Of She

universe
universe

Of She…
She mounts, as the tuft ribbon, torn
Riding the circumference of questioning
Mind turned, trembled-wavers
Across endless cause
I cannot, I can, I will, I shan’t
And over the mountain terrains
She treks
Feet, aching soles
Upon beaten battleground
Heart opening to the chasm of reason
She is, and she is not
Twisted and reborn into
This something new and un-new
Opened and closed
Reexamined and brought into the light
Distraught and brilliantly aware
Carrying the global basket, woes
Torrid tears racing down bones
Outlining, this shadowed-speaker
Born into prism
Walls, resurfaced and reshaped
Made into what almost is
Until fleeting moments weep away
Left idling, still,
In creviced thoughts
Of what has come
Fragmented semblance
Slivered whispers
Claimed identity
The torrential gathering
Of she
~ Sam, 7/25/15

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542: Self

self
self

I know what I am not but not what I am. I know when to stop but not when to stop starting. I can inch my way into the middle and get stuck in the molasses of neither here nor there. I don’t know how to swim upstream without pounding pain, and instead, in alternate route, float downstream away from the waters where all else abounds.

Somewhere I have forgotten myself, and I search to find her, thinking I have arrived, only to once more find I am at the backdoor looking into what was and thinking I had known then.

I cannot remember who or where I have been, anymore than I can visualize where I am going. I am lost, in a time maze of confusion, falling upon a self I cannot fathom or detect.

She is there, in the shadowed-tunnel, collapsing and reborn into another, faster than humanly feasible. She is multitudes unopened and reopened—an anomaly in form. To be and not to be. To care and not to care. To unravel into the very depths of reason and peer down into the pond of ‘me.’ Only to question what it is that stares back with such disregard and wonderment.

I am but enough and then I am unequivocally lacking, never measuring up to the enforced standards absorbed from the path I walk. I clamor for explanation and find a thousand books untouched, though in some fashion taken into the realm of reason. I can feel the words: the spoken, the whispered, the silenced, the ones that never came and ones that never speared the element that is I.

They make me. They form me. They penetrate me into something I know not. Clay to my mind. Dirt to my heart. Scattered residue of earthly wants and needs. Goods that I am neither capable of grasping or acquiring.

I am this existence that the observer watches. Reformed with the passerby. Morphed into their reality and then left, unscattered and splattered, broken and unbroken, in a pool of endless duality.

I am what I am—yet only for a fleeting moment; a chance to take glance towards the outline of my palm, the beat of my heart, the opening of a billion universes. Everywhere I am, and at once I am alone. Isolated. A loneliness no less easy to explain than the essence of what I have become. ~ Sam, 7/24/15

465: Unconditional Love

I love you.
When you are lost, when you are alone, when you are driven away from me by some unknown force.
I love you.
When you are forsaken by your own self and thoughts. When you twist reality into a fantasy that is dark and bleeds of isolation.
I love you.
When you go, I will watch and wait until the nightmares subside and the light beckons. I will wait at the end of the tunnel, at the entrance, at the exit, at the only place you will eventually arrive.
I am here for you; not because you beckoned, not because you desire, not because I expect a single thing.
I am here because I love you.
I love you in a thousand upon a thousand ways.
I love you for your beauty, your deep etched soul, the sunlight that slips through your fingers and glistens on your skin, of happiness to come.
I love the hope that is you; for whenever you falter and fall, you return. You retrace your steps and return.
I watch you without fear of abandonment. Your actions do not make me. Your ways do not change me.
I am you and you are me; yet, we are separate in our choices and visions.
I know who I am, where my seams connect, making me whole, my parts intermingled to form true divinity. And I view you the same. Ever so splendidly made.
In your presence I become more real than I imagined possible; all of me expands and implodes, building contrasting caverns of existence.
When you do not have faith in yourself, I will have faith in you. When you do not have faith in us, I will have faith in our togetherness.
If ever I grow frustrated or worried, know it is the burden I hold, the lasting longing I carry to behold your sorrow erased and your joy sprung anew.
I shall wait outside your threshold through the depths of time.
I shall remain full in my attempt to exist as a stronghold onto myself.
And in this way, I will have done my best.
I will not stand between you and your dreams, you and your freedom, you and your happiness.
I will always abide by your wishes, whatever they be, as I trust your decisions and the makings of your mind. I trust that you have the answers.
I kneel for you, as you kneel for me, both as suitor and servant.
I stand beside you, cheerfully enchanted, cheerfully grateful for your victorious days.
If ever I take you for granted, it is merely my shadow resurfaced, feeding off the illusion of fear. If ever I fail you, it is merely a part of myself forgetting the beauty we are.
Know, if I had to live this life again, and start anew, my hope would be to have you the same. Just as you are. In your gleaming perfection.
I love. I love you. And whatever you choose to do, or be, or say. Whatever you choose to represent as your own existence and truth.
I love you.

~ Samantha Craft, December 2013

love R

443: My Harbored Truths

pin it heart minded

Sometimes….well oftentimes, my filtering system for cognitive reasoning is so magnificently huge that I dissect everything I take in and compartmentalize how the input affects me spiritually, physically, and emotionally.

I do this innately, with words and the energy behind words.

I don’t know how, but more often than not, I can feel the intention behind words and actions, too.

I can feel lies and ulterior motives.

I have decided to modify my filtering system when it comes to what I share.

Mostly, I accept everything everyone shares, knowing we all come from limited experience and perception, and knowing we each choose what is good and what is bad, based on our life and intellectual scaffolding off of prior knowledge. So being, I often find it easy to accept and not judge most of what I take in, without counter or dismay, unless the statement or message is something (that feels to me) to be expressing hatred, purposeful perpetuation of pain, and/or is fluid with ego-based attention seeking. But even then, I generally remain quiet, and reflect on what is in me that still can grow in acceptance and love.

What I have done to myself, in regards to filtering, is quite different. I have filtered what I share based on the amount of conflict I think I might cause–the waves, the countering, the ‘angry’ comments.

Today, and from now on, I WILL SHARE what I want to share, that which resonates with where I am now in this moment.

I will be ME.

I spent a long time tip toeing and people-pleasing in the past, and refuse to be that person any longer.

I am kind. I am just. I am good-hearted, and I am done thinking I must prove that to the world.

I currently don’t embrace debate, arguing, defensive speech, reactive emotions, etc. So, if what I share offends someone, and he/she doesn’t have the means to be kind, and feels motivated to counter me, I will kindly remove the person from this space.

I think it is important that we each honor our sacred spaces, and invite into our world people who nourish and brighten our own light.

While I know I can learn from people who still carry much anger and resentment within, I know equally well it is damaging to my spirit.

(Adapted from my social network update this morning.)

My other

Above is my newest painting. I use only a cup of water, paper towels, and water color (tubes). I use one brush for the eyes only. I wait to see what comes out of the canvas, as I splatter paint and smudge and rub. It is akin to finger painting. I must feel the canvas. The paintings are always a combination of male and female energy. They often have both qualities. In this one there is a definite female energy on the right and masculine energy on the left. I made it imperfect on purpose. The face is in transition, as my face always is, as are those faces I see in real life. Nothing stays the same. Each time I look in the mirror, I appear different to self. In every photo, depending on the time and day, I look and do not find myself. It is rare that I think a photo is me. I am always changing.

The lips, in this painting, are multiple…the last set sealed…signifying the limitation of words and the misspoken truths, the judging based on words and facial expression. It is a refusal to be ( to live in this world ) as the world dictates. The eyes are the soul: pain, depth, wisdom, love. I move the paper towels to match the energy I feel, splattering paint, smearing and rubbing, until the image represents what my spirit feels.

I like that my paintings are unique. I have no choice, in the matter. As hard as I try, I will never be able to conform to rigidness in art and never be able to show the world as something stagnant and visually in proportion. To me this painting is balance—balanced with truth, authenticity, and my heart-mind connection. I find what the viewer feels from my art is often a reflection of their own harbored truths…

And that is what my art is: My harbored truths brought to life.

My other artist’s blog that has a poem to go with the painting.

me little

417: First Self-portrait & My Emotional Road Trip

found

Yesterday’s painting: My Kingdom for Your Heart. Poem to match can be found at my spiritual/art blog: Belly of a Star.

untitled

The day before yesterday’s painting: Paisley Three

Last night my husband dreamt I sold a painting for a lot of money. I told him I will not sell my soul. However, I will consider photographing my soul and making prints for greeting cards.

I am craving pizza.

Painting all day is like having ‘relations’ all day. That means sex. And no, I haven’t had sex all day in decades. (oops, am I over-sharing?)

Now I am craving chocolate…dark.

I have been super good to myself about accepting my various stages of ‘moods’ and ‘needs.’ I love me very much, and know that when I am sick or when someone I know dies, I might sink myself into creation of some sort. Someone did die, I’m not just throwing that in there for effect. That would be odd.

The project of the week is painting! I loveeeeee painting. For the first time in my life I understand faces! Although, when I paint, it looks nothing like in my imagination. Except today. Today I came super close.

This is how I used to see bodies and faces:

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It definitely feels like a calling to carve out all the agape love inside of me. The paintings kind of look like dead people to me though. Dead people alone, or dead people with someone trying to wake them up. I know this has to do with my own spiritual journey. In fact in looking back at my paintings over the last few months, it is fascinating to see in my art at times: no body, white space for body, body with closed eyes, body with one figure with closed eyes and one figure with opened eyes, etc. The paintings’ faces follow my own insight into self and later into the All.

Yep, you are part of the All, too. Which means… you are me… I will give you a moment to process that and catch your breath. Scary thought, indeed. Here is a paintbrush and a canvas, so you can soothe your pitter-pattering heart.

My husband doesn’t appreciate when I talk about most people being in a state of sleep, kind of like they’re dead. I tell him not to worry that when he wakes up, he’ll understand. Did I mention that I just finished Jesus and the Lost Goddess, and finally have found the linear connection between Buddhism, Gnostic Christians, and Islam! So that’s a bonus. Seems lots of spiritual belief systems think lots of people are sound asleep.

I’d like to be asleep right about now. The passion to create has been outstanding for weeks. Unbelievable really. I painted for seven hours today, and still have a lot of angst and love in me. The energy of the painting bellow is STILL off. I’d like to bring back their faces and wipe out the green line.

I have a huge pile of laundry, like seven loads of clean clothes staring me down. I really want to erase that green line and paint.

roadtrip1

charcoal sketching

roadtrip2

trying to steal a heart

roadtrip3

Heart not stolen

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roadtrip5

roadtrip6

roadtrip7

Me (in my 20s)

a few hours after this post….and I think I am done as done can be. ❤

roadtripfinal