Creating Comes with Soup and Symbols

The house smells like heaven on a busy day!

Ginger tea. A hint of freshly dried towels. A spritz of Santa Maria Herb Water from Santa Maria Novella in Firenze, to bless a canvas.

And, like a bass note under it all, gallons of chicken bone broth bubbling on the stove, gently suggesting Vidalia onions and garlic and herbs from the garden.

All, by the way, embodied right brain sorts of things. (If you’re new to the bone broth magic, click here for a starter recipe. Just substitute roasted chicken bones for the turkey!)

The studio feels a bit like I imagine the Garden of Eden must have looked on the seventh day. Except for the resting part, for creation is happening there, too, despite the fact that the world feels a bit more like it’s time to build an ark.

In between tending the soup cauldron and adding carefully selective glaze coats, I am pondering symbols, for several of my works-in-progress are calling for them.

Often guided imagery is involved. Many of you have been there with me before. Here’s a short sample version:

You’re walking through your favorite empowering place… focusing on your vision… your dream… suddenly a guide or angel or spirit animal appears and offers you an image… what is it and how do you feel having it? 

Frankly, I struggle with these sorts of exercises! I am not primarily a visual processor. I don’t often see images in my head. At least not consciously. Instead my experience is something closer to perception. I can tell you what the image or symbol would look like if I could see it.

And, on a good day, I can paint something pretty close to that which I cannot see.

Nonetheless, symbols fascinate me. We tend to claim the ones that resonate with us, whether out of familiarity or curiosity. They come from our history, our families, our spiritual traditions, even – at least in my case – our love of dogs. Or cats or horses or hawks or bees or roses or dragonflies or red thread.

And symbols are a way to get more conscious about our beliefs. Both our chosen beliefs and those we might prefer to un-choose at this point in our journeys.

For me, this cocoon, if you will, of chicken soup and fresh towels and hatching symbols has had me musing on the power of Creation. And frankly, the language for such musing is getting more complicated for me as I learn to appreciate traditions other than my own.

And then a new thought appeared in my soul, literally while I was adjusting the temp under the soup.

Paul Tillich.

It’s been about 30 years since I spent much time hanging with Tillich, who was, according to Wikipedia, “a German-American Christian existentialist philosopher and Lutheran Protestant theologian (1886-1965). 

Tillich taught widely, including at Union Theological Seminary in New York and at Columbia University. One of his students grew up to become a hugely important teacher in my own journey, Dr. C. Benton Kline.

Sadly, we don’t have time for all the Ben stories, though you can ask me sometime about my favorite Ben moment which happened when Bill and I got married.

It was from Ben that I learned of Tillich’s references to God as the Ground of all Being. The ground upon which all beings exist.

I’m not sure I was ready for that framework 30 years ago. Maybe it just didn’t squeeze through my filters.

It certainly seems to be pitching a tent inside me these days! It’s actively shaping my symbols. And it is, somehow, urging me toward action in the world which is deeply, but not merely, symbolic.

This week I joined a grassroots organization of people like you and me called Grandmothers Against Gun Violence.

And, through August 25th, I will donate 15% of my proceeds from all art sales on my Fine Art Marketplace page to Grandmothers Against Gun Violence.

Just go to the page and click on an image to read a bit about its story and find the options for prints.  Or leave a comment if you have questions. E-mail works, too.

Now is a great time to visit. Three new images went up today! There are museum quality wrapped canvases and archival watercolor giclées in several sizes, which come with certificates of authenticity, as well as images on poster paper. In some cases, originals are available. And Barry and his team do a great job with shipping.

There’s a legendary old quote that says, “Art will save the world.” I hope so! In the meantime, I’m totally convinced that art created and selected intentionally to set symbols of healing free in the world will, indeed, get us closer and closer to the loving and just creation intended by the Ground of all Being.

Art really doesn’t have to match the couch. Consider the glimpse, above, of my Taliswoman/Artist painting who either matches everything or nothing!

Come check it out. Find a symbol that calls to you. And do some good in the world.

It doesn’t get much better than that!

 

Fierce Hearts and Gardens

Me without words is, generally speaking, a bit of an oxymoron! And yet, that’s pretty much the way I’ve been feeling.

A couple of days ago I got a text from a dear friend. I’m sharing it here, with permission of course, because it has lodged in my heart.

…a side note – if you prayer dot today, put some up for me and [Joe]. He’s angry and sad and frustrated over shootings and we’re trying to decide how to respond. I sent him off to church today while I crawl under covers (our usual responses, him outward, me inward), scared the church could be targeted, or his school tomorrow, etc. We’ll be donating and/or writing later and registering him to vote the minute he turns 17 1/2 (presidential elections are days after his 18th birthday!), but throwing up extra prayer dots at this point can’t hurt.

IMG_5693Fortunately, I have a painting in progress that was happy to volunteer for dots. Finger dots, this time. On their way to being a meadow beneath a Klimpt-esque tree of life.

And while I made dots, I pondered.

The friend on Facebook under attack for expressing her views on moving toward effective gun safety laws in the USA.

A high school kid who should be worried about dance try outs afraid that his church or school will be attacked. A suburban kid with an educated family and plans for college.

Two beloved granddaughters I hope are excited about choosing a new, more intense level of involvement in their swim team journey and looking forward (mostly!) to the new school year who happen to live way too close to the epi-center of utter political dysfunction to realistically avoid the news.

And this grandmother asking her usual question… “What, then, shall we do?”

First (You guessed it!) more dots. Not simply because I’m convinced that they add to the positive energy in the Universe and make real change closer to possible, moment by moment.

And not simply because I believe in a Creator who is, after all these eons and against all odds, still working good for us.

But also because making dots changes us. As we focus on someone’s request, or the huge, gaping needs of the world, we also get access to more of our own process. We get in touch with our inner Observer who is quite likely to surprise us with new information and new ideas for action we probably didn’t notice in the midst of our angst.

In short, making dots helps us connect rather than isolate. And I believe that connection is the key to what ails our world. (Even if, now and then, what patches us together enough to connect is our pillow and a favorite quilt!)

And, I have a few other ideas, as well.

The first batch are pretty obvious for many of us. Find political candidates on the local, state, and national levels who want the kind of world you want and support them. Wear a button. Put a sign in your yard. Give what you can. Each individual contribution matters!  Write or call your representatives. If they’re like most of mine, they’ll ignore you, but it’s our responsibility to speak out, regardless. Even if our voices quiver!

Make something better. Even if it’s only trimming the muscadines gone rogue in your front garden. Or cleaning up litter. Or a community art project.

Celebrate what’s working in life and in the world.

Make space for the ones you love.

Be available for conversations (which are different from lectures) with the young people you love, when they’re ready.

Make things. Cookies. Treehouses. Gardens. Soup. Lego worlds. Dots. Quilts. Stories. Remembering as you do, in whatever way it works for you, that we humans could well be described as creations of a Creator creating.

And try asking your inner Observer to help you notice the ways we are alike instead of focusing on the ways we’re different. It takes a bit of practice but it helps, a lot.

And, maybe, just maybe, give thanks for teenagers with something to teach!

The longest of journeys begins with one step. Please don’t miss out!

Clearly, I wasn’t quite as speechless as I felt! Part of that is due to the words of wise teachers pondering these same questions… notably Susan Ariel Rainbow Kennedy, Shiloh Sophia McCloud, Julie Steelman, Dina VanDecker- Tibbs, and Anne Lamott. 

 

 

Loud Noises and Gratitude…

It’s been an interesting week.

The mean voices of my Inner Critic, which live in my left brain, have been pretty rowdy. It makes sense, when you think about it.

The Inner Critic’s task is to run about like Chicken Little, yelling that the sky is falling! She reaches this conclusion by using the interesting strategy of predicting the future based on the worst disasters of the past.

Often her statements begin with How could you…. What were you thinking… Nobody with any sense

Well, you get the drift.

I find this learning from my teachers in all things metacognitive, Shiloh Sophia and Jonathan McCloud, to be vital in deciding how much power to give the mean voices in any given moment.

If there is, in fact, a 12 foot gator snapping its jaws just below the footstool of my magic chair, it’s well worth pondering the perspective of the Inner Critic.

Lacking the gator, or its equivalent, it might work to get a mug of bone broth, take some deep breaths, and ponder the bigger picture, preferably a bright, clear picture of my deepest, most true dream.

A couple of nights ago, the voices of the Inner Critic were joined by some other loud noises.

The first was the horrific squall of a smoke detector begging for a new battery. The studio angels and I were not amused. While I ran to put the poor beasties outside, Bill got the step-ladder and saved the day.

By the time my heart rate reached something resembling normal again, I remembered to give thanks that it was a false alarm and no actual fire was involved.

A bit later, the TV made the almost equally horrific bast that signals some sort of public alert. Relieved that it wasn’t an Amber Alert for a missing child, I was still less than thrilled to discover that we had a flash flood warning posted. Floods, you see, are a touchy subject around here, after some recent challenges with our basement.

Shortly thereafter, the storms that one would assume went along with the weather warning began in full force.

Torrents of rain. Thunder and lightning. Another of the beasties’ favorite events. And, lacking advance notice, no CBD oil on board. It was, in the immortal words of Snoopy, a dark and stormy night.

Blessedly, we did okay.

No water in the basement that night or the next morning, thanks in large part to the brilliant detective work of my friend and handy-wizard, Greg Camp. No trees down, which is far from a sure thing in our neighborhood. And the morning chorus of birds on the job.

First, I let myself feel the relief.

Then I pondered all the folks who might not have been so fortunate. And I made some more dots.

There were gunshots very near our house Friday night. Again. And I so wish I didn’t know instantly that they were gunshots.

Then, I woke today to an email from Bernie Sanders with news of two more mass shootings this weekend.

I signed the petition to push the Senate to come back from recess and allow debate on gun safety.

I made a contribution to Gabby Gifford’s PAC  to end gun violence.

Then I noticed that amidst my anxiety and anger there was a river of gratitude, flowing gently. And I learned something new.

The gratitude is not simply, or even mainly, about the fact that we, and those we love, are safe… though that is certainly true.

Instead, the gratitude leaves me more free to care. More free to act. More free to reach out in the world even when the Inner Critic is in full battle cry.

That feels like a good thing. That and a mug of bone broth. And prayers for you and yours.

Oh, and check here for a free gift from Shiloh Sophia… a painting class called Colorful Scars which is all about the healing power of self expression. (No experience needed. Really!)

 

 

 

 

 

 

Needing So Many Dots…

It’s been a week for dots. Lots and lots of dots. And dots, in my world, mean prayers. It has assuredly been a week for that, as well.

From the tragic festival shootings in California and New York last weekend, to struggling friends, to rainforests, to last night’s debate, to the need for some embodied prayer in my own world………………………………………………… Dots!

This is, as many of you know, a whole person way of praying, or holding intention, that combines verbal/auditory, visual, and kinesthetic processes in a powerful way. (In this instance, the kinesthetic part is the movement of making the dots, as well as the feel of the brush on the canvas. If you use the handle end of the brush, as I do, it almost becomes drum-like.) Music that moves you adds to the journey. And, of course, favorite paint colors!

In this case, I began with a canvas already holding the drippy under layers of another painting, only begun. (It volunteered!) The limey green, purple, and orange are some of my favorite quilt colors, comforting and familiar.

Generally I make prayer dots while holding a particular word or name or thought in mind and repeating it (silently) with each dot. This week, my dots were doing double/triple/quadruple duty so I needed a slightly different plan and, like my canvas, the Metta Prayer (Or Great Prayer of Compassion) volunteered.

This is an ancient prayer, common to a variety of traditions and different languages, which, for me, kind of says it all, despite the fact that it is not a prayer they covered when I was in seminary!

I begin my dots with the specific names or events or challenges that are in my heart, making a dot for each.

Then, the first “verse” of the version I know best:

May I be peaceful.

May I be happy.

May I be well. 

May I be safe.

May I be free from suffering. 

Then repeat, substituting all people for I. 

May all people be peaceful…

And repeat again, substituting all beings for all people. 

Now, just in case you’re wondering, no, I can’t do all those words and make dots at the same time. Yet!

Here’s what I can do. Metta… Metta… Metta……………………………

It’s a bit like emojis, I’ll admit, but if I set my intention and focus, it really works. And decreases stress at the same time! One of those both brain hemispheres at once things, kind of like knitting which, by the way, works for praying, too!

If you want your dots to stay in distinct colors, do one color at a time and then get a cup of tea while they dry. Add more dots, one color at a time, until you feel complete in your prayer.

Small children, especially those experiencing grief or stress, can learn to make dots with their fingertips, repeating a name or an emotion, like sad, or a petition, like safe. (This may be best done outside!) Always be sure to use non-toxic paints, please. Or crayons on paper!

IMG_5668As I write this, I’m sitting in my magic chair, with my Liberated Flying Geese quilt which is, for me, a symbol of the Holy Spirit. It is also, providentially, backed with these amazing swirls of gem-toned dots!

Phoebe, our chief studio angel, is dozing on the rubber mat below my footrest.

Suddenly, she stretched and reached a back foot up where it brushed the bottom of my own foot, softly, a connection to a loving, living being that was a blessing in itself.

So be it for you, as well. Amen.

 

 

Time Travel… Past & Future!

Are you ready for an adventure?

We’re going time traveling! (Never mind, for a moment, notions of physics and philosophy which suggest that past, present, and future are all present now and now is what there is.)

We’ll begin with a quote from a book that is an old friend of mine:

A man and wife are one person in law; the wife loses all her rights as a single woman, and her existence is entirely absorbed in that of her husband. He is civilly responsible for her acts, she lives under his protection or cover, and her condition is called coverture.

A woman’s body belongs to her husband; she is in his custody, and he can enforce his right by a writ of habeas corpus.

What was her personal property before marriage, such as money in hand, money at the bank, jewels, household goods, clothes, etc., becomes absolutely her husband’s, and he may assign or dispose of them at his pleasure whether he and his wife live together or not.

A wife’s chattels real (i.e., estates) become her husband’s.

Neither the Courts of Common law nor Equity have any direct power to oblige a man to support his wife…

The legal custody of children belongs to the father. During the life-time of a sane father, the mother has no rights over her children, except limited power over infants, and the father may take them from her and dispose of them as he sees fit.

A married woman cannot sue or be sued for contracts — nor can she enter into contracts except as an agent of her husband; that is to say, her word alone is not binding in law…

A husband and wife cannot be found guilty of conspiracy, as that offence cannot be committed unless there are two persons.

Which, depending on where you are and how you got there, may explain a lot!

Now, a couple of questions.

What did you notice as you read? What did you wonder?

I’m betting that one of the things you’re wondering about is the source of this quote. I learned it from Carolyn Heilbrun’s magnificent book, Writing A Woman’s Life. The quote itself is from a pamphlet, Married Women and the Law by Barbara Leigh Smith Bodichon in the USA, 1854.

It’s true that many of us are in a different place, today.

But, just in case you think we haven’t quite made it to the world we’d like our granddaughters to grow up in… or our grandsons, for that matter… what, then, do we do?

According to Professor Heilbrun, we need to “write” new stories about women’s lives.

Thus, we’re traveling toward the Future which is, in language and people I’m only beginning to know, already possible.

In fact, I have a flock of new friends working together on moving toward what our fearless leader, Julie Steelman, refers to as Financial Sovereignty. And, yes, I’m in a new class! It’s called Blossom and Roar.

We’ve only just begun and yet the connections and ironies are firing in my head a mile a minute.

I’m learning to ask different questions about money than the ones history has deposited deep within the consciousness of many women, even women of privilege, who grew up in families who lived in the days when  Bodichon was painting a word picture of life in the USA.

I’m learning new definitions for corporate financial buzz words that never really worked for me.

And, I’m stunned, in light of recent media attention on child sexual abuse and trafficking, by the materialization of the movie, Pretty Woman, somewhere in my cable TV universe last night, while I was busy pondering these words. Suddenly, a film I’ve appreciated for years, mostly for the journey and also for the final line, feels profoundly more important in the sense of things that need to be conscious.

So why all this today?

Well, because I have two granddaughters growing up in this world. Because it matters. And because the way to change things is to gather together and talk about them and allow them to be conscious. And to set aside any  notions we might be harboring that it’s just too hard or we don’t get it.

And to vote. (Painting helps, too!)

I’ll admit that these thoughts are a bit babbly and not fully processed at the moment, rather like the glimpse of my CODEX painting, above, but thanks for being here anyway! And, for this moment, a slightly edited reminder from my hypnosis training:

Take a deep breath. Wiggle your fingers and toes. Shake off the journeys, keeping only what’s helpful. Come back to where you are and be with you!

 

 

 

 

 

Catching Up!

Hi! It’s me, Luther.

Things have been pretty crazy lately, but Mom told me I could blog again whenever I was ready. I think I’m ready, now. Mom’s happy to type for me, especially since there are lots more people like you these days who might wonder what we’ve been up to.

In the time called May, I had eye surgery. Technically, I already couldn’t see, but had my eyes removed because they were growing things called cataracts and they hurt a lot.

It wasn’t fun. Mom and I had to be very careful that I didn’t scratch or run into things before my sutures were healed. That felt like a LONG time.

Then, my Auntie Karen came one day and it took a whole lot of time to get black (!) sutures out of my face. It really wasn’t much fun.

I’m doing better, now. My family and friends are learning to help me by saying words I understand. Step is one of my favorites because it tells me a very important thing.

I have a new outfit. It’s a harness that has signs on the sides that say, Luther. Blind. Friendly. People read it and want to be my friend, which I like a lot.

I also like people coming to paint. Mom has lots of friends who come and do Intentional Creativity ®. Frankly, that’s hard for me to understand, except that I run into easels now and then, but it makes them happy and we all hang out together and I think that’s a good thing.

Mom paints the most. We listen to music and sometimes she dances and sometimes she cries.

She always reminds Phoebe and me that crying is not a bad thing. Sometimes it means that you just feel things a  lot.

We understand that. We’re Newfoundland rescue dogs. Being a rescue dog is hard in a lot of ways. We’ve both been through times when we didn’t have enough love or food. Sometimes we were hurt. And we’re still missing Sarah.

Mom says there’s a painting called Apothecary like that. It has to do with turning tragedies into remedies.

I think remedy means that now somebody loves you and you are enough and there are more good days to come.

At least, I hope so.

It means that our girls love us, too. And loving ourselves also counts!

Today is our first day of what Mom is calling Radical Self Care. She says that if she takes better care of herself she’ll have more choices about things that are important to her. Dad is in charge of something called moral support.

Phoebe and I are important. And Mom and Dad are working really hard to help me have fun, even if I can’t see, which may be kind of like what she’s talking about.

There’s also a rumor that it might mean more of the thing called grooming. I’m getting better at that!

Sleep is sounding good tonight. And, tomorrow, more paint.

May whatever is sounding good to you be true, as well.

Love, Luther

PS… Phoebe says I should say that we didn’t spill the paint on the floor!

We don’t know…

When you’ve spent as much time as I have with most of your friends being ministers, therapists, and hypnosis gurus, you tend to pick up a lot of useful quotes. This one, which popped up on Friday,  comes from an ancient Sufi teaching story I’ve loved for years.

We don’t know if this is good news or bad news!

Here’s the short-ish version…

On Wednesday I started thawing local, grass-fed, sustainably raised bones for a big batch of beef broth.

Thursday afternoon, I roasted some of the bones and seared the well seasoned chuck roast for a rich, healing, satisfying stock. I soaked the raw bones in filtered water and organic apple cider vinegar, with “The Mother”, to help release the important minerals and collagen from the bones. Then, just before my paint buddy arrived for bonding over CODEX, moon 10, I fired up my biggest, most prized cauldron and started the magic.

Bones, meat, big hands full of herbs from the garden, bubbling away like the world’s best aromatherapy.

And bubbling on through the night.

About lunch time on Friday, we drained off a gallon or so of broth via the magic spigot at the bottom of the pot for my FODMAP diet friends. Then it was time to add heaps of Vidalia onions and organic garlic, along with some celery, parsley stems, and a dried Mexican pepper.

And more bubbling. And big dogs camped out in the kitchen.

Before dinner, we got things strained and cooled and into the fridge.

I was feeling like it was really good news! In addition to about three gallons of bone broth, I had figured out the next step on my painting, written descriptions for the new ones going up in my shop and made progress on the plan for an upcoming workshop.

Then, after dinner, I heard a bang and a bunch of #%*@* from the kitchen. It took a minute to extricate myself from the laptop and magic chair, while Bill yelled back that he was sort of okay.

When I got there, he was clutching a huge garbage bag, standing in  pool of broth, and picking up a bunch of big bones from the floor.

Ooops!!!

Garbage finally out, along with a roll of soggy paper towels, I started with the wet Swiffer magic.

Suddenly, there was the sound of glass breaking.

Somehow, the cauldron lid crashed into a wine carafe and a very useful measuring cup resulting in glass everywhere and more #%*@* from Bill.

Obviously, lots more cleaning ensued.

And laughing.

We don’t know if this is good news or bad news!!!

If I had to pick, though, I’d go with more good news than bad.

We have healthy, delicious, inexpensive food headed for the freezer and for our friends.

We just bought a new garbage can last weekend so nothing should leak out.

And, laughing is way better than yelling!

Mostly, though, we’ve had teachers who’ve helped us learn that good or bad isn’t always the most helpful question.

Often, it’s what do we do next?

Which is, by the way, an excellent notion to teach the littles in your world. It works for art, too!

According to the plan, the answer to that is to go pick up some more paintings from the magical scan land and add to my book of options. That’s pretty exciting!

So, by the way, are oysters!

Sue Boardman, Certified Intentional Creativity®
Color of Woman Teacher & Coach