Black and Beautiful

One of the first things I learned as I soaked in The Song of Songs a number of years ago is that I am beautiful to the Lover of our souls. Flat out beautiful! And so are YOU. We have so many voices speaking to our vises and our "sins"--this is sin and that is sin. If you explore this you're a sinner, if you move in that direction you're a sinner. Martin Luther's picture of our soul's being a dung hill that's simply covered by the blood of Jesus isn't a pretty one. It doesn't give us a chance unless we believe a certain way.

But that's not what I learned from those years in the Song. We are LOVELY. We are SPOTLESS. YOU may see a spot in me, but the Great Lover doesn't. I may see a plank in your eye, but Divine Love sees nothing but beauty. "There is not spot in you...only beauty." Believe it. Nothing to do, nothing to work for, nothing to say, nothing but the voice of the Beloved saying "You are all fair my love; there is no spot in you."

The Harrowing of Hell

A couple of weeks ago, the conversation on our Coming Home FB page got around to the subject of hell, and a friend reminded me of Cynthia Bourgeault's discussion of hell in her book, The Wisdom Jesus.

Part of her discussion includes this exerpt from Annie Dillard's Pilgrim at Tinker Creek:

"That something is everywhere and always amiss is part of the very stuff of creation. It is as though each clay form had baked into it, fired into it, a blue streak of non-being, a shaded emptiness like a bubble that not only shapes its very structure but that also causes it to list and ultimately explode. We could have planned things more mercifully, perhaps, but our plan would never get off the drawing board until we agreed to the very compromising terms that are the only ones that being offers.

"The world has to sign a pact with the devil; it had to. It is a covenant to which everything, even every hydrogen atom is bound. The terms are clear: if you want to live, you have to die...The world came into being with the signing of that contract."
(end of quote)

Dillard's picture of that "blue streak of non-being" set Bourgeault to thinking. She continues writing:

"It had not previously occurred to me that this irreducible brokenness might in fact be part of the givens of this realm itself. It was simply not one of the options that my classical theological training would lead me to consider. In our usual theological take on the Christian mystery, with the emphasis so much on personal sin, we lose sight of the fact that death and finitude really are collective, the backdrop against which everything else unfolds."

She takes the conversation further by writing about the Christian take on darkness and light, and tells about a woman who questioned, "How could this darkness exist? How can we remove this darkness from the planet."

Bourgeault's respnse was, "Don't you see that by judging it you only make it worse? By trying to stop the black, to make it all white, all good; by saying that this we can accept, and this we must reject, you keep empowering that cycle of polarization that creates the problem in the first place." Bourgeault continues, "I think this has always been the fatal trap in the 'God is Light' roadmap, the orientation that cleaves to the light by trying to deny or reject the shadow."

Then she began writing about The Harrowing of Hell, the idea that Jesus descended to hell before he rose from the dead. That's not found in Scripture, but it is a huge part of Christian Tradition, with the idea even being included in the Creed. So, what did Jesus do there? Tradition teaches that he preached to the unbaptized, but I do love Bourgeault's take...What was Jesus doing there?

"He was just sitting there--surrounded by the darkest, deepest, most alienated, most constricted states of pained consciousness; sitting, if we can imagine it, among all those mirroring faces of the collective false self that we encountered earlier in the crucifixion narrative: the anguish of Judas, the indecision of Pilate, the cowardice of Peter, the sanctimony of the Pharisees; sitting there in the midst of all this blackness, not judging, not fixing, just letting it be in love. And in doing so, he was allowing love to go deeper, pressing all the way to the innermost ground out of which the opposites arise and holding that to the light. A quiet, harmonizing love was infiltrating even the deepest places of darkness and blackness, in a way that didn't override them, or cancel them, but gently reconnected them to the whole."

Thanks for putting up with the long quote, but these are ideas that I've thought myself and now someone's put voice/and words to it. I've pondered Dillard's "blue streak of non-being" that's shot through the whole of creation, and I've pondered Jesus just sitting in hell with us until the light comes--I've pondered it all through Lent. I've gone through my own dark night, and Jesus sat with me. The light's coming again. And I have friends who are sitting in their own hell--their own darkness, and I know Jesus is sitting with them. They may not know it, but I know it, and I can pray it for them--that he stay with them until the light comes again for them.

This isn't one of those paintings I want hanging over my sofa. Not sure I'll ever even enter it in a show; all I know is that I had to paint it as a "Thank you" to the One who is always with us, whether we know it or not or whether we believe it or not.

This I know, True Love Wins--every time.

Ponder Jesus with you in your darkness on this Holy Saturday, then have a blessed Easter tomorrow.

Life Giving Holy Dove

I actually got to stay home all day Thursday and today, so I hit the studio! Might should have cleaned house--could vacuum and mop, but I really wanted to paint. So, guess what won!?!

I loved this song when I first heard it--and sang it--Sunday:

Spirit of truth and love
life giving holy Dove
speed forth Thy light
move on the water's face
bearing the lamp of grace
and in earth's darkest place
let there be light.

I knew Sunday that I wanted to paint that verse; I'm so glad I had time this week to do it. First time I've had the watercolors out in a very very long time. Still not sure I'm through, but close. Had so much fun painting it.

Seeing NORA

Anyone who knows me very well, knows I don't usually attempt landscapes. But it's the Arizona thing, you know? And the Evolutionary Christianity series of conversations with Michael Dowd. Michael and his wife Connie call this continent of ours, "NORA". And they talk a lot about being in love with NORA and loving her more each day. They've traveled over the continent of North America for 9 years now, and their love for NORA seems to grow by leaps and bounds.

I think it's naming the land that seems to have done it for me. Realizing that this awesome planet is alive and constantly changing, that it's part of a system that's been evolving over billions of years--vastly beyond my comprehension--but the personal naming of the Earth delights me and helps me see with fresh eyes her beauty.

This particular scene was near Tombstone, Arizona. So different from the snow-laden pine trees of the Tonto National Forest where I had "homed" for a week, and still different again from the incredible red rocks of Sedona, this little patch of NORA filled me with such peace as I drove, and a sense of deep humility. Of course this little painting will never capture the softness of the landscape, the gentle rolling of the hills between Sonoita and Tombstone, but it can remind me that NORA loved me well that day. And she still does. Earth is my home. I can't believe how long it's taken me to begin to really, really see her all around me and to be so grateful for giving us birth and loving us well. I am a child of NORA. She is my Mother, as surely as Millie is my mother. She is holy and sacred. May we treat her with care and dignity in her old age.

Hindsight...Surprised by Joy!

One of my favorite Scriptures is in Exodus, where Moses cries out to see "the face of God", but he has to wait for God to pass by, and Moses is only able to see the backside of God. For me, that has always been a picture of our ability to see God in hindsight.

I went on Sabbatical during Christmas, 2010, and it was only after I had been home for a few days that I remembered a dream that I had during December, 2003--exactly 7 years before my trip to Arizona. I had been having lots of dreams of mandalas, and a few of paintings, and I "knew" that I was supposed to begin painting again, even though I hadn't done anything visually creative in nearly 15 years. I began working again with mandalas, but there has always been these other two "paintings" that I remembered from those dreams. I just never got around to painting them. And that's what I remembered when I got home from Spirit Falls, those two paintings. One of them is the painting you see here. And it wasn't until then, that I KNEW it wasn't just a dream about a painting, but a dream about a trip--a trip I would make 7 years later!

That's God in hindsight: kind, compassionate, merciful, and life-giving, a God of mystery who loves to invite us into the mystery anyway possible--sometimes through dreams, and sometimes through our own creative works.

I am reminded that God is and always has been in EVERYTHING, and God has always worked with, and continues to work with, whatever is available, especially in our simple creative acts.

One of the reasons I never got around to painting the picture in my dream is because it was too whimsical and fantasy like--just too "fun" to really be "art". I remember in the dream that the picture was titled, "Surprised by Joy."

And that's one of the best things that happened during my trip to Arizona. I was surprised by JOY! That joy remains, knowing my spirituality can be - and IS - infused with mystical wisdom and contemplation and the evidential revelation of God all around me in science and evolution.

All the pieces have come together, and I have been truly surprised by joy!

Anyone who knows me knows I've struggled with Christmas for many years now, but I'm really learning to love Advent.

I wasn't raised with Advent,and never experienced it until I spent my time in the Catholic Church. I tried to celebrate it the usual way, with wreaths, calendars, special prayers, etc., but that never really worked for me. Advent for me is praying with my art.

Way back in 2003, my artwork came back to me--I think Mary gave it to me. I hadn't touched anything resembling art supplies in years--too busy chasing God, but in 2003, toward the end of November, I began dreaming of mandalas, so I began working with them. That was my journey back into art work, and without me realizing it, it was my introduction to praying with art. And I didn't realize then that I was in the Advent season.

Advent 2003 didn't find me any closer to they Mystery of Advent--it was still just a season on the calendar. But slowly, I've come to notice over the past few years, that Advent brings me a precious slowing down (even in all the hustle and bustle). Something begins to pull me back, slow me down, and turn me in. Last year, Andy said it--Don't struggle with Christmas; celebrate Advent. Look for the Light. So I did. Last year was an art journal. Look back a year on this blog, and you'll find it. This year, it's icons. I had the privilege of sharing my love for icons (something else I discovered during my time in the Catholic Church) with our Christian Formation class last week, and I knew I wanted to paint an icon. It's not egg tempera--may never be, but it is on wood, and I did "real" gold gilding! That was an experience! And I've thorougly enjoyed the experience of working quietly and meditatively this week. This has always been my favorite icon: Christ Pantocrator. This image is supposed to be the "sterner" image, but I love it.

Now, the paints go up, and the studio gets put back in some kind of order, and I won't use it again until next year. I leave next week on Sabbatical. I plan on doing some art while I'm gone, but in small doses. So, I wish you and yours a Merry Christmas. O, by the way, I read something this past week that made me stop in my tracks. Did you know that WE are the reason for the Season??? Because God loved us, Jesus came.

Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays, and Merry Yule to all my friends!

New Painting - Emerging

I've been working on this for the last couple of days. It's done from one of my SoulCollage(r) cards, and it's painted in acrylics. I thoroughly enjoyed doing it. Inside all of us as women is a young one emerging, as well as an older, hidden one who helps us along: maiden, mother and crone. I also thought of my grandaughter who's definitely emerging, with her mother and her grandmother nearby. We become who we are by standing on the sholders of those who've gone before. I think I heard that somewhere!

Namaste!

PS, a later addition

She Is

Maiden, Mother, Crone
Cocooned, Emerging, Guiding
Daughter, Mother, Grandmother
Seeker, Birther, Wisdom...

She Is

A ROOM OF ONE'S OWN

A ROOM OF ONE’S OWN

I invited him in
Told him this was his house
“Take off your shoes, stay awhile
make yourself at home.”

“Rearrange the furniture if you like.
You can discard whatever’s in your way,
even if it seems precious to me.”

“Here,
here in my heart,
in this space
make a room of your own
to just be.”

He came in, looked around and smiled,
then walked to the mantle in the Great Room.
He noticed something was missing.
He cleared a place,

then put Her picture there.

I was surprised. He was pleased.
He was home.

The Grasses Know

The Grasses Know

Waves

upon waves

upon waves

purple heads
float on oceans of green
and ochre grasses...

Malkatuh walks through,
and the grasses know.

She is.



My pre-dawn walk yielded little bits of poetry this morning. As I rounded the bend on my return home, the tall grasses moved in the wind. I've seen it before, but today I bowed and whispered "Namaste", and the poem came.

The first write yielded "Ruah" as her name. But as I sat with the Aramaic words of Jesus this morning, expanding on my understanding of the prayer he taught us to pray, I read these lines:

(begin quote)

"Malkuthakh" refers to a quality of rulership...that guide[s] our life toward unity. It could justifiably be translated either "kingdom" or "queendom". From the ancient roots, the word carries the image of a "fruitful arm" poised to create, or a coiled spring that is ready to unwind with all the verdant potential of the earth. It is what says "I can" within us...The word "Malkatuh", based on the same root, was a name of the Great Mother in the Middle East thousands of years before Jesus. The ancients saw in the earth and all around them a divine quality that everywhere takes responsibility and says "I can".

(end quote)

I remembered the grasses blowing in the wind just before dawn, and I remembered the sense that She was walking through them as they recognized her, and I knew they also recognized their own "I can".

That's when I knew Ruah had introduced me to Another, Malkatuh, the "I can".

It's been a happy morning.

The Marriage of Elan and the Mermaid

I've been chompin' at the bit to get into my studio and do some active imagination work. So, I got up early this morning, put on a new CD, grabbed a few pastels, took a deep breath, and began working. Almost a couple of hours later, I realized I had been invited to a wedding...

A few weeks back I discovered a new word...ELAN (with one of those little '-marks over the "e"). I wish I remembered where I saw the word--one of the problems of being an avid reader. I can never remember where I saw "it", nor can I ever find "it" again. But I fell in love with this word. The author definded it as a bursting forth of energy--you know the kind--that "bursting forth" that causes a bird to break forth into song, that "bursting forth" that causes a seemingly dead seed or bulb to break open and shoot roots into the ground, that "bursting forth" that raises new life out of ashes--THAT "bursting forth"! It's called LIFE!

I've been smiling on the inside as I've read two of my sons Facebook posts this weekend. No. 1 son has fallen in love with mountains and rocks and has become an avid climber. Hewent rock climbing (again) during the Labor Day weekend, this time to take an "anchors" course, so he can take his sons and "anchor" them as they climb up and over steep grades of rocks--yeah, I can just see it now. Actually, I have my eyes covered.

No. 2 son took two his two boys to New Orleans this weekend, "hoboin'". They're playing their guitars and harmonicas on the streets with strangers (yes, that's right, strangers)! Improvisional jazz or something like that on the streets of New Orleans, eating beignets and sharing their meals with "hobo dogs". What's a grandmother to do?

But you know, that's what Elan is--it's LIFE! It's that great rush of drama that comes running at you, full steam ahead, with fire breathing out it's nostrils. It's that thing that rises up out of the underworld, morphing from free, easy and beautiful, to huge, vile, and ugly. It's LIFE, in all it's glory, as well as all it's gore.

Seems two of my sons have decided to risk experiencing life from INSIDE, instead of OUTSIDE, looking on. And they seem determined to teach their sons the same thing.

Most of us would rather be safe. Except that LIFE teaches us that nothing is safe. Not the good ole USA, not NYC, not 401K's, not marriage, not religion, certainly not God--none of it's safe.

I'm one of those who lived the first 40 years of my life trying to do the "right" thing, and playing it "safe". I expected marriage(s) to last. I expected that if I went to church, read my Bible and loved God, I'd be a "good Christian". I did the "right thing" that a good Christian woman was supposed to do--got married and raised my kids, went to church, and played by the rules.

Then I turned 40 and the adventure began. I decided to make a bold move on the part of my scared little East Texas heart; I decided to began to really follow it and listen to it. And I have discovered LIFE.

And I've sprouted fish fins from swimming in the deep of the psyche. I've learned about "breathing under water". I've seen the beast--shoot, I've discovered I AM the beast. :) And I am also Beauty. The Dragon and I are ONE. The enemy is me, myself, and I.

And yet, and yet...wow, the experiences. Some of them measured by today's standards as not so good, but still memorable. And the longer I live, the less I demand safety. The more I want to experience LIFE from INSIDE.

So, as I painted this morning, and smeared, and worked and reworked, not having a clue what I was doing or where it was leading me, I found the mermaid and her bouquet aproaching the sea dragon--Beauty about to marry the Beast.

The Marriage of Elan and the Mermaid

Here he comes…
Rising up from the deep waters
Coming toward her from the darkest night…

Friend
Or Foe?
Kind and gentle
Or cruel as death itself?
Morphing from moment to moment
Changing from innocent sea creature
To fire-breathing dragon
Always changing
Not quite certain who or what he (or it) is…

He carries something in his hand
Something extended to She who waits

Might it be his heart?

And She,
Half human, half water beast herself
Rises from the deep to meet him
Dressed as Bride
Holding herself out to greet him

She waits.
He approaches.
They wed.

NO MORE COOKIES!

A few days back, I decided to use my 42 year old Better Homes and Garden Cookbook for Third Act's collaborative art journal. Talk about FUN! It's like it let off a whole lot of steam, the intro pages just kept coming! This is the first page. Ask Jim--this Granma doesn't cook much of ANYTHING anymore. Been there, done that!

My New "Who Has Time to Cook Book"

Who cooks much anymore??? Who has time?

My 3rd Act Circle of Crones has decided to do a collaborative art project. There are 12 of us, so we decided to do a "round robin" journal. Each one of us is putting together some kind of journal full of blank pages, then we will pass them off to "the next person on the list", and "woola!", 12 months later, there will be 12 beautiful journals chunked full of original art work by 12 beautiful, talented artists (myself included, of course!).

My first task is to put my journal together. As I was pondering how to start, my eyes fell on this much used very old cookbook, and I decided "who needs this cookbook anymore?" Ask Jim. He'll guarantee it doesn't get much use now-adays...who has time?

I got this cookbook as a wedding present for my first wedding nearly 42 years ago. It's been used a lot, albeit not much during the last 10 years, but there was a time... So the book has a little of my history in it. I'll begin "altering" the cover tomorrow, or this weekend. The name will be changed from Better Homes and Gardens New Cook Book, to "The Who Has Time to Cook Book?" or the "Who Wants to Cook Book?" Not sure exactly what yet, but you get the drift! Clean white 300# watercolor pages are all torn and hole-punched. They'll be removed before I start with the glue, paint, and colored paper. Once the cover is finished, I'll put the pages back in, show you another picture, then neither of us will see it until May of 2011. At that time, the Crones have decided we MUST have a party and celebrate out journals together. The idea is to put all the finished books out so that we can see them together and finished for the first time. What fun that will be!

When it's all said and done, I'll have a treasure of beautiful, personal, fun and whimsical, original artwork from some very lovely sisters.

And this is just the beginning!

Energy Made Visible #2, The Golden Purifier

I've been working with images as Pat Allen suggests in her book, Art As A Spiritual Path. I've never wanted to just paint pretty pictures with my art--I truly want it to be from deep inside me, but I've had to work at it. My imagination wasn't particularly blessed earlier in my life (the playground of the devil, you know), so my imagination, as well as my mind and my heart and the rest of me has had to repent (wake up!). Mandalas and soul collage have been my tools of choice for the last 7 years or so, but for now Pat's methods intrigue me. Anyway, long story even longer...

During Lent, I had "close encounters of another kind" with two different birds, a couple of weeks apart. The first was with hawks--almost landing on my car, and actually making eye contact with me, swooping down and showing me their feathers...it was kind of quirky, but I've taken a strong liking to quirky things on, especially on my spiritual journey. I've learned not to shrug off those quirky things, but to ask questions, to pause, to listen. So, I talked to a friend of mine who's just about as quirky, and she said, "Pay attention. The hawk is a message bird--he's got something to tell you, so listen." So I did--hawks everywhere around me for about 10 days, then BUZZARDS!

My first encounter with the buzzards was on Psalm Sunday no less--at church. We were outside, when I looked up and saw these beautiful birds flying around and I exclaimed, "Just look at the hawks; aren't they wonderful!" A friend said, "That's BUZZARDS!"

Now you have to know I've never been a buzzard lover. Back in my "prophetic" days, the buzzard was unclean, a scavenger, and not a good sign. But one of my primary archetypal symbols is the alchemist. I love to rediscover and reclaim "profane"...all things were created good. So, again, I began to watch and listen. And I talked to my friend, who really didn't have much to say except what I already knew...they embraced death and weren't afraid of it. And it was possible something was dying in my life--or needed to. I knew already what that was, so I embraced that, then went home and googled the Vulture and found that the turkey vulture's name means GOLDEN PURIFIER.

Now, if that doesn't get my attention, nothing will.

So, this morning I do a scribble drawing and this big beautiful vulture emerges, in the middle of all my chaos and gives me beauty. As I drew and colored and listened, I knew that embracing death always brings new life. I knew this image was my GOLDEN PURIFIER. Later I sat and dialogued with it...I'm not crazy, Pat Allen is! :) Actually, I've done that with some of my other images, so I know it works. The image has something to say. As I listened, I was impressed that this bird reminds me so much of Christ...despised, rejected, embracing death as a pathway to new life and new creation. From the seeds of death a new way comes.

So I am blessed to have the Golden Purifier, my Christ bird, in my life. I'll never look at a vulture the same. They do no harm. They never kill, but wait patiently for death to come, then they embrace it fully, cleaning up all the remains, allowing life to return. Just like the Cross has done for me.

CHRIST'S FEET

Andy preached a sermon during Lent about Mary anointing Jesus' feet. That's always been one of my favorite Bible stories, but for some reason that morning, the story stayed with me and I knew I wanted to paint the story.

A couple of weeks later, Andy preached again, this time about Jesus washing the disciples' feet. He reminded us that those two incidents were only days apart, and that there's a huge possiblity that Mary inspired Jesus--that his washing their feet was a direct result of her washing his feet. I had never thought of that, but I knew there was a painting in there somewhere.

I felt a painting forming in my gut. I had been so moved by both sermons, and I felt the painting forming on my insides, so I simply asked, stated my intention, then waited.

Also during Lent, we had a priest from the Episcopal Diocese of Texas in Houston come and talk to us about Social Justice and EDOT's ministry to the homeless.

And the photo--this photo of aching, injured feet that inspired this painting--I must confess, it came from a National Geographic Magazine. I pulled it a couple of years ago, and kept it. It's haunted me and it's been "in my face" since our Social Justice evening.

I started the painting Easter Sunday afternoon, and today I've been thinking of it this poem that St. Theresa of Avila wrote; I first heard it at the Cenacle in 2003:

Christ has no body but yours,
No hands, no feet on earth but yours,
Yours are the eyes with which he looks
Compassion on this world,
Yours are the feet with which he walks to do good,
Yours are the hands, with which he blesses all the world.
Yours are the hands, yours are the feet,
Yours are the eyes, you are his body.

I've loved that poem since the first day I heard it, but over the last few days, I've seen these feet as Christ's feet...are they the feet of the homeless? or the feet of someone in a third-world country? an illegal immigrant who's found his way across our borders? I don't know who's feet they are, but I believe they are Christ's Feet, and he waits to see if we'll wash them, if we'll anoint them.

It scares me, this tug I feel on my heart. I kind of like watching someone else from the sidelines care for the poor. But something's moving; albeit slowly.

When I joined the Catholic Church, I had just lost my job, and the position of the Director of St. Thomas Center in Angleton was open. It is a ministry to the poor. "Shoot," I thought..."I can do that!" But first I had to take a Parish Social Ministries class in order to qualify. So I did--3 months of classes a couple of days a week, driving to Houston. For the most part, it undid me. I discovered all my prejudices toward the poor--all my thoughts and concepts that had been formed over my lifetime. I never even knew I had them. But I learned how mis-informed I was and how UNready I was to work with the poor. At the end of the class, the teacher asked how we planned to use what we had learned. I confessed that first I had to digest it. It was part of the "Great Reveal" for me. I knew nothing.

The last few years have simply been a growing awareness of God's love for the poor, and God's heart for justice, a simple growing awareness of how unfair life is. I am lucky to have been born this side of the border. I'm lucky to have been born white. I'm lucky to have been born middle class. I'm lucky to be married to an engineer who's had a job for at the same place for these 30 years. Flat lucky. I deserve nothing more than they have, and they don't deserve what they have.

So, I still don't know anything, but awareness is growing. And my heart of stone is being softened and "Love one another as Christ has loved you" is being written on it. Don't have a clue what the next move is. For the last couple of days, it's simply been to paint and think and ponder and listen to wonderful music and to say once again, "Here I am Lord..."

This was a big day for me. Through a synchronistic scenario of events, I knew it was time to dedicate my art and my studio to the Creator, who has given both to me as gifts. It was a precious time. Liz came as my priest, and Nancy and my mom came as "witnesses". Nancy gave me the beautiful cross, that had, too, been changed in the fire.

Liz did a beautiful ritual of blessing, including this prayer:

O God, in the beginning your Word created the heavens and the earth, and when your Word became flesh, he worked with his hands in the carpenter shop in Nazareth: Be present, we pray, with Sheila who works and creates in this place, that laboring as an artist together with you, she may share the joy of your creation; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen

I responded by giving back to God the basket of "first fruits", the tools of my art and my prayer, then read this poem that I wrote back in October:

The Good Land

(Longing, we say, because desire is full
of endless distances. Robert Hass)

Having lived as a wandering Aramean in foreign lands
and not belonging
feeling alienated
stranger
non-fit
for the most part voice silenced
the value of personhood denied
and gifts counted as useless and unnecessary--

at least that’s the way it’s sometimes seemed.

Until now.

Divine Love has delivered
and set me in this good land.
Like the missing piece of a jig-saw puzzle
it seems “home” has found me.

And I have been brought here.

In all the stumbling and missteps
the blocked doorways and blind allies
Love has worked quietly unseen guiding each step
to this good dwelling place.

I didn’t know

I wasn’t ready

Until now.

How good it feels to be home.

(wandering Aramean, Deut.26.1-11)

I am so blessed to have this space, and these frinds, and the grace of my God. Blessed be.

January SAS, Aleatory Painting, with Kevin Cromwell

Today was Brazosport Art League's first Saturday Art Special of 2010, featuring "aleatory painting", demo'd and taught by Kevin Cromwell. It was an intersting method, and really good for a chance to get "out of the box". Aleatory means "to gamble, depending on chance, luck, or contingency". In other words, this is a painting that depends on LUCK! :)

It was a lot of fun. We looked through magazines for beautiful colors and textures, collaged papers onto bristol board, found a figure, then pulled the figure out. Kevin's a fun teacher, and most of us got at least one painting we really liked. Talk about using the right brain--the left brain doesn't have a clue! It was a wondeful way to spend the day.

Thanks Kevin!

Intuition - The Zygogenesis of Partnership

I bless the Lord who gives me counsel in the night;

also my heart instructs me.

Psalm 16.7

Animated by something other than reason, the seed planted
becomes fully alive in the heavy soil of Night.
Consciousness breaks like Day through what appears as
Darkness and Death, fully and completely
energizing the seed, bringing same to
fruition. What has caused this apparently dead kernel to
germinate, exploding root Downward into
heavy, heaving earth?
Intoxicated with an undeniable
joy, this suddenly alive
kernel, once dead, reaches for new Life.
Limited only by its own deeply-held pattern of truth held in the
matrix of Time and Eternity, this kernel
nudges with life, also Upward, as if driven by some
olfactory sense toward the Light, breaking ground into a
profusion of form: a flower, a tree, an answer
quickly coming with no explanation. The mind and the soul finally at
rest, the heart
stilled.
Time has become a haven, the
ulterior motive of the All: to teach the patient act of seeming
vanity, simply to
wait,
xeno,
yielding only to the familiar but unseen Source of it all, the true
zygogenesis of Partnership.

A New Start

I've been thinking about the feminine face of God, and how she seems to haunt me, no matter how I try to "avoid" her. She appears everywhere in my home--on my mantle and especially in my paintings. My mandalas are her gifts to me--it's as if I paint them from her womb. And my other paintings hold her face for me as well.

This is my newest painting--yet unfinished. It's called, She Holds the Key. I have a skeleton key that I'm going to place in the palm of her hand. The idea was sparked by a dream I had many years ago. I dreamed of a garden--lush and beautiful--hidden behind a wrought iron gate. A friend of mine was inside the garden, and I could tell she was contented and happy to be there, but I couldn't find my way in. I was talking to her through the fence. She told me that I had to find my own way into the garden--that there was a gate just for me, and I had to find the key that opened my gate.

Recently, I've been reminded through some of my reading that She may hold the key for me.

It seems strange for me to say that--I've run hard after God, and loved Jesus exceedingly. So this turn in my journey feels "unsafe" in so many ways--yet it has drawn me for nearly five years.

I remember many years ago walking into the chapel at Dickinson Retreat Center and sitting in the back to pray--and looking up to find that I was sitting at the feet of Mary. I felt so safe--that was long before my journey to the Catholic Church.

Even before that, my love was the Bride and the Bridegroom and the partnership with God that spiritual marriage meant.

And I remember the day that Jesus invited Her into my "home" (my heart). I was praying, saying to Jesus, "You are welcome to move into this 'house', rearrange the furniture, make it your place to just 'be'." And I "saw" in my mind's eye Jesus grin and put at picture of Mary the Mother on my mantle.

And it seems She's been there every since--as maiden, mother and crone.

I've found her face in Scripture: the maiden in the face of Solomon's maiden and the face of Mary of Bethany; the mother in the face of Mary, Jesus' mother; and the crone in the face of Mary Magdalene, as she buried the only Jesus she knew, waiting for "something new" to come.

In my forties, I found Jesus' face. In my fifties, I found my own. And now as I enter my sixties, it seems I have an invitation to more fully explore hers.

Blessed be.