ourselves. Artists and writers, are like that. We don’t just tell our own stories.
Not to say that I don’t have a broken heart of my own right now. I do. I am not depressed per say, but I am sitting in my own spaciousness and wonder. Not forcing myself to joy, while enjoying every delicious minute the world yeilds onto my expectant palette. I am waiting on God and listening between the particles.
After I dropped that thread from my red coat, the first robin of 2011 picked it up and put it into her nest. I saw her the other day….so happy to see her I cannot even say…I didn’t know then she would know how to use my broken threads for new life.
I love the Chinese legend that says that those who are supposed to meet are connected by an invisible red thread since before birth. Sometimes even poems are like that. Connected to you since before birth. And paintings too.
And ideas you are called to live. And relationships you are called to live into.
May you reach for the red thread of hope. I am extending it to you, from my hand to yours….
This day for me is dedicated to two very close friends that I have lost recently. And I know I am not alone. The messages of heartbreak and loss are pouring in. And so today as I sat to pray, and allowed spirit to move my hand.
My faithful kittens now so huge I have to reach around them to type, purr on my heart as I write.
Want to come paint with me? When you are ready…we shall paint our prayers.
This is also dedicated to all of you who have had loss and don’t know where to turn. I don’t have answers as you can see – only more questions. I do know, as I have always shared, paint. write. dance. pray your way through. I myself have to get back to painting…before my brush dries.
Dedicated to Santos. He made a warrior move and his life and light was extinguished. He was my big sister’s lover for a long time. The first man, when I was a little girl to truly teach me about class, style, and how to fix my hair. There is a sense that he gave me about my own worth, that I have carried in the locket of my heart since I was seven years old.
A truly and completely original human being.
Dedicated to Nancy. Whose life was taken by Cancer, after 4 years of stage 4. A doula, artist, grandmother, leader, and profound optimist. A woman who was part of my chosen family, who loved unreasonably, and who always believed she would live no matter what. The Benediction is a note she wrote me a little over a month before she died when she learned I was closing the gallery.
FROM NANCY DUCEY
I hope that your heart is healing. Be willing for the healing to happen in its own time, Sing sweetly to the hurt and gently massage the tender pink of closing wounds. This, I know, takes time…like turning the pure white of Mother Earth’s precious clay into a form of newness never before imagined.
My health issues continue to shape my day to day world. I haven’t lost hope nor the will to keep connected to the living. I find my mind reawakening to creative thought and expression. Words return and ideas bubble up from once closed depths. I am hopeful that a similar action is taking place among the many cells that create my whole. Life is good and I am grateful.