Category: Filters

Here’s some of my list…

Hot ginger tea. Earl Grey, too. Organic.

My favorite zip front sweatshirts. Spattered with paint.

Red Thread.

The paintings on the wall, keeping me company while new things hatch.

A bowl of homemade soup.

Weighted blankets. Big enough for two!

Courage anointing oil from Emerald Temple. (Also Compassion oil. And Truth.)

Pictures of my girls with big grins… especially the ones that pop up unexpectedly in my phone.

And, at this moment in the history of the world, shortbread cookies. Seriously!

They’re not my Granny’s spritz butter cookies but they’re very, very close. Simple. Clean. Homey.

Stories opening, layer by layer. Music I love.

And dots. Prayer dots. The constellation ones. The spattery ones. The fingerprint ones. And the ones which carry my personal symbols.

Your list is probably different in the details. I’d love to know what’s on it!

Even without knowing, though, I’ll bet our lists have things in common.

Warm.

Multi-sensory.

Familiar.

Vagus nerve soothing.

Light.

For many of us, of different traditions, it is the season for Light. Light in the darkness. And, as long as we’re being real, it feels like the light may be harder to find and more important to claim than ever before.

(Well, maybe not ever-ever… but ever in my conscious memory.)

Perhaps, the question of this moment becomes:

What, then, shall we do???

And, yes… you’ve already guessed what part of my answer is!

I spent about three hours hunting for my beloved, hand-made, Hungarian friends last night.

You see, we’ve been playing Furniture Yahtzee again and I put them someplace safe – for just this moment. So safe I couldn’t find them!!!

Legendary Husband to the rescue!

So, the story begins again.

With a handful of quirky clay figures made in a time before the Eastern Block fell, when Religious Education was illegal in Hungary. They are folk art, for sure.

And, what if they are also Intention???

Intention to remember. And to BE light… now. As best we can. For any who are seeking a way out of darkness.

Check back here as the journey goes on. And do, please, leave a comment or email me about YOUR list. Together, we shine brighter! suesvoice@gmail.com

ps… the painting, which insisted on being included, is #flownouveau, from my Origins Guardian journey. The Hebrew word in the beam of Moonlight is a new-to-me version of Hope.

pps… you’ve got to check this out! A dress for the season of light!!! Lots of sizes, washes great and won’t fade!(Also a very cool scarf!) Hunt around a bit and you’ll find leggings to match both the dress and the scarf!

Okay… let’s just admit that there’s a whole lot of traumatic stuff going on in our world at the moment.

This is the thing called context.

And, if you’ve been reading along for a bit, you’ve probably noticed that some of it has felt pretty close to me, lately. Grandmother Moon has certainly noticed! And, early this morning, she had something to share.

First, though… a story, of the seasonal sort!

It was Thanksgiving weekend of 1980. My 10 month old son and I were hanging with my folks. Turkey. Granny’s stuffing. Gravy, of course. And rolls… which probably got left on the top of the fridge as they generally did!

I was helping Mom in the kitchen. Dad and my Little were hanging in the the living room.

Suddenly, I heard thump… thump… thump… and wailing. And I ran!

You guessed it. My barely crawling Little had discovered the staircase while his Grampy dozed on the couch. Blessedly, he only made it up the first three steps before his big experiment with gravity and was scared, but not injured.

You guessed it…It was clearly time to upgrade our baby-proofing strategy!

We’ll come back to that in a moment.

For now, a reminder that my particular context has been pretty intense lately.

Ground rattling, chair shaking, booming construction – about three months worth – just outside our house.

The Israeli-Hamas war full of tragedy, vested self-interest, and a whole lot of identifying with all the people praying that they’d simply survive all the ground rattling, booming invasions.

A close encounter with a parking garage, complete with flashbacks.

And a whole lot of the kind of processing that comes along with creating and dreaming. At least for me… Often challenging and always (eventually) helpful.

Then Grandmother Moon got involved again, which is becoming a regular thing in my world.

Sunday night it was a review of Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs. Really!

Then, very, very early Tuesday morning… a major ah-hah!

Trauma reactions and anxiety attacks are our nervous systems’ version of baby-proofing!®

Just like me buying a baby gate for my house and a couple for Mom and Dad on that particular Black Friday all those years ago!

They are NOT us “doing it wrong,” as the world often suggests. As we may have learned growing up!!!

They’re opportunities to learn. To learn about what caution is really needed. Like baby gates for new crawlers.

And when to graduate from baby gates as we grow. Or perhaps just a way to better understand that they’re trying to help.

I hope, with all my heart, that there’s a glimmer of light in this story that is em-power-ing for you and those you love.

And I thank you for listening. Even more now than usual. Because setting words like these free for you to hear, helps me to hear, too!

For now, holding you and yours, and all the Carter family, in grace and peace.

ps… the painting is my #constellationofbeing work-in-progress. If you tilt your head just so and squint a bit you may find hints of an ear, along with the visionary eye. May we have eyes to see and ears to hear!

pps… pease read this, even if – like me – you’re swamped in Black Friday and Giving Tuesday and 90 other versions of shop now! This is NOT SHOPPING! It’s a gift… a bonus story for you at this moment in the world. A story full of vision and shifting filters. And hope! Just click here to be magically transported…

One of my favorite quotes! Attributed to the great artist, Michelangelo, when he was in his 80’s and working on St. Peter’s Basilica.

Translation: I am still learning!

As is often the case with tradition, there are other opinions on who gets credit for this wisdom. The artist in me is fine with it being Michelangelo. And, yes, I’ve read Leon Uris’s The Agony and the Ecstasy several times! Also, Kathleen McGowan’s The Poet Prince!

For this moment, I’m relating on many levels.

We’re coming up on a week now since my adventures with the oral surgeon. Wow, was I learning! Which just might be a sign that all the hundreds of prayer dots I made in preparation for the big event were working.

In fact, those dots were working so well that I was able to give the kind woman in charge of drawing a bit of blood a brief course in dots!

I’m not – as we former nurse types might say – an easy stick, which I explained as she hunted about for a likely vein. My usual speech for this kind of activity includes the fact that they can try whatever they can find and I won’t scream, faint, or run away.

My new friend was really concerned about hurting me. Turns out that trying to help her helped me! We had a wee chat about prayer dots, sparked by my paint spattered, curiosity creating comfort clothes, and she was intrigued. And started breathing again, which helps!

It took a bit for the tubes to fill. I told her the ancient legend of the Red Thread. The version that I love most is how we are connected, long before we are born, to people who will matter in our lives. She kept breathing!

Then, when she and I were officially complete, I showed her the Red Thread, temporarily tied around my left ankle as the more usual wrists seemed a bit complicated under the circumstances.

She asked if she could hug me.

Then it was time for the big fun…

This involved a brief lesson in American Sign Language for the doc so that we had a signal for when I might need a break.

It worked so well that, when all was accomplished, he asked if he could steal my signal… a gift I was happy to share.

Eventually, we were finished and, after some more love from Mordecai, the resident therapy dog, I was ready to head home.

The doc and his team were great!

And, my strategy for joining the team, rather than just having this happen to me, really worked!

Think about that for a minute, please.

I suspect I’m not the only one in the world, just now, who could use some work with the magic of voice and choice!

Not, however, the kind that means threatening court clerks and disobeying legal orders and…. well you get the drift.

Instead, I mean the kind of magic where we can literally help ourselves by helping others in challenging situations. Weaving newness, like Grandmother Spider!

Our first job, though, is to notice the web which connects us. Like the magic that happens when the sun catches a web we didn’t see until we did.

And our second job may just be weaving some more webs… of hope!

Red Thread comes in handy! (And you don’t need to know Latin!)

ps… the painting is my favorite part of #StarSong… Grandmother Moon “suggested” that I include the girls. Duh!

pps… shop! It’s always local artist day here! Check out this fabulous collection of divine gifts from mugs to original art to unique handmade hats to fabulous leggings – and a great, new dress! – at https://fierceartwithheart.com/

It’s been a bit of a week. The kind of week that brings to mind a story that is, in my world, both important and uncomfortable.

I learned it as an ancient Sufi teaching story. It is teaching me still… I’m really hoping it will speak to you, too. Especially in this moment! (It might be time for a cup of tea!)

The Wise Old Man at the Top of the Mountain

Once upon a time, a very, very long time ago, there was a farmer. The farmer lived in a small village in a far-away land, near a mountain.

One morning the farmer got up and went out to care for his animals. As he went about his chores, the farmer, who was very poor, noticed that his cow was missing. “Oh, no!” cried the farmer. “Whatever will we do?” The farmer was very upset and he had no idea what to do next. As the day went on, the farmer became even more unhappy. Finally he decided that he had to do something. There was only one thing he could think of to do.

He walked sadly down the little road until it started to lead up the mountain. The farmer climbed and climbed up the mountain. His feet hurt and it was beginning to get cold, but still the farmer climbed. When he got to the top of the mountain, he found a cave where there lived a wise old man.

“Farmer!” called the wise old man, for he was used to having visitors like this. “Come in. Sit by the fire. Have a cup of tea. And tell me what brings you here today.”

The farmer bowed to the wise old man and accepted his cup of tea. And then, with a shaking voice and a tiny tear in his eye, the farmer told the wise old man that his cow was gone. Disappeared.

“How will my family live?” the farmer asked. “We need the cow for milk and to plow our fields. Without her, we will starve.”

The wise old man set his tea down and he began to pull on his long skinny beard with one of his hands, as he looked deep into the farmer’s eyes. “We don’t know,” said the wise old man, “whether this is good news or bad news.”

The farmer leaped up, dropping his tea on the floor. This man wasn’t wise! Clearly losing their cow was terrible news. And off the farmer went, stomping down the mountain and muttering to himself about the crazy old man.

Several days went by. The farmer spent a lot of time telling his neighbors about his trip up the mountain and how strange it was that the old man just said, “We don’t know if this is good news or bad news.”

The next morning the very worried farmer got up and went out to begin his work. There, much to his surprise, was his cow. And not only his cow, but a big, strong bull as well. The farmer was so surprised and so happy that he dropped his tools and went, as fast as he could go, back up the mountain to see the wise old man.

“Come in,” the wise old man greeted him. “Sit down. Have a cup of tea.”

The farmer was so excited he was nearly bursting with his news.

“Tell me what brings you here today,” said the wise old man.

“Well!” said the farmer. “I got up this morning and there was my cow. She came home! And not only that, but there was a beautiful, strong bull in the yard as well! Our family is saved! We’ll be rich!”

The wise old man set his tea down and he began to pull on his long skinny beard with one of his hands as he looked into the farmer’s eyes. “We don’t know,” said the wise old man, “whether this is good news or bad news.”

The farmer had never heard anything so silly in his life! Of course this was good news! And off the farmer went, stomping down the mountain and muttering to himself about the crazy old man.

Some more time passed.

One day, the farmer’s son, who was just learning to use the plow to dig up the earth for planting, hitched the big, strong bull to the plow and began to work. It was a nice, sunny day and the farmer’s son was thinking about many things. Suddenly, a very large bee flew up and stung the bull right on his nose.

Well! The bull bellowed really loudly, as bulls are known to do, and began to run. The farmer’s son wasn’t strong enough to hold on to the plow. He fell over right in the field and heard a loud sound coming from his leg. Suddenly his leg began to hurt more than anything had ever hurt before. All he could do was sit in the dirt and watch as the bull dug up the earth and ran, as fast as he could go, right through the fence and away down the road.

The farmer, who loved his son, heard him crying and went running to see what was wrong. There was his dear son on the ground. The field was destroyed where it was all dug up. The bull had clearly crashed through the fence and run away. The farmer did not know what he and his family would do so he did the first right thing. He went and got the village doctor who came and cared for his son.

The boy’s leg was broken. The doctor tied tree branches to each side of it, as they used to do long ago, and wrapped it tight with some old pieces of cloth. The farmer and the doctor carried the boy to a small porch on the front of their tiny home. The doctor said the boy would have to stay there for many weeks and would not be able to walk.

The farmer was more and more upset. In fact, he was more upset than he’d ever been. Finally, because he didn’t know what else to do, he went and climbed slowly up the mountain.

“Come in,” the wise old man greeted him. “Sit down. Have a cup of tea. Tell me what brings you here today.”

The farmer was so upset he could barely talk. Finally he managed to explain what had happened. His field was ruined. The bull was gone, and with him the plow. And his dear son’s leg was broken and would not heal for many weeks.

The wise old man set his tea down and he began to pull on his long skinny beard with one of his hands, as he looked deep into the farmer’s eyes. “We don’t know,” said the wise old man, “whether this is good news or bad news.”

With that, the farmer flung his tea cup to the ground and went stomping down off the mountain, threatening to tell everyone he knew that the wise old man was not wise at all, but mean and just plain crazy.

The farmer was so angry he could barely do his work. A few days passed as he cared for his son without crutches or wheelchairs or any of the things we might use in our time.

Then, one morning, the farmer woke to all kinds of noise in the village. There were soldiers from far away on the road, with wagons, capturing all the young men of the village to go and fight in a war. People were crying and begging that their sons not be taken.

The farmer’s son couldn’t go, because of his broken leg.

When the soldiers had left the village, the farmer went and fixed tea for his son and himself. And he pulled a bit at his long, skinny beard and said, with a light of understanding in his eye, “We really don’t know, do we? (Boardman, Grandmothers Are In Charge Of Hope)

There is a mountain nearby but I’m pretty sure it’s lacking this particular kind of  wise old man, and my mouth feels like it’s still full of dental instruments and it’s pretty cold, at least for Atlanta, or I’d be out there, watching the moon on her way to fullness and looking for wisdom.

As it is, I’ve (pretty much) turned off the news and am grateful for family – the related kind and the chosen kind – and for the voices in our world who are pondering some really important questions. And, somehow, those connections make it easier to live with some of the not knowing.

After all, life is for learning! Which may just be the most important thing we have to share, with ourselves and with all those we love. Especially the Littles.

ps… the version of this story I’ve shared is pretty much the way I first learned it, sitting in a circle around a wise old man. (Thanks, Ron!) The artwork is my much more recent version of walking the road. Granddaughters, and all! (And leaving behind things which are no longer helpful. Stay tuned!)

pps… just in case you’re in the market for some unique holiday gifts, check out FierceArtWithHeart. Add the secret code Thankful!  (if requested) to save 10% on your entire order over $10 – even the sale items! (Hurry… this offer lasts through 11:30pm ET on Monday 11/27!)

I seem to be doing a lot of become-ing, lately! And it feels like really good timing!!!

You see, there’s a whole lot to process in the world, just now. I’ll leave the news bit up to you. (Well, I’ll try!)

In fact, let’s think of that as CONTEXT! The literal and metaphorical space in which all the rest is happening. Not just for me, but for all of us.

Add in jaw pain, impending dental surgery, three pots of bone broth, a whole lot of tradition-shifting, and a really large mental sack filled with varied degrees of terrifying me-as-patient memories, and it feels like quite the batch of stuff to sort.

Painting helps! Emotionally and neurologically. Keeping up with the painting also helps with the homework list which, as the old saying goes, ain’t nuthin’!

The smaller canvas, in the photo above, is known as #StarSong. She’s logistically easy to manage, though I have to keep stopping for time to let things dry.

Friday brought #Constellation of Being back to the top of the list. It’s a 48×60″ canvas “home” for a 6 month long adventure known as Origins, which makes me orthopedically nervous. I so wanted to paint. And I found myself struggling.

The actual teaching process involved what we might call scribbling. With a brush. Eyes closed! Just between us, the eyes closed thing can be a bit scary if – like me – you’re well acquainted with falling down. Eventually, I took a break and just watched along with the rest of the livestream.

Grandmother Moon was intrigued… and showed up very early Saturday morning with a dream.

I don’t tend to see images much when I dream and this was no exception. I do hear dreams. In this case, the voice of my beloved Vet, Karen. First though, memory lane, and Sarah.

Though Sarah was not the first of our Newfie Rescues, she was the first of the Studio Angels.

At way too young an age, she developed rapidly increasing joint pain and instability. We did all the things. Then, she blew a disc in her back. As she was not a good candidate for surgery, it was time for big decisions.

While Karen and I sorted the options, she told me that, “When dogs are in pain they think they’ve been bad!”

And we couldn’t have that.

The night after our trip to the Rainbow Bridge, I woke up at about 3 am and headed for the studio. I had a big canvas that was stuck. (Well, I was stuck!) I searched the paint stash for some heavy body acrylics I’d never tried before and found an expired credit card for a pallet knife.

And I quit thinking! I just let it all out with no plan other than to make it through that night.

Grandmother Moon clearly suggested that it might be time for another trip to that place.

And it was!

I noticed several things as I just let it all go, all over the canvas.

My first thought was that it’s possible that we, like our 4-footed family members, think – or feel – that when we’re in pain, we’ve been bad. Or done something wrong.

Now, I know a fair amount about these sorts of things, and it seems entirely possible that there is an ancient bit of knowing involved.

What I know for sure is that I feel better. (Well, not my jaw, so much, but ME!) And, I’m kind of glad that the canvas needs more work, though I have no idea where we’re headed. Here’s where we are now…

And some big news… a week or so ago, it occurred to me that I was become-ing a Medicine Painter. Not just doing, but being.

Then, while I was slinging paint and tears all over the place, I realized that I have also become my own Medicine Basket!

And that is, somehow, oddly connected to the notion that we can become our own Fiercely Compassionate Grandmothers! The ones we need now. The kind who believe, like Frederick Buechner, that…

The sudden flash of tears we get is the surest sign of truth we have.

And this, dear hearts, might be a really good time for that!!!

ps… my physical therapists will be thrilled, too. All that swiping paint on a huge canvas has got to count for moving!

pps… curious about become-ing? Let’s talk! 45 min. My gift. You bring your dream. And a bit of red thread, if it’s handy. The calendar elves will hook you up!