Tuesday, May 26
3rd cup. coffee. I want to work on the questions from Humanity Rising.
1. What am I being called to do?
The first word that comes is “art.” But how can that serve the world? Allowing your creative energies to flow smoothly, without impediment, will help humanity’s creativity flow to create a more just, compassionate, and sustainable world.
2. What stuff is coming up for me?
Roots. The root of the radical. What is needed is change from the roots. You have been working all your life at getting down to the roots of your life, getting down to the roots of your wounding and healing them. Now you have come to the root below the wound, to creativity, sacred art.
3. Can I hold difference with respect?
You do it all the time. Yes, you get triggered if you try to talk to Trump & cohorts. Better to do the lovingkindness prayer for them. See how you learned from Dana how to make space for the person who doesn’t want to dance. And how you are able to see that those who behave badly have been wounded.
4. What’s my highest vision?
Humans working with Nature to build a just, compassionate, sustainable life for all.
4A. what’s my piece of it?
Right now, to respect social distancing. Keep posting important information on social media. Metta prayer. Practice your art.
Friday, May 29
Quote from Krishna Das’ book “Chants of a Lifetime” that I just loved, that gave me complete permission to spend time & energy painting. When KD’s guru sent him back to America, he said “How can I serve you in America?” His guru said “If you ask how you should serve, then it is no longer service. Do what you want.”
Made me think of the letter from my Higher Self that I wrote in a Kripalu workshop in 1991:
My Dear One, this is what I have to say to you. You are an artist. Your art unfolds from inside out. Do not worry now about how it is to appear in the world, that will happen as it unfolds. Do painting, drama, whatever your heart wants, do it. That is the only way you will find out what is there. You cannot tell from the seed what the flower will be, you can only nurture it as it unfolds, and allow the unfolding to happen. You will be surprised and delighted and awestruck to see what is there. You will never see the immense treasure that lies sleeping in your heart until you begin to unfold it through your art. I give you courage and faith. And I tell you that “selfish” and “unselfish” are useless words, do not let them stop you from bringing out what is within. Courage, dear one, I give you courage and anger and fire and poetry and dance and gold and jewels and silks and velvets. Do not think that the material world is materialistic and unspiritual. The material world waits for you to make it sacred through your art. Offer your works to the god, and others will be nourished by the overflow. For the greater glory of god, my dear, keep bringing out what is within.
Saturday, May 30
Full of a confused mix of feelings. Grief and anger for George Floyd, held to the pavement and suffocated by a cop’s knee on his neck while he gasped “… please… please … I can’t breathe…” Wanting to go to the vigil on Hanover Green, join the people standing socially distanced with masks. Unable to go to the vigil because I haven’t the energy to ask for permission, drive, find a parking space, come back and self-quarantine for two weeks. Well, actually, the self-quarantine part isn’t that hard and would be worth it. Feeling sad and confused about unintentionally stopping my brother talking about his anxiety. My intention was to support but I should have kept my mouth shut. Mocha now underneath the table because it’s too warm to sit next to me and comfort me with her furry touch. My heart squeezed and stretched by the music of the lost words blessing: “enter the wild with care my love and speak the things you see… and when every hope is gone let the raven call you home.” While walking the dog in a blue and green world I look up and see a hawk circling. I hear its cry, a high-pitched “pwee,” and know it for an osprey. I pick up my brush and dip it in water and then in the rust-colored gouache. I draw it carefully down the lines I’ve drawn to indicate roots. I feel happy doing this finicky task, I enjoy the color and the texture of the paint, and the way the brush lays it down. I don’t care what it looks like.