Nun with Red Lipstick

After I was exorcised from yet another episode of extreme neurosis, I sat back with a glass of wine and watched documentaries.

Neurosis, the state of heightened stress and irrational anxiety, is pretty common with most people that are creative. Save me your pity! I actually enjoy my insanity. Well mostly.

For those of us blessed with an active imagination, life does not happen on earth alone but often takes a detour into the hell realms that we have personally crafted for our own selves in our mind. 

In the hell realm everything feels real and vivid.

The school bus that is five minutes late has in fact skidded into a ditch, the family dog has choked and died on the piece of toy that I’ve forgotten to put away, a close friend’s minor ailment has turned fatal, I will soon be unable to paint as a result of paralysis and I am completely disliked because I have opened my mouth and spoken my mind freely.   

Anyhow, this detour is completely debilitating. At this point my brain is swimming in its own waste unlike my far more intelligent body. The shades have been drawn, the doors closed and the outer world simply does not exist, this projection made by this apparently sophisticated organ sitting over my shoulders is my complete and full reality.

Obviously it is painful, and I linger in it long enough before it decides to spit me out after having chewed me up completely.  Needless to say the suffering is intense.

Anyway, the glass of wine is helping, and I start recognizing for the first time how badly I have suffered and how much suffering I have caused those closest to me. Still recovering and a bit shaken I revert to the calming philosophy of Buddhist compassion. This time I’m almost inclined to give it all up and embrace the difficult path of complete renunciation, my ticket to freedom, so I decide to watch ‘The monk with the camera’- a documentary.

Clearly, the documentary is helping too, the good looking, calm and nurturing monk has me all interested – captivated in fact – as he talks about his playboy life of yester years, his love for taking pictures with his camera, his work at the monastery, the experience of lasting inner peace and so on.  Pretty soon just like that I have slipped away once again into a pretty delightful fantasy - one involving the monk with the camera and me as a nun with red lipstick.

The detour from reality has happened once again – I told you I enjoy my insanity - my only sadness is that this time I know its unreal and I’m being crazy!

Architects of Meaning

Architects of Meaning

It was fairly simple and extremely straightforward. The pieces were sorted, the instruction precise and the afternoon time perfect for such activity. Pretty soon we had constructed a playground with her very first set of Legos. Obviously, she was thrilled, my child who was at the time barely five years old but I was fascinated too.

It soon evolved as a pressing hobby and over time we embarked on more complicated projects and we have constructed a fairly decent Lego city. Considering that neither of us have any architectural skills whatsoever, I am pleased with our effort.

Every such undertaking that has resulted in a successful outcome has brought along a sense of accomplishment, a feeling of worthiness and an attribution of time well spent. But like all accomplishments large and small the elation is fleeting and seldom lasting in effect.

Curiously, I wish to draw a parallel to this chosen hobby and my life.

Needless to say unlike the set patterns of Lego my own life has assumed twists and turns that I never anticipated. Lacking the standards of an instructional manual, color-coded pieces and rough sketches my life seems to have no set purpose. Therefore I wonder if we are indeed architects of our existence on any level at all?

My grandmother would most certainly disapprove of such wonderings. In her mind life’s purpose was nothing like sketches made out of soft charcoal that can be erased, smudged or introduced to new directions. Destiny was like the preconceived pieces of Lego that have to be laid out with precise execution to produce a set outcome.

But as a true moderate I wish to stick to my middle path. While I concur with my grandmother’s assumption, I wish to defy the powerlessness that comes with it. While I have experienced life’s stubbornness I have also witnessed her graceful amiability to my dreams and wishes. Even as she has sometimes dealt me a rough hand life has empowered me to make meaning of my sorrows.

In the grand scheme, I would like to think of us as architects. The size of the board may be established, the pieces already distributed, the colors randomly allocated and a hidden instruction manual may be directing us constantly. Yet we can, if we are brave enough, make meaning of it all that is our very own.

Apparently God helps those who help themselves and he goes out of his way to bless those who help themselves and others!

Searching for Newness

Searching for Newness

I haven’t bothered to make any new-year’s resolutions in a while.  Somehow the years past have simply rolled along, each one unfolding like rose buds, sometimes to a fullness that surprised even me, and sometimes unraveling barely a petal or two.

Even as November of last year approached, my heart made a subtle suggestion that this new- year would somehow be a different kind of new.

I still don’t know how.

The standard works have already been set in motion.  I’m taking better care of myself in terms of exercise and diet. I have set my artistic and literary goals. I have surrounded myself with well wishing friends and family and uncluttered my environment of unhealthy obligations.  Most importantly, I love deeply and I am extremely blessed to have several others who love me with equal affection.

So what else could be new?

Somehow I innocently assumed that the new-year’s morning would enlighten me as to what this newness that I seem to look forward to is all about.

So like I child, I paid attention. I rolled out of my old and comfortable bed after a good’s night rest. I sipped at the hot cup of coffee served by my dear husband as usual. Walking down the hallway I stared for quiet a while at my sleeping children with Popeye nestled comfortably between their pillows. I watched the sky as I drew the drapes, sensing my own eagerness and desire to pronounce a cloudy morning as simply spectacular.  But after a few moments I realized that everything is just as usual.

Perhaps the newness that I anticipate is yet to come or perhaps it is already on its way and yet to reach me. Still perhaps the newness is already inside of me and is waiting for me to simply recognize it as such. Maybe it’s pleasant. Maybe it’s horrible. Should I be scared, must I be hopeful?? Sometimes newness is like watching your child grow, you see it happen right before you and yet you can never define the exact moment.

Whatever it is, my heart insists that this year will be new and I have to say I am curiously excited! And I sincerely wish the same sensation of joyous expectation for each and every one of you.

Quick to Judge

Today a very dear friend pointed out to me that I am too quick to judge.  Since he is dear and we have an understanding I asked him why he was slow in arriving at the same conclusion that I do quickly?  We both smiled knowingly.

Of late I have been a bit unhinged.

I have struggled to make sense of the violence that has flooded our world. I have been angered by the insensitive words of our want-to-be leaders. I have quit a chat group upon feeling compelled into entering useless discussions. Having argued for peace, preached tolerance and issued commands for compassion, I too have been a fool.

 It is hard not to get caught up in the madness that surrounds us, the news that shouts out tempting theories, the panic of voices that beg of us to act and the helpless sadness that accompanies violence.

Somehow I had forgotten in all of this that a good bit of the compassion that I professed was indeed necessary for my own life.  My lack of attention and caring towards my own helpless anguish had made me into just another hysteric voice blaring out at the deaf and tired world.

Anyhow, after a few days of strictly enforced quiet I feel restituted. Distance from noise has re-established my own dwindling faith.

Let’s take a moment. There are more democracies in the world today than has ever been. Women world over have more rights today than they have ever had. Diseases and deaths related to diseases are under control more than ever.  Poverty rates are falling. Attempts to provide, education, clean drinking water and electricity are on the rise. Environmental consciousness and awareness of the impact we have upon our surroundings is increasing.  And most importantly people world over are more inclined to help each other.

Nothing has been perfected. Yet mankind has made some impressive strides in the past few centuries than ever before.

Maybe all I can do today is to thank the store clerk like I really mean it, allow a car to merge into my lane, express my gratitude to my friends who have stood by me like family, volunteer a tad bit more, extend kindness towards random strangers, hug my children more often, speak of my love towards everyone in my family, clean my home, exercise, meditate, read, write, paint pictures and laugh when I have the opportunity to do so.

Like it or not, this is it, there is just one earth and we are all in here together.

Time and time again…..

I can write essays and weave poetry around the spontaneity of childhood. I can do even better and preach the value of innocent open mindedness. I even took a whole course on cultivating a beginners mind. And yet, forgive me for becoming set in my ways!

As I climb each rung on the ladder of life, I find myself cemented to my adopted values. Intentionally and without regret I have set aside the romantic version of an ageless, childlike adult and replaced her with a sleep valuing, routine nurturing, time-centric grown woman.

I wish I could tell you that I’m disappointed with myself! But I’m not!

Suddenly, the expansive summer vacation with nothing to do, the thrill of discovering myself in the world, the energy to party hop, to stand in long lines and bustle through engaging crowds, the joy of meeting countless people, the ability to ear-mark an activity for ‘later’, the beauty of exploring the endless aisles of a new grocery store, they have all left me.

They have left, leaving me with a brand new set of choices to make - what is worth my time, to whom do I give it, which movie, what experience, which book, what person, who deserves my minutes.   

This is in no way suggestive of a well-managed and flawless life! Life by its very definition is unmanageable and control free. So, of course the faucet will leak, the dishwasher will break down, an accident on the road will delay you, snow will cancel school, a sprained ankle will keep you from running and so on.

And yet in those splendid moments when life whispers her waiver and permits some planning I desire to bring in my own preference.

So pardon me my failure to oblige, forgive me my failed promises, absolve me of my guilt, clear my name, I request you. So that those tulips can be planted, that novel can be written, that child of mine can describe to me her dreams, that parent receive my care, that painting be painted, that meal be cooked and that friend who has stayed despite me, receive with devotion, every precious remaining moment.