The Muse Took a Night Off!

The lovely lady in the portrait called The Eyes of the Muse spends most of her time hanging out on the wall in our room, keeping me up nights!

She’s in charge of dreams and brilliant solutions to painting challenges and workshop designs. Even blog posts. She’s hopeful and encouraging. The flip side, in a sense, of her harsher, but well intended, alter ego, the Critic.

With considerable help from my  Intentional Creativity teacher, Maestra Shiloh Sophia, and the very wise Susan Ariel Rainbow Kennedy, the three of us have developed a relationship that works pretty well.

The Critic, who exhausted herself in my earlier years, spends most of her time in retirement. She likes Arizona where her allergies bother her less and she has no need for boots she considers to be too Ugg-ly for words.

The Muse and I send her postcards, assuring her that we’re making lovely progress here, even despite recent torrential rain and soggy basements, and that extending her vacation is absolutely no problem for us.

Lately, though, we’ve been working overtime again.

The Muse, whom I suspect may be from Australia given the hours she keeps, has a tendency to lure me out of my comfy nest of flannel sheets and handmade quilts in the wee small hours of the morning with her latest fabulous notions about the next right thing.

In a blessedly frustrating sort of way, she’s generally right and apparently concerned that I won’t remember her genius suggestions until, you know, the sun comes up at least.

She’s been feeling especially creative this week and we’ve gotten a whole lot of cool things done.

Sleeping has not been one of those things.

Last night, though, she took the night off.

I slept for 12 hours, almost straight through! I’m not sure how she convinced the dogs to cooperate with this plan, but I’m grateful anyway.

And when I brought my first cup of tea, in my favorite sunny yellow mug, into the family room where my magical chair now resides, and looked at the commission painting I’m in the midst of, I heard her whispering in my ear.

The right one, if you’re curious.

And the next step is now clear. The big field in the upper left of this farm-scape needs fixing and I know where to start.

It’s worth noting that I managed both sleep and inspiration in the same night!

Realistically, we’re going to need another step or four after this right thing, but life — and art — are often that way.

In this moment, though, it is a sunny and miraculous 68 degrees in Atlanta and Bill and I are headed out to our back deck for lunch. The dogs can come, too, and we won’t have to wait for a table.

Later, fixing the farm field, and a bit of editing while the paint dries. Yummy soup for dinner. New calendar pages to set up. Perhaps even more sleep.

Tomorrow, plumbers. Again.

In the meantime, if you click either the link where it says The Eyes of the Muse, above, or the one just below, you will be magically transported to the land of FineArtAmerica where many of my paintings are available in everything from cell phone covers to shower curtains to, well, paintings. Love to have you visit! (The cell phone covers are really cool. Even the Critic approves!) Just click on any image that calls to you and the elves will pop up a list of all the options. It’s a miracle!

 

Good Enough!

I remember the Sunday before the first Gulf War began. Much of the world–the portion I want to be part of–was hoping and praying that bloodshed would somehow be avoided.

I was not only hoping and praying, I was also preaching in a tiny church in Tennessee.

In a time when there was really nothing to say, I put it all out there. Everything I had. It was terrifying.

The parts of my internal process that my friend, the fabulous artist and author, Susan Ariel Rainbow Kennedy, refers to as inner critics were having a field day.

Who are you to think you have something to say?

What difference could it possibly make to hope and pray in the face of war? 

What if you piss somebody off?

My inner critics clearly did not realize that when 11:00 Sunday morning (or in that case, 10:00) rolls around, the one in the long black robe has to have something to say.

To be fair, the inner critics mean well.

In many ways, they’re either mimicking the things they heard and believed when we were growing up, or they’re trying to keep us safe.

Though often safe in the sense of overprotected and voiceless which isn’t really safe at all.

My inner critics have been jumping up and down again in these days, perhaps urged on by the many requests for prayers on Facebook countered by folks raising questions about whether hope and prayer actually help people facing wildfires and hurricanes and earthquakes and poverty and violence and threats to civil rights.

Who are you to think you have something to say?

What difference could it possibly make to hope and pray in the face of all the overwhelming news in our world? 

What if you piss somebody off?

It seems that the inner critics haven’t learned a lot of new stuff recently!

And, those are not totally unreasonable questions.

They are, however, the questions of comparers and perfectionists and they are not our most resourceful questions.

For now, I’m sticking with SARK:

Good enough is the new perfect!

You, and I, and all of us have something to say about the needs of our world.

Spelling doesn’t count.

It doesn’t matter if you’re a fan of the Oxford comma or not. (Well, it might, but not in this moment!)

And, as somebody once printed on a T-shirt, speak your mind even if your voice shakes.

That’s how we teach our kids. Yours. Mine. All of them.

And whether you believe in hope or prayer or positive energy, I’m counting on the notion that enough of us doing it together does make a difference.

As for pissing people off, if you speak your truth, you probably will. But a whole lot more folks will stop and wonder if they might just be able to speak their truth, too, since, afterall, you did.

Words work. Art works. Soup works. Running a post on Facebook to see if anybody knows anybody who has a horse trailer available to help rescue horses near Sonoma and Napa works too.

Listening also works. Sitting with the pain. Staying in the room.

Hugs work.

Money certainly doesn’t hurt, sent carefully to the people who really need it.

The counselor and coach who live inside me, wrestling with the inner critics, have taught me many things.

One of those things is that it’s entirely likely that the words I’m writing in this moment are the words I need to hear.

When you remember, though, that many of the things I need are things we all need, it’s not such a bad way to go.

So, for this moment, I’m sticking with Susan.

Good enough is the new perfect.

Welcome to the club! Let’s go make a difference!!!

 

 

 

 

 

All Of The Above

Years and years ago, when I was finishing my bachelor’s degree at Eckerd College, I was deep in a required class called Psychology of Consciousness. Commonly known to students as “Kooks, Nuts, and Weirdos”!

I suppose it should have been something of a warning that I began to find a sense of myself there.

Our professor was a guy who had a Ph.D. in Ericksonian hypnosis. I had lots of interesting experiences in that class!

One of the most mind-boggling was his assertion that our bodily experience of the thing we call excitement and the thing we call anxiety are the same. It’s all a matter of interpretation.

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