Don’t ask questions about longing.
Look in my face.Rumi
art
364: The Shift
Today I painted for six hours straight without pause. I was able to process and purge some of my emotions. I prayed and connected to spirit. This is my first attempt at a realistic watercolor. I am pleased with the outcome. I feel my energy and love in this piece. It is called “The Shift.” I am still feeling a great passion and surge of connection to source; thusly, I quickly scribed a poem to match the painting. With my recent emotional and spiritual healings, I have an intense drive to bring to life the beating love within me.
The Shift
I walked alone, a stranger on an island to herself. The atmosphere thick and strangling, my emotions bottled inside the opaque glass of reason. I did not know myself, my name, my passion. All was nothing and nothing was all. I longed for companionship; and as desert soul left open, would climb the cliffs in search of you.
Call out, I did, until you came, at least the whispered ghost of you; your phantom corridor offering me respite, if only in imaginings. I ached so devastatingly deep that the richest cave could not harbor the very start of my emptiness. A lion’s roar was my enemy and friend; this triumphant beating trembling purge of beast that drifted and wept across the sea.
I died onto myself, missing you as the window misses the onlooker; left rigid, cold, and clear with no view and no observer. I was less than invisible. I was abstract, set out beneath the world, yet none could be my witness; none could hear my tears.
Falling, I fell. Calling, I called. And yet you heard me not, except the tiniest splinter of thought. In daylight I formed you with clay; the milkiness of you seeping through my entangled fingers. Bled out to the ground, I molded my dignity, my fortitude, my every want into the making of your heart.
And you beat, this moistened part of you, beneath where I rested; my lathered palms dripping muddy-sweet into the blades of greenest grass. I ate you, then, ground your essence between my teeth, and turned my mouth a brown of dreams. Played you between my tongue and cheeks; something tangy, no less sweeter than my own buds.
I nibbled and caressed, taking in the fantasy I created; the one I longed to paint across the seabreeze, to make your real, like the toy that comes alive to the child still innocent. To dance with you, your floppy legs turned limber and lean; the muscles flexing underneath the all of you.
I could climb you like a tree, harboring your very branches between my thighs, and ride you into the sunset as a damsel on her knight obedient.
Atop, in the blue haze, far beyond the robin’s nest, where the eagle soars still, I would witness the end, and sit with you hand—in-hand, like butter between my flesh and soul. Spread out like no other, my head upon thy breast, my heart within your very dove-winged embrace. My mystery revealed, a treasure onto you. In so much that my kingdom becomes your destiny; a place of rapture, delight, and dancing laughter.
Spin me there, now, kind prince. Swing me through the evergreen forest and champion your maiden ripe. For the time has come for children to rise and face the light of happiness.
337: I Am What I Choose to Create
Here is a painting I shared earlier on this blog. I changed the bear a couple of times, as I didn’t like the “energy” of the bear. I could see images inside the fur that were dark and gloomy, e.g., a person eating at the heart, a boy screaming, a heart breaking. I tried to improve the bear to my liking, but I could not. The energy remained.
Finally, I took the canvas off the wall and had at it. I erased the bear in totality, (with water and paper towel), and for two hours let the canvas speak.
In the end, the girl’s face, which I adore, remained, and she gained some wings!
I can now rest my eyes on this painting and feel at peace.
But I missed my bear. I love my bear.
And so I brought him back to life. Not intentionally or on purpose; in the way the process transformed, the bear kind of just showed up!
I painted, (and processed), for five hours last night. So much so that I had zombie blue fingers. (I paint mostly with paper towels and my fingers.) The canvas transformed a dozen times. I erased and erased, painted and painted, and erased again.
Each time I thought I might be done, I knew I wasn’t, because I felt stagnant energy.
I know when my creation is done by the “feeling” I have in my heart and in my gut. Together the heart and gut tell me. I “feel” this freeing of energy, a release, and a recognition of completion.
I experience the same gut-and-heart-level feelings with people, places, events, words, and even the rhythm of words. I get a knowing, and just know.
At first the painting I created last night was a princess in a dress; then a woman dancing; then the image became a woman and two spirits at the river, and then, after several transitions, this lovely bear reappeared. And he was here to stay.
I went through several states of emotion as I painted, too, including envy, jealously, feelings of being caged in, disappointment, and agony. When an emotion surfaced I would paint the pain and then go over the pain with words like “love.” I would then recreate through adding more paint, designs, or through erasing with water.
In my painting I completed of the girl and bear last night, I can only find peaceful and tranquil images in the paint.
Before, with the first bear painting, I could find several dozen images. In this new painting there are only a few images I can detect. Here is one image that I found soothing. I see a lady resting on the bear’s head.
All of this “energy” and “images” inside of my paintings got me thinking about the water crystal images, and how the crystals transform shapes based on a slip of paper with a written word. I was reminded once again how thoughts and the emotions we hold on to affect our world.
Today I said the word “love” to myself a lot. I kept filling the empty spaces in my mind with the word “love.”
I remembered, that like my painting, my intention, the energy of the person I am holding in thought, my thoughts themselves, the motion I choose, the drafts I recreate, all of these seemingly random things work together to produce my experience and perception.
The new painting with the bear.
Today I am practicing letting myself observe my self without judgment.
I am letting myself be.
I am letting myself come forward from beneath the chaos of the canvas.
I am transforming and materializing through the swirls of multi-color and seemingly misplaced and random scatterings of occurrence.
I am letting myself become whole and present, free of emotional chains.
In many ways I am much this bear.
And I am this painting.
I am what I choose moment-by-moment to create.
334: I Am The River
I am not sure where my head space is. Or where my head is for that matter. I tend to ascribe to the Buddhist teachings that we don’t exist, as we can’t see ourselves in totality… Ever! And so, like the rest of me, my head has mysteriously disappeared.
Lately, some part of “Me” has been noticing I am much more aware of my environment. It seems that for decades, until now, I have skid past life and missed much of what happens around me on a day-to-day basis. Kind of like a first time ice-skater skidding on her butt so fast and so far that when she stands she doesn’t reckon she notices anything, except the full-heated rush of blood to the face, the cold butt, bruises, and torn pants.
Life seems like that for me, right now. Like I spent some four-decades plus skidding on my butt on the cold ice, only to just now discover that there are bleachers, chairs, and waiting areas, and even snack bars!
Today, everything is more clearer, as if, finally and at last, somehow I figured out I could step off of the ice, and even remove my ice skates. I cannot explain it any better.
Just recently, I am beginning to notice things I never ever did before. Patterns for starters, like the patterns in puddles, and patterns found in the streaks on the road after it rains, and the patterns in the shapes leaves make after falling. I am starting to notice patterns everywhere. I somehow managed to spend years not recognizing things that are right in front of my face.
I am going through many ah!ha!, look-at-that!-moments; It is similar to how I never understood about how a flower only lasts so long and then dies, even if it is in a pot of soil. I used to think a flower would last forever. It wasn’t until my twenties that I made the connection. While all around me flowers were blooming and dying. I just couldn’t see it or comprehend the process.
I have discovered, that at like faces, I cannot remember scenery. I cannot grasp the completeness of my surroundings. I am in a way in some type of visible matrix, in the center of an ever-changing energetic playing arena.
I cannot remember the order of houses when I drive down streets, the order of streets, the order of trees; I can’t remember where I saw the fire hydrant or where that one street was I once turned down. I just can’t. I have this incredible mind, but it cannot grasp the simple things, or at least not hold onto them.
I am finding great comfort in painting. Well, truthfully comfort isn’t the appropriate word, as the painting process itself is excruciatingly emotionally. So much energy and purging comes up. I go through cycle upon cycle of feeling, and have sensations of intense energy, both beneficial and exhausting. And no matter how hard I concentrate, I do not know what the painting will look like until it, the painting itself, is done.
As I have said early, when I paint, I am waiting for what is inside of the canvas to emerge. I feel this presence there just waiting to be uncovered and discovered.
And that is how I am seeing life now: That behind everything and everyone is this universal light and love waiting to be recognized and recovered, waiting to be held for its beauty alone.
I am much like a young child in so many ways, in so many “good” ways, able to see the same street again and again with new eyes.
Everything is shifting. Like the image of me in the mirror, my world is not stagnant.
Life to me is a river of sorts, and I am carried daily.
Instead of thinking I have fallen and am endlessly sliding on the cold ice, I can see I am very much alive, awake, and full of newness, the same newness that exists everywhere.
Interestingly enough, when I first delved into painting a few months ago, my angels (Holy Spirit) spoke to me and said with a camera I would be able to see images (spirits and souls) in my paintings.
This is truly amazing for me, as I am finding more and more “messages” and “signs” in my paintings. On this post I have shared one of my most recent paintings. It went through hours of transitions.
I love this painting. I see this as a spiritual being, me, in which essence and energy attaches. I am able to look at this and find peace. This painting is how I see the world. What I take in shifts and changes depending on the angle, my mood, the people and events around me, and the energy of the moment.
There is a beautiful energy here.
Gratitude is immeasurable. I am gratitude.
I exist as joy and thankfulness. And I embrace all parts of me, however imperfect or fabulous they are deemed.
I know, that like the images I am creating, in my painting, and through the limited scope of my mind and eyes and senses, that everything is always changing and shifting. There is no need to pitch down a tent upon myself and force, or, better yet, try to force myself to be this way or that way for this purpose or for that purpose; because soon, none of what is now will exist.
I am a river. My life is a river. Silly to try to capture a river.
Blessings and Light,
Sam
333: Long overdue…It’s “Official”
How cool is it that this is number 333 post? I loveeeeee the number three! Always have, always will. He is cute and springy and sweet and funny. Number three rocks. And there are three number threes!
It’s like the threes are celebrating the fact that I received my “official” diagnosis!
Yes, indeed…. Who would have guessed, but a psychologist has concurred (very kind man) that it is true, I am Aspergerian.
So it’s official; whatever that means.
Oddly enough, the whole validation of my “condition” was anti-climatic, as I was in a very serene and calm mood during my last appointment.
I kept waiting for the jolt of “Yeah, Baby” to hit me. But alas it never came.
I analyzed this lack of Wow-Factor for quite sometime, and concluded this balance of emotions was a positive and beneficial thing.
My freedom of self is expressed quite clearly in this recent painting called Surrender.
More recently, three hours last night, and two hours this morning, I worked on this piece. It is filled with emotion and energy for me. This one is called Home.
Interestingly, when I paint, I am mostly using a paper-towel as my tool. I start of with drawing free-formed designs with a pencil, letting spirit move me. Then I add some paint in globs. Then I rub off the paint and see what starts to pop out. I follow no rules and use odd techniques.
Mostly, I feel like a genius-sculpture waiting for the canvas to speak to me.
I have a unique perspective on images. I see things in my paintings and strongly, to the point of distraction and physical sensations, feel the energy.
I didn’t like this image in my original painting. The shape seemed dark to me, almost evil. It looks like a dead animal or beast. I had to remove this by erasing with water and adding more paint.
This image really bothered me, too.
Often parts of my works feel heavy and unfinished, and I have to erase, reapply, and step back. If I see an image I don’t like in a painting, like this one above, of a succubus hooked on to the teddy bear’s head, I have to restart and free the energy. I have to remove the energy vampire, so to speak.
I feel this energy intensely, and feel it is either attached to me, a loved one, or both. So I rework and rework the piece until the energy is released.
I can recognize so much healing during the process, and I become almost hypnotic and lost in my creation.
The painting experience is similar to writing, wherein I cannot use certain colors, brush strokes, angles, shapes, etc. (with writing it is words, sentence structure, rhythm, etc.) without feeling a blockage that I must remove.
For me, everything in life is alive with energy: words, colors, shapes, feelings.
All in all, the art of painting is becoming a soothing mechanism for me both energetically and emotionally.
I am pleased with this new Painter aspect of me: the breaking through of self and displaying of self on canvas. It is another form in which I feel someone might be able to see me beyond the facade of my human flesh/costume.
I still find the creation of faces doubly-daunting, as I cannot grasp faces, not others’ and not even my own. So I am struggling with the releasing of “face.” A concept I find mimics my own personal trials: That of releasing the image of self.
I have a great sense of peace, as of late; partially because I stopped taking this hormone pill that was making me have complex, rapid thoughts (can you imagine!! as my thoughts are already so complex!)…induced hyper-thyroid. But mostly because I have started to listen to my own self. I have started to believe in the magic of the world again. I have started to see that inside of me is so much beckoning to get out. And I have chosen the magic over the misery. Something that is long overdue.
Everyday Asperger's 