The Other Side
I just went back and looked at the posts here from July and June. On the surface, at least, it looks like this blogger, Cassandra, whoever she may be, must live an idyllic, beauty-filled life. Farmhouse breakfasts, pastoral landscapes, perfect vegetables from the local market, flowers and friends. How fortunate she is!
Well, that's true, she is fortunate, and it has been a nice summer, but I seem to have chosen quite selectively what to post, and it doesn't reflect the whole of my life, of anyone's life, because of course all of us face times of darkness and difficulty, uncertainty and change; we're overwhelmed with tasks and responsibilities or may be sunk in loneliness and lassitude that seem to have no ending. I enjoyed listening to Fiona and Kaspa's weekly podcast at Writing Our Way Home this morning, where they spoke about the low points, the mind-traps we fall into, and some strategies for getting past them, and it made me want to write something further about that myself.
Living in a city where I encounter so many people every day, it's impossible not to realize that my life contains much more control than many of theirs - and that is in a modern western city in a socialist society where everyone, supposedly, has access to shelter, healthcare, and food. Millions and millions of people on our planet, including in many industrialized countries, don't even have those basic necessities, and millions more are faced with absolutely dire conditions brought about by war, genocide, ethnic and religious persecution, famine, extreme poverty, disease, exposure to the elements, natural disasters...things we rarely think about except when they appear on our screens. And here I have the audacity to post pictures of blowls of blueberries on pink-and-white china, with honeypots and cheese and flowers. Nor do I often write about my own sadnesses, my anger, my dark days, but please know that I'm a normal human being and I experience all of those emotions too.
Trying to focus on "the good, the true, and the beautiful" in life and to become, as a result, more joyful and hopefully wiser about how to live in a broken world is a conscious decision and path for me, not an avoidance strategy. Then, too, this blog is a public place. It affects you, the reader, as well as me, the writer, almost as much as if you came over for coffee and a chat. What is the mood here? Do we both feel better, or worse, after seeing each other? How does the energy I put forth affect me, the visitor, the world?
Being a Pollyanna in a world like ours is no good -- I hope that's not how it comes across -- and it's a choice, too, for someone as political as I am to decide not to write about the economy, the riots, governments killing and beating up on their citizens, the elections in Wisconsin, the warming of the arctic, or so many other critically important subjects. I used to do that. Instead I've made, I guess, a conscious choice to act on those issues in private, and to focus here on the continual creativity of life, and our call to be co-creators. Over the almost-decade I've spent blogging, my life has changed and opened immeasurably, through contact with you, the people I've met online, all over the world. My own creativity has deepened, and it's been rewarding to realize that what I'm doing sometimes encourages others, both directly and indirectly, to write, draw, do some music, grow a garden, spend some time with nature -- to take some risky steps toward that which is deepest in ourselves. The danger, which I probably fall into at times, is to emphasize the seductive surface beauty of things, and not so much the struggle underneath -- just as the plant has to push and find its way toward the light where it can flower, so do we. Failure and endings cause grief and discouragement, and we all live with pain, fear, uncertainty about the future. The question is what to do with that; how do we hold it all in our hands, both the darknes and the light?
As Fiona and Kaspa mentioned this morning, gratitude is one component. It's become an important practice for me. I do say "thank you" every morning before I eat or drink anything - for life, for the opportunity of each day, for those I love, for the thorns and weedy thickets that end up being my teachers - without being sure anymore to what or whom I am offering this praise and gratitude. That's OK.
I came across this quote on Adebanji's site the other day, and wanted to share it, because it's not just literally about art, but about all of life, where we are all creators:
"Somewhere within all of us there is a wordless centre, a part of us that hopes to be immortal in some way, a part that has remained unchanged since we were children, the source of our strength and compassion. This faint confluence of the tangible and the spiritual is where Art comes from. It has no limits, and once you tap into it you will realize what truly rich choices you have. May each painting you do from that sacred place include an expression of gratitude for the extraordinary privilege of being an artist."-Richard Schmid
