An Illicit Affair

Got your attention this Valentine's Day, didn't I? Actually, things like the day of the month typically sneak up on me when I'm working on art images, like this mandala. I didn't think about it being Valentine's Day until it was time to date my work.

I began working on this mandala last Saturday at The Well. I enjoy being surprised by art work, and it seems mandalas are really good at bringing surprise. I think most of us who were there Saturday came with something in mind to work toward, but as is typical with mandalas, we were surprised. Who knew my neat little design around the edges would turn into carrots? Believe me, that was NOT my intention. But apparently it was Spirit's.

And I "intended" to put a heart at the center, but this morning, that just didn't work. When we shared our mandalas Saturday, one of the ladies wondered if the spirals I drew were symbolic of water? Usually, they've represented "journey" for me, and this morning as I continued with another spiral in water at the center of this mandala, it dawned on me that water is a Jungian symbol of "the unconscious". That's when it came to me that the key to exploring my issues with food, my illicit love affair, would be found as I continued exploring the unconscious.

I eat impulsively--for comfort, to cover boredom, to disguise some other hunger in my soul, and as one would expect, that unconscious eating leaves me still unsatisfied.

One of the things working with images does for me, whether it be through mandalas, SoulCollage, or active imagination work, is take me on a journey into the unconscious. Answers are there. Keys can be found there. Metaphors to life issues turn up, and healing is found there.

So, what do I "do" with this information? Receive it, ponder it, and let it "be" in me. This process takes more time than a crash diet or liposuction. It takes more time that most of us want to spend, but it's the only way I've found to lasting salvation. The process of doing "the work", whether it be through visual art, journaling, writing poetry, sharing with my Grace Group, or just comtemplating the world around me heals. And that's what we're here for. That's what salvation is about, being made whole.

A Learning Week

One of those weeks--a learning week, and time spent in the studio processing feelings and new information. Ever had a time you flat wanted to disappear? Apparently one of my favorite poets has:

The Art of Disappearing

When they say Don’t I know you?
say no.

When they invite you to the party
remember what parties are like
before answering.
Someone telling you in a loud voice
they once wrote a poem.
Greasy sausage balls on a paper plate.
Then reply.

If they say should we get together,
say why?

It’s not that you don’t love them anymore.
You’re trying to remember something
too important to forget.
Trees.
The monastery bell at twilight.
Tell them you have a new project.
It will never be finished.

When someone recognizes you in a grocery store
nod briefly and become a cabbage.
When someone you haven’t seen in ten years appears at the door,
don’t start singing him all your new songs.
You will never catch up.

Walk around feeling like a leaf.
Know you could tumble any second.
Then decide what to do with your time.

“The Art of Disappearing” from Words Under the Words: Selected Poems by Naomi Shihab Nye, copy right 1995.

A friend introduced me to that poem a few months ago, and I love it.

A few days back, it was Super Bowl Sunday. I had been at a Grace Group conference the day before, and was tired from the trip, and too many things were coming at me at one time, and I wanted to disappear. Instead, I ate a huge chunk of lemon pie--NOT the Weight Watchers' variety. And I was "bumbed" for a couple of days.

So, I began to journal the poem and how I felt and what I'd really like to do--just pull a sheet up all around me and quietly fade away. (Yes, I realize I mispelled a word, but I really like the hisssssing sound--it fits).

Tuesday I went to my monthly Reiki therapy, and I talked about the feelings with my therapist. She reminded me that it's all "energy", and she told me something that really impacted me. She said, "Stuck energy, if it's stuck long enough constellates, and constellated energy becomes 'a beast'. It's not you. It's not your friends. It's not the lemon pie. It's the beast you're dealing with, constellated energy that has a life/mind of its own." Perhaps that what "evil" is??

Anyway, I've learned from experience that if I image something and name it, I have a better chance of actually dealing with it realistically, rather than feeding it lemon pie, so on the way home I had a little conversation with the beast, and I asked him his name. FARKLE.

I knew I had heard the word before, so I went home and googled it and found out some interesting things about Farkle. 1) IT'S A GAME, and the game goes by several names; "cosmic wipeout", "squelch", "greed", and "zonk" to name a few. That in itself gave me enough information, but that's not all, 2) the word Farkle is a combination of two words: sparkle and function. So, when this beast attacks us, our sparkle begins to simply try to function--yes, by eating lemon pie, or some other disfunctional behavior, and 3) Farkle is one of Shrek's triplet sons, the one with little ogre feet.

A few weeks ago, the same friend who introduced me to The Art of Disappearing, sent me a quote that fits this picture to a T:

"There is A DEEP HOLE where the lies go. Not just downright falsehoods, but misaligned intentions, omissions of truth, innuendos, and the like. And don't go nosying up for a look-see, hear? Because there's a hand that will come up, quick as THAT! and graby your ankle or your coattail, see? And it won't let go, you'll be captive. And it won't let go, oh no, no, no."




So that's what happens. Farkle grabs my ankle, and pulls me into his hole, squashes me into the gloom box, and slams the lid shut tight. I think I smell Farkle dung, too. Sometimes I catch the scent even before I get snatched, but I didn't know what it was. Maybe the next time I get a whiff of Farkle dung, I will watch for the hole, treading carefully, lest the HAND grabs me again.

Maybe not.

But at least now that I have a picture, and I've pondered Farkle's tricks in my life--at least now, perhaps I'm more aware and with time, maybe I won't get Farkled quite so often.