Archives for category: Roses
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Inspiration

August 7, 2014 //
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I personally find feeling ‘inspired’ to be a strange state that is neither cause nor effect in any clear and specific way. Sometimes I am inspired by something…which seems an effect, obviously, but I’m not always certain what inspired me. Other times, although I feel inspired I don’t act on it, and it causes nothing, existing merely as a state of being, or sensation. I’m often deeply inspired. I write. I paint. I take photographs. I craft small sculptures. I organize objects in space in a visually pleasing (to me) way. I build and craft things. I am a creative being. I consider myself an artist, and a writer. I write and take pictures pretty nearly every day that I am awake… painting is different. I am often moved to paint, but I only follow through when I have the physical space to work in comfortably, the time to set up and tear down and clean up afterward (having no permanent studio space), and exist in the context of an emotional experience that feels consistent with the inspiration driving my desire to paint; it’s that last one that makes or breaks whether I paint. That last one is as non-negotiable as breathing, and is less a choice of will than a limitation in ability.

Inspiration takes so many forms... flowers...

Inspiration takes so many forms… flowers…

---landscapes...

…landscapes…

...a quality of light...

…a quality of light…

...a metaphor...

…a metaphor…

...an emotion.

…an emotion.

This weekend I am painting. I’m excited about it, and my consciousness is saturated with inspiration – paintings and ideas that have been lurking in the shadows waiting their turn, queue up with exciting new ideas that arose in the hours since it became a certainty that I’d have the time and space to paint in solitude. At least for now, solitude is the only assurance of having that elusive emotional context within which I paint.

I’ve got inspiration…images…canvas…paint…time…space… and no idea of what will have come of it, when I shake off the drop cloths, fold them up, put away the paint and brushes, and acknowledge that the weekend has ended.  I know I am excited, now. I enjoy the feeling of anticipation, and the internal pressure of increasing inspiration, ideas on ideas, and the fun of making quick notes – not wanting to let a moment of further inspiration ‘get away’.

This will be my first serious exploration of mindfulness, perspective, and sufficiency in my work as a painter. I don’t know what it means to make that observation, and I don’t know what it will mean for my art. I haven’t done much painting living in this particular location, a mere handful of paintings over almost 3 years, and my last productive opportunity to paint was before I got to where I am, now, as a person. I am approaching the weekend with a beginner’s mind, and wide-eyed wonder. What will come of this? I guess I’ll know on Sunday. 🙂

There's always time for a moment of wonder.

There’s always time for a moment of wonder.

Today is a good day to try something new. Today is a good day to be eager, to be delighted, and to share the moment. Today is a good day for art, a good day for journeys, and a good day to love. Today is a good day to change the world.

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Categories Art, art and the artist, Brain Injury, Free Will, Healthy Living, Love, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Relationships, Roses, Summer

One for You

June 26, 2014 //
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Good morning – or afternoon, or evening – I hope that the moment you find yourself in feels comfortable and that you are content, if not generally, then at least right now.

Yes, you.

This post is for you. Each of you, all of you, any of you. Because you are reading these words. Because you stopped by just this once to check out this blog, for some reason, today. Because you’ve bookmarked it and read it often. Because you clicked a link to my blog from a comment on some adult blog, figuring on more of the same, and instead of being disappointed, you’ve come back a few times to read more. Because you don’t even know me, and find value in sharing some piece of my experience anyway. Because you do know me, you know me well, and you quietly read each post, rarely speaking up to make a comment or observe a detail, or offer a helpful suggestion, understanding perhaps that there is a fundamental loss of privacy happening, between you and me, when I write and you read – and knowing me, you understand how vulnerable and raw that may actually feel. Because you know me, not as well as you’d like, and you remain curious and fascinated, and enjoy the vicarious ‘insider information’ that occasionally feels like you know so much more about me now.  Because you’re a troll or a spammer, out there doing your thing, and some one time, some one post, actually touched you – you’re still spamming me, but you made one pleasant, sincere, heartfelt comment that even had good spelling and grammar.  Because you are you, and you are reading these words, long after some little joke of mine has begun to wear thin, or some metaphor has finally be over-worked to death.

This post is for you. Thank you. That’s really it, just a thank you.  I kept a journal for years, you see, and although I write nearly compulsively, and often find I ‘don’t get it’ until I see something in words, I found myself drowning myself in the very words I love so much, and writing endlessly the damaging ruminations and negative thoughts I was stuck on. I wrote volumes. This is the simplest truth, I know; they are stored in a bin or two in the attic, save for some small number that have more meaning, or capture an important time of change. Those sit unread on a bookshelf by my bed, in case I need to ‘check myself’ about who I was then, or what events seemed to be about at that time.  As 2012 drew to a close, and I approached my 50th birthday, my whole experience sort of crashed in around me and I found myself mired in pain and doubt and regret, and frankly unsure that continuing to live had any value at all.  I didn’t really discuss that detail of my experience with anyone. I tried once or twice, and it was quickly apparent that I wasn’t getting anywhere, or making a connection.

Writing in my journal wasn’t helping me, anymore, and I was no longer sure my writing had value of any kind, or any purpose, or have anything of interest to any person. I was quietly planning to ‘check out’. Then… life went from bad to worse. It was all pretty subjective – the factual details of my experience of everyday life just weren’t particularly ‘bad’, not even a little. It was my emotional experience, my personal, subjective, internal experience of ‘self’ that had finally just caved in.  I started this blog then, aware at the time that these could be the last things I had to say, to share, and for me that meant that doing my best to make them ‘worthy’ and genuine and real was important to me.  This blog ended up being a big piece of ‘saving my life’.

This is no longer a salvage operation. I’m building on the best of who I am learning to be, and taking those tools, and experiences, and each day working to be just a bit better at being me, at being the best of me, that I can. You’re part of that. Thank you.

Why am I saying ‘thank you’ today? Because you thanked me first.  Yesterday was an interesting day for that.  I got a flurry of emails about a particular post, and it happens now and then, and this particular flurry of grateful and appreciate words felt so warm and nurturing – not saying thank you would be rude.  Thank you for caring how I am doing. Thank you for finding value in my observations on life, and my commentary on my challenges, my growth, my progress, and life’s curriculum.  It’s an amazing journey, and it matters to me that we’re sharing it.

I hope your today is a success – however you define it – and that your choices are wise and support your needs over time. I hope today the challenges seem less challenging and more rewarding, and that you take a chance on you. You deserve the best you have to offer. You matter.  Thank you for reading my blog.

Like a potted rose slaking its thirst on a gentle rain; I'm grateful.

Like a potted rose slaking its thirst on a gentle rain; I’m grateful.

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Categories Brain Injury, Healthy Living, Love, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Relationships, Roses, Summer, The Big 5, Turning 50, women, Words

Mountains and Molehills

June 2, 2014 //
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I was not up to taking my new backpack for a test hike yesterday, when I started my day. I was also not really up to it a bit later in the morning, after yoga, and when I walked – without my pack – to the neighborhood farmer’s market, either.  Afternoon came around, and a partner asked me what I thought of the hike at Cooper Mountain, and handed me a map.  I looked it over pretty fearlessly; I wasn’t even considering it as a ‘right now’ option, just looking at a map. Could I do the distances involved? It looked like it. Could I handle the terrain? That looked okay, too, with the possible exception of some steeper bits, that I felt sure I could work  up to pretty quickly…

Oh - hello right now!

Oh – hello right now!

In moments we were off, headed down the road toward adventure.  According to the hiking app I installed on my smart device, by day’s end we’d managed more than 3 miles of varied terrain (3.4 for me, 3.8 for my partners who took on one more loop of trail than I did). It was good fun, and my pack fit well, felt comfortable, and delivered on the utterly necessary hydration piece I was concerned about.  I felt far more capable in practice than I had convinced myself I was.  It felt extraordinary to knock down that damaging notion and replace it with a sense of strength and capability.  Old skills and knowledge were at the ready, and I found being open to learning new technologies far less stress-inducing than hanging on to ideas that are now out-of-date (good-bye cotton, hello modern wicking fabrics!). It was fantastically fun and I am already eagerly exploring maps of the area for hikes that are easily within reach. It felt fantastic to be outside, with my partners, walking through the lovely countryside.

The wild roses were in bloom, pretty much everywhere.

The wild roses were in bloom, pretty much everywhere.

There were endless vistas...

There were endless vistas…

...paths to points beyond...

…paths to points beyond…

...cool forests...

…cool forests…

...sun-dappled trails...

…sun-dappled trails…

...and lovely expanses of meadow filled with every possible wildflower.

…and lovely expanses of meadow filled with every possible wildflower.

It was an afternoon well-spent, savored, and enjoyed in good company.

It was an afternoon well-spent, savored, and enjoyed in good company.

I wasn’t sad to head for home when we reached our vehicle; I was beat! The drive home was punctuated with laughing comments about sleeping well that night. It was a lovely experience.

Strangely… I did not sleep well. Okay, to be fair, I slept well enough, but not for very long, and the remaining many hours of night were spent split between meditation, and wondering why meditation wasn’t resulting in sleepiness. Ever. lol. For now I am awake, alert, content, and facing the work week feeling good.  Perhaps I’d simply had enough rest? I guess it is possible, although 4 hours is rarely sufficient for me; I may notice the lack by day’s end.

Until then, though, and even after… today is a very good day. It’s a very good day just as it is, and that’s a nice way to begin it.

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Categories Brain Injury, Healthy Living, Love, Menopause, Mindfulness, pain, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Relationships, Roses, Summer, The Big 5, women, Words

The Dark Side of Desire

May 30, 2014 //
4

This morning I am sitting here in the quiet of dawn, and contemplating this sweet chill moment of satisfaction and contentment; I want for nothing. At least right now, this very specific and limited immediate moment of now, I am not experiencing desire, hunger, craving, yearning, or any urgent sense of need. It’s lovely.

It got me thinking, though, of recent tragedies, and lives lost to the dark side of desire: entitlement, jealousy, possessiveness, attachment, and yes, craving, yearning, wanting, ‘needing’ – those urgent hard-to-resist feelings that say there is something amiss in the world when some object, experience, or person is not available for ownership, possession, or purchase. I doubt it is the desire itself that is the challenge. My own experiences tell me that the difficulties (and horrors) develop when a person is overcome by the conviction that some outcome is their due. Expectation. Demand. Entitlement.

I’ve struggled with it, too. It’s very human to want something or someone so badly that it takes over reason and good sense, destroys compassion and consideration, impedes respect, or seems to justify bad behavior; it isn’t appropriate to take action on those feelings in any way that encroaches on someone else’s will, personal liberty, control of their own body, sense of safety, or freedom to withhold consent.  Rapists are a problem, and the lack of consent is the defining thing, and even in the face of the obviousness of it there manages to be discussion about it, as if there is some permissible amount of non-consensual conduct that is acceptable. (There isn’t.)

It took me a long time to get here. I have been wading through a lot of wreckage, and looking back on me over the years, I owe a number of very good-hearted people apologies of one sort or another; damage doesn’t truly excuse being a shitty human being.  I have struggled with myself, and I still do, figuring out the consent piece, for myself, as I find my way in the world.   I wasn’t exactly brought up to respect my own boundaries, to expect that my consent – or lack of it – would be respected, or even to say no and mean it in clear, explicit terms.  The result? I sometimes didn’t treat other rape survivors well; I treated them as badly as I treated myself. I didn’t understand the nature of consent, or that the word ‘no’ had any power to change events. My own experiences didn’t support that. I didn’t understand it is my right to choose, to say yes or no, and to have those choices be accepted and honored.  I spent years as an unwitting accomplice to rape culture; the survivor-apologist, so busy being ‘accountable for my own actions’ that I was willing to excuse my violation.  Getting past that and building a healthy understanding of the sanctity of my consent has been a complicated battle.

[Are you listening? It isn’t too late to show yourself compassion, to respect your own pain, to stand on your values and say ‘no’. It’s okay, too, to feel shame at the damage you’ve done as a tool in your own destruction – and to choose another path, now. You said it would matter if just one woman, one survivor, would say “I’m sorry I made things worse.” I’m here. I’m one woman. I’m sorry.]

So… here we all are… talking about the issues more openly, more insistently, more frankly. That, in spite of the pain and the circumstances, is an important step forward.

In the midst of pain, there is still beauty.

In the midst of pain, there is still beauty.

Today is a good day to talk about difficult subjects honestly. Today is a good day to be compassionate and concerned. Today is a good day to respect myself, and others. Today is a good day to change the world.

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Categories Anxiety, Brain Injury, Free Will, grief, Healthy Living, Love, Mindfulness, pain, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Rape, Relationships, Roses, The Big 5, women, Words

Coming Home

May 24, 2014 //
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After numerous flight delays, I finally reached my destination, and a taxi. I was one 40 minute cab ride away from home.

My driver made the trip in a heart-stopping 24 minutes!

My driver made the trip in a heart-stopping 24 minutes!

My homecoming was delightful, warm, loving, supportive. I know we hung out for a little while, I know souvenirs were brought forth, shared, discussed. There may have been an anecdote shared, or two.  I think we ‘got caught up’. I didn’t stay  up late, but I didn’t rush to bed, either; Las Vegas got me used to just going and going and going…ending the evening and going to sleep was challenging, in spite of obvious signs of exhaustion.

Yesterday happened. Most of it involved sleeping. I woke in the morning, too early, had coffee and started an argument. It hadn’t been my intention, and in-the-moment I wouldn’t have described the circumstances that way, but looking back, the step-by-step process of ‘starting shit’ was evident, and well-followed with considerable precision. I was still so incredibly fatigued that I was highly volatile, and that’s a poor moment to attempt conversation about political matters –  important or otherwise. This was not ‘important’. I was just killing time, waiting for an entirely other sort of moment, actually, and my choices were poor.  (Not surprising, really, my decision-making when I am fatigued is often quite peculiarly poor, and I suspect it is due to the specifics of my TBI.) I went back to bed, once it became clear I just wasn’t rested enough yet to be fit to interact with human beings.

Yesterday I slept 16.5 hours, waking 4 times for various reasons, and durations of time. I managed to drink about 128 ounces of water (thank you Hello Kitty water bottle!). I even managed to fit in some meditation, some yoga, and a couple short walks.  Apparently that is what it takes me to recover from 4 days in Las Vegas. lol (I think we could all have done without including a nasty tearful temper tantrum, next time I’ll try that.)

I am excited to be home. I am rested. Life feels very good.

Today is a good day to garden.

Today is a good day to garden.

Today is a good day to notice small delights.

Today is a good day to notice small delights.

Today is a good day to enjoy simple things.

Today is a good day to enjoy simple things.

Today is a good day to love without reservations.

Today is a good day to love without reservations.

Today is a good day to change the world.

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Categories Brain Injury, gardening, Healthy Living, Love, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Relationships, Roses, Spring, Words
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