The Art of Waking Up

I am reading a very enlightening book right now about uncovering the Art (with a capital A) I was made to live.

I am aware we all have artistic gifts, even if they can be somewhat hidden for some, and far too exposed for others. 

Some gifts are hidden in the kitchen, some are traversed in the studio, and some are even sunk into numbers.  The author presents her argument that no matter where one finds their "life", THAT is the arena they are to present their Art.  This then becomes less about the external circumstance and more about the internal divine delight in all of us.

"Who is the Artist?  You want to know the meaning of life?  This is your highest calling:  You are called into the dynamic co-creation of the cosmos.  This breath is your canvas and your brush.  These are the raw materials for your art, for the life you are making.  Nothing is off limits.  Your backyard, your piano, your paintbrush, your conversations, Rwanda, New Orleans, Iraq, your marriage, your soul.  You're making a living with every step you take.  --Jon Forman"

I like it!

The reason I like that is because I have struggled with this very question most of my life.  Growing up we're all asked the all-encompassing question of what we want to be when we grow up.  Have mercy!  I hated that question.  I mean why do we need to DO anything?  Can't we just find a good book and read?  Won't that do?  One day I thought this, another day I felt that.  I was not one to really have a set plan for my life.  Ironically my life then became exactly that, unfocused and filled with variables that shifted on any given day.

Now, in this pivotal point of my life where I am at a crossroads of not only what to sink my feet into but who really belongs to these size 10 AA shoes, I am intrigued to ask that age-old question from a whole new perspective.  Not just what will I contribute to the world and my community as a certain creative gift, but what kind of Artist will I be inside my soul?  What resonates within each current circumstance that defines me uniquely?  How does my response to life reflect my understanding of my Art within?

When will I wake up to my Art?

And then it seemed to happen, effortlessly.  This morning I literally woke up, then WOKE UP.  I saw the dream of my Art laid out in its perfect form.  I saw the various pieces of what has always been placed inside my heart and soul, come together in a beautiful tapestry of living.  I always knew those pieces existed, but the fragments seemed disjointed until now.  Parts of a story that didn't quite fit until I recognized the heroine within each piece...myself.

Waking up can take time and determination.  It won't always come softly in the early morning, but sometimes only after long dark nights of the soul where you battle with yourself to truly know yourself.  I am only now truly waking up to the Art of my soul.  I'm not sure how the journey will unfold but I am willing to be brave and start making a map that shows where I began and where I hope to finish...with my Art shining bright.

Until next time

DJ

Rest Patiently for the Soul

Dragonfly at Rest

As the summer comes to a close, I look back on my last post and realize that not only did I retreat from my writing goals this season, which was the exact opposite of my intent, but I retreated from others in my community, which was also not my intent.  

What is it about our convictions, vows, or determinations that can actually circumvent the very thing we desire? Some believe its a setup for our own fall so don't bother, just live in each moment to truly enjoy the journey and each surprise that shows up.  

I do believe I can struggle with this side of the coin more than the other.  Don't plan?  Don't set an agenda for a purposed outcome?  Are you kidding?!!!  Who can live that way?  Surprisingly many do and with great rest. 

On the other hand, as I let my intent go this summer I felt a certain loss in the outcome.  Or is it just the loss of my expectations of the outcome?  Hmmmm.

So now that the summer is over and I did not complete my creative courses, or write more pages in my novel, or engage in more BBQ parties in the backyard with friends, I stand at the crossroads.  I can either allow personal regret to set in or rest patiently for the next season of surprises.  I am choosing rest!  I am choosing patience towards what is presented before me in its perfect timing, perspective and presentation instead of what I could push through according to my own agenda.  I will allow the spirit to dictate the soul, not the busy mind of my limited perspective.

I am also choosing to look back with gratitude on what I did enjoy, accomplish and engage in.  Laughing with my daughter on weekends, watching shooting stars with my best friend, sharing my personal story at campfire to a group of young women while holding a dollar-store sunflower fly-swatter, voicing frustration at a TV screen with my dad over football, and the beautiful quiet mornings on the porch before work.  Should there be more than that?  Have I become so accustomed to some kind of internal production mode that there has to be more to my summer memories than those?

I am willing to concede I know nothing about what this day should hold, although can still be moved by moments of accomplishments, achieved through my diligence and perseverance.  If I don't write, I won't see my novel done.  If I don't practice with my camera, I won't become proficient in my photography.  If I don't engage in relationships, I won't have any.  The challenge then is when and how do I motivate (or not) myself in the flow of my day to engage in these desires?  For when I actually take part in their delights I am in bliss, but sometimes the process in getting there is painful!

I know there are those who are not complicated by this quandary.  People who live right in my house whom are driven in each moment to accomplish the task, achieve the goal, track their progressive creativity, pursue their relationships diligently.  I admire them.  I finally concluded though, that I cannot be exactly like them, for my spirit longs for something unique.  Something more soft, more blue, more quiet.  Moments where just watching geese fly through the air is sufficient for my day's accomplishments.  Where a cup of coffee in the early morning is my total achievement.  Where a few chosen words on a page will suffice to the completed novel of my heart.  Does that make me any less accomplished than the driven spirit?  No.  Each in its extreme is out of balance.  Each has its own dark pits of despair and delights of conquest. 

So then my conclusion on this quiet Sunday comes to this: Find my own balance and rest patiently for the soul to quicken.  Don't condemn my own heart for either its quiet or its desire to produce.  To be at rest with each moments' fullness, then when ready, spread my wings and fly to the stars in whatever task, desire or accomplishment that moment brings.  As each moment completes itself perfectly through my poet's soul, I will find rest, for I will be perfectly at peace with my own living compass.

Then of course, finish off the day with a lovely glass of chocolate wine and a soft laugh, just in case I took my day much too thoughtfully!

Until next time,

DJ

What I Learned in June....Three Dimensional

One of my favourite blogs, Chatting at the Sky, has put out a viral call to her followers to give feedback on lessons learned in June.  Of course I could not resist!

Apparently she was not necessarily asking for the deep and epic revelations of personal truth (we all know I can digress into that pit easily enough!) but the little simple things that make me laugh, cause me to ponder, or become a turning point in the journey.

Here's my top three D's for June:

1.  Despicable Me:  Light....Bulb.  If you haven't watched this movie, as I hadn't until last night with a few mothers/daughters while eating copious amounts of chips and drinking red wine, you are missing out on an adorable visual delight.  My favourite part was when Gru, the evil dad, kept saying "Light....Bulb" in a very slow and deliberate way, so that none of his minions could miss the very depth of his revelation!  Ha....Larious.  The little girls were beyond cute and reminded me of a few precious children/nieces of my own. Who knew I had missed out on this delightful tale this whole time?!  Looking forward to Despicable Me 2 next week.

2.  Dripping Kitchens:  I'm not one to freak out on just any small whim (ok, well not as much lately I should say) but when you come home from watching a riveting NHL finals game with your dad and daughter only to find your kitchen ceiling dripping water through the ceiling fan, there is cause for a little panic!  I started imagining the ceiling crashing down in the middle of the night with sparks of flame shooting from the electrical wiring starting a house fire while I was ensconced in my bed dreaming of the Caribbean beach.  As I pulled out pots and towels, I realized that nothing is really stable or solid in this world.  You can be as prepared as you want, and still discover a crack in the veneer that will tear your security into shreds, until the only thing left to do is take your imagination and go to bed.  

3.  Days Gone By: A fragile warmth has come over me these days when I'm reminded of my past.   Little flashes of people and moments that I enjoyed.  Take movies for instance.  Who didn't love Michael J Fox in the 1985 classic Back to the Future?   I saw an old picture of a boy I used to know in High School, and even though we weren't close, we hung out in the same circle of friends.  It felt nice to see an old familiar face.   I enjoyed dinner with my oldest girlfriend a few weeks ago, and as we reminisced about past adventures,  I was amazed how good it felt to hear how she remembered me.  I cherish my past.  Now THAT is a huge revelation for me.  There is large amount of pain, wounds, regrets that I have only and ever wanted to erase from my past these last few years.  I am coming more to terms with what was, what is, and what is yet to come.  I also enjoyed a weekend with my second oldest girlfriend in Radium, and again the theme was to look back, see the gold vein through the rock then move into a new and fresh way of loving and caring for each other. A refreshing change (Thanks Girlfriend!).

Thanks for Chatting.

Until next time,

DJ

For Such A Time As This....Facing Reality

I have been quiet these past few weeks, pondering my need to write this blog, and what message it should hold. As I sat in the stillness of this reassessment, the waters of torrential rain flooded the city I once loved and lived in for the longest period of my life.  Calgary was blindsided by a deluge that has never been seen before and hopefully will never again.


I had moved from Calgary to Lethbridge 3 years ago, but still felt the thread that tied me to all that I had experienced and embraced there.  Sure, I had lots of grief, many heartbreaks, yet still called it home.  Lethbridge became my safe harbour, where I nursed my wounds, regained my footing and began to hope again that there was a reason I was here "for such a time as this."

Recently I read the most inspiring blog entry from a beloved writer who understood what is needed when heroes are hard to find and there is loss all around us.  

There is a book in the bible called Esther.  Its my favourite story because it depicts a young woman who goes from complete obscurity, to becoming the Queen of Persia.  A biblical Cinderella story. Except there is so much more substance to this epic tale than the fairytale Disney has put on film.  For not only does she move into the palace and become the second most influential person in the kingdom, but she uses this position to help save a whole generation of her people from becoming annihilated. 

The key to her heroism is that she hasn't told the king who her people are (oops.  Rule #1: always tell your new beau about your family background so he doesn't have to find out in a crisis situation!) AND she has to go before the king uninvited (which is a BIG no-no) to intercede for her people without telling him first any details.  This girl is in a tight spot!  But she doesn't back down.  She takes the high road and plunges in to play her part "for such a time as this" and shows what her true substance is all about.  Even unto death.  Luckily the king accepts her request and she was able to tell him her tale of woe. (If you want the full accounting, go find a bible and read Esther in the Old Testament, after Nehemiah and before Job. Amazing story!)

There is a similar theme throughout the media these days regarding the heroes of Southern Alberta.  One is even dear to my family.  He decided to go down to High River and offer his support, his strong back, even in the face of possible danger.  He chose to go.  He left the high ground and went down to the flood lands to play his part in the story of his time.

The question I have been asking all week is what is my part?  Where am I to step in and contribute my personal role? Because that's what we all want, isn't it?  To be the hero of our story?  To step in when the odds are stacked against us and we feel small in such a large cost?  To go when we're afraid and help those who are in need?  Or are we too comfortable?  Do we like our distant sympathy, not wanting to put feet to the feat.

This blog is "for such a time as this".  Its to encourage, to feed the soul with truth, to look fear in the face and say, "I see you, but I'm going anyway!" To get off the Italian couch and head back to the foothills of Alberta and stand with those who are knee deep in the flood, facing the annihilation of their homes, their land, their lives, and still not give up.  

I'm no hero.  But I am part of the Esther Generation that will go into the court and face the king, fighting for those who are outside my gates, who need a voice to speak on their behalf.  To stand with them when they face tragedy, to see their anguish and encourage them to have hope.

For what better purpose could this blog have than to feed and nourish the soul with words towards hope for a new day?  Hope for strength.  Hope for community.  Hope for a helping hand in the storm.

Until next time,

DJ 
(I am letting go of my imaginary story and entering into the reality of who I am "for such a time as this")

Striving To No End

Has anyone else been striving this week besides me?  

It seems to be the word for my week.

Striving to be the best person, striving to do the right thing, striving to help and support.  None of these things are wrong, but when the striving becomes a way to be accepted, noticed, admired it becomes restless and uncomfortable.

I was at a birthday party this week for a friend's daughter, and as I kept asking if there's was something I could do to 'help' the husband looked at me and literally said "stop striving!"

At first I was so stunned at his choice of words (how was he to know I struggle with the 'Martha' syndrome of staying on task, instead of relaxing in the 'Mary' mode of enjoying the people I'm with?!), then I realized that there is a posture I sometimes put on when I'm engaging with people and certain circumstances.  I strive.  I'm not really at peace with the outcome.  I have an agenda and I'm determined to see it to its end.  It can actually push people away from the very purpose I'm endeavouring to accomplish.  The more one strives in the doing, the more others recoil from the BEing.  Thank goodness my dear Sista quickly stepped in and replied its my Love Language so I was graciously excused!

As I walked down my little Italian cobbled road here outside my Tuscan villa the other morning, I was suddenly mesmerized by a very large tree.  It was beautiful.  I was enthralled by its stature and grandeur.  I felt small and still in its shadow.  It reminded me of how very small we really are in the true scope of living.  We fight our small battles, determined to win a war that isn't even ours.  The tree knows which hill to die on, which storm to brave, which direction to grow.  It doesn't strive or worry.  This is the beauty of mankind, but also its demise, I concluded.  We were created to wonder and believe in things unseen, but our finite minds twist it around so we get distracted by the striving of simply being.  The tree knows and responds in perfect harmony to its surroundings.  I am constantly picking fights that aren't worth the discord it creates in my soul.  

My food and beverage of the soul this week was rest.  Rest in the beauty of being in the still point through my internal compass.  The God-given peace that goes beyond making sure I am seen and heard correctly, and brings relief to the constant striving.

Until next time,

Lady Jane

In the Blink of an Eye

Thursday, May 16

Today is not a day where I can spout beautiful words and create soft imaginings.
Today is a day of sorrow and grief for me.
There has been loss.

The first loss was not so grievous, yet I still felt its weight.  JayLynn left yesterday for her volunteer trip to an Island far away.  She'll be helping kids, building sidewalks and enjoying some adventures.  I can only be joyful for her....and yet, here I am without my backup.  I discovered quickly that limited communication between us is not our pattern or desire.  I was proud to help pack her bags, buy her travel insurance and drill down into all the logistics I love taking care of for her.  But at the end of the day, she is gone and I am here, wondering and praying her journey will fill her with wonder, steady her in trial and open up a space in her heart that she never new existed.

The second loss is more heart-wrenching.  A young girl gone.  Getting caught in the darkness of her soul and not finding the crack in the wall.  Family was close by, watching, holding to hope, not realizing how close she was to falling.  If I lived in another time, in another place, I would rip my clothes and pour ashes over my head, raising my arms to the heaven's to cry out in anger.  Oh God!  The young woman are falling, how can we help them?  What words would I have said?  Would it had made any difference?  What kind of hold does this darkness have the even the brightest hope of light slips away before it can be grasped?  How can we hold tight to these young girls and give them a lifeline in their darkness, when the only sound they can hear is the beating of their desperate heart?

In a blink of an eye, they disappear. I'm left to mourn and rage with others who see the vast throng of desperate hearts and cannot reach them all.

The sea rushes in and out like a child breathing.  I can hear its rhythm and feel its pull.  It lulls me into believing I am safe in its depths, but when I am pulled down into its wake, I flounder, and discover there is danger past the foam and wave.

Saturday, May 25

Today is a new day, a week after the grief of last Thursday.
Today is my baby's birthday.  

20 years ago she grabbed my heart and although I didn't hang on to hers as I should have, she kept the faith in me and kept holding on.  I have tried to encourage in her in the light of day, to hold her in the dark night, to love her when my heart was broken.  I believe she knows my weakness as she discovers her own.  She is a colourful soul that makes me laugh and sing soft songs of hope.  She has persevered when all seemed lost and found her heart's desire.

Today I want to give thanks for the beauty and strength of both my daughters.  They could have been lost in the beautiful ugly of our journey, but they both stood strong in the current and didn't give up.

They are my hope, my faith and my love.

Until next time,

Lady Jane

They Call It Stormy Monday

Well dear friends, here we are.  Stormy Monday.

Its not really storming here where I sit in my Italian villa overlooking the azure blue Mediterranean Sea, but its Monday none-the-less.  Saturday passed, Sunday passed, and I found myself sitting here alone, having missed the soulful weekend guests, who usually venture out to chat with me on my well-worn sofas.

I apologize.

I had good intentions, but time became a tyrant and drove me like a stormy whirlwind to Monday.  I fought hard against it, praying for a brief reprieve to just sit and engage with you, but to no avail.  I was overtaken!

I hope this Monday finds you ready to face another week, your weekend having filled you with what was needed to get you here.

I posted a Facebook status on Friday encouraging my friends to "hold books with pages, mugs with steam, and hands that know your secrets" during their weekend.  I had some of you answer immediately, but I was hoping more of you might want to share with me, so I could envision what you did or might have done with these three intriguing initiatives.

What books did you hold?
What mugs or cups did you partake of?
What hands did you grasp that know your deepest secrets?

I held a few books (as is my usual custom, but less so this weekend due to ballet shows and off-load food truck sales) but the pages I turned the most were from The Forgotten Garden by Kate Morton.  The story captivates me as it twists in and out of different time eras, and winds itself around a writer of fairy tales whose personal story ripples into future generations.

I partook of a steaming coffee on Saturday morning, which is my tradition, but also sipped from a delicious shaken lime margarita on a sunny patio Sunday night in celebration of the Mexican holiday, Cinco de Mayo.  Both beverages were delightful and satisfying in their own time and purpose.

Last, but certainly not least, was the hand I held.  My eldest beauty, JayLynn, sighed her typical "mother, really?" as I grasped her hand on Saturday and professed that she alone knew all my deepest secrets!  Her sudden alarmed glance made me realize this is a very solemn and somewhat disturbing undertaking for a first born daughter.  I quickly revised my statement, reassured her that she actually didn't know ALL of them (as children never should), and confirmed the Baroness, in fact, was the actual gatekeeper of my secret locker. Relief was apparent.

Your mission this week, should you choose to accept it, is to share with me your weekend selections, and if you have not done so yet, what would you have picked and who would you have held? All comments are welcome.  

 It satisfies the soul of words, the sense of taste, and the heart of connection.

Until next time,

Lady Jane