I am an artist always seeking…
Meaning through Art. Life. Suffering the leaven.
In Dreams, a Feather found my trodden path, the taffy bag colors of Morning Sky.
Suffering from chronic illness lights a Fire.
It is The Journey, a sometimes desperate place.
Seeking in life the complex in~Perfection of Being.
Color, Creativity, Nature, Healing, Comfort, Peace.
Love is the kneading bowl.
Bliss is to know the place of Solace.
My Heart Teacher.
My advice ~
Smell Roses and Fling paint.
Make Crazy Art.
Wear furry-inside shoes, kept by the back door.
Breathe Breathe Breathe. Drink Blessed Water.
Rescue a dog that loves you already.
Soak in hot water. Make a bath of the sea.
Stop once in awhile.
Practice. Mindfulness. Walk softly. Look at the Sky.
Be well in Spirit ~ All else will follow.
In Giving, in Sharing, in Loving, Abundance happens.
An essay ~
I am who I am.
an explorer of darkness,
i delve Psyche’s inner recesses to grasp my emotional remains.
a veteran of mind wars and it’s unbearable toll
tossed bodies, fear and belt buckles all in a row~
i claimed the wild child i still am
loving her back to life again.
i grew, married, birthed, bled, fed from breasts stretched and scarred, my body began to fail.
worn away Spirit, used almost up, tired and sick and scared.
seeking help. wandering strange avenues, i learned to see beyond the veil, within gold leaves was writing on the wall.
fused spine, metal plates and 6″ screws to keep my head on.
nerves trapped in muscle stitched hard, unforgiving, neurological mine fields,
pain unending, depressive and anxious,
cut. cut. pieced back together. every possible way as i hovered above, my witness.
if you’d told me, i would have run… were i the type.
possessing a belief i could fly, I clamored upward to a roof.
stairs only go two ways. why go down to silent screams.
i was free.
ascend to clouds.
flying creatures assured me, almost close enough to touch.
they eased my pain toward their tree tops.
i stood, holding to a wire, green leaves and wings in all directions.
the grass was green, soft. a pond with lotus blossoms pink and yellow opened to the sun.
fountain waters sprayed upward but not nearly as high as i.
nearby a stream slipped over the edge, splashing hard and returning, an endless reel.
the one who mended my multiple dimensions pulled me from my cement ledge.
harshly. i didn’t let go for
And he died.
i know decades of therapy, black hells, countless hours, eternal tears.
a hard hard walk toward myself among the others who called to me.
hate is an amputation of soul.
i give my subconscious free flight
plunging my brush into luscious wet color
in every delicious hue.
seeking serenity, peace, release
again again again.
a gift? a curse?
my mind changes in an instant, another tale to tell.
i know no other way to be in my world nor would i change many things.
perhaps one day i shall dabble in simple gray clay?
my life has seen moments,
years of sheer terror and great ecstasy.
coincidences that caught my attention at junctures when i glimpsed an extended hand.
perhaps it wasn’t time to walk away but to turn and walk within.
often life is a lonely journey and often we are deserted along the way.
perhaps we learn to create our womb of solace.
always it is important we are at peace within our souls without the input of others.
There is nothing to writing.
All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed.