The creation of the art might be a spiritual act, but if you keep it to yourself you have only done half of the work. In sharing it with the outside world you make it sacred. That final step can feel scary and vulnerable but it’s also so freaking POWERFUL. It becomes a full circle moment. Not just receiving but giving it back to source in a new way.
My highest self isn’t having it with this dreamy nonsense! Get to work she says!
You are life itself! It’s time to bloom! (Also, that’s a tiny orchid in the picture which may just be my new favorite flower. So tiny! So cute! Let’s hope I don’t kill it. I may be life itself but my inability to keep orchids alive might cast doubt on that assertion…)
I would like to now interject and add, What kind of nutty conditioning have I undergone that makes the embracing of joy so difficult and dare I say REBELLIOUS? I have this precious life in a body, a body that can eat starbursts (yes the candy) and go roller skating and sing karaoke and dance to “Thriller” and climb trees and paint pictures! HOW AMAZING IS THAT!
If you are reading this post you at some point clicked “FOLLOW”, maybe because you have known me since I was in diapers (though I no longer am, let me be clear), maybe because we went to school back in the days when I owned a Debbie Gibson-style hat (and wore it to school though sadly there are no photographs to document this), or maybe because you were sleep-scrolling on your phone and thought, sure, I’ll read the random ramblings of this lady and follow her blog and never think about it again.
I’ve been hiding in my shell but it is finally time to come out! (HI)
Not everyone is so lucky that have a mom in heaven who sends them prank YouTube videos.
At some point this past year I decided I wanted my life to be about pursuit of joy rather than reduction of suffering. And to paraphrase Frost, it has made all the difference.
I’d like to think that the truck full of young males headed to a landscaping job, sitting idle next to me at a stoplight, were cracking up at my dance moves because they were wowed by them and impressed by this forty-something’s swagger. But I’m pretty sure they thought I looked like Elaine from Seinfeld.Continue reading “She’s got the moves like Jagger (or maybe not . . .)”
This past week I was finding myself teetering between shutting down (“I’m going to ignore Facebook right now”) and also automatically writing the story’s ending. (“This is Nazi, Germany. This escalates from here. Next comes the [insert parade of horrors]”).
But then I realized that when my mind creates that ending, that is the ending we get. So I decided to choose a different ending. This story will end with love of millions raising voices and declaring, we demand ferocious, expansive love that protects, lifts, reunites and heals.