November 14, 2018 – A dream, a word and a portrait

Listen:

Towards the end of last year, as I sat to write, I was coming up empty.  Looking around inside for what to say there were neither words nor the energy to dig deeper.  2017 was a big year – the summer was a sprint from a family Europe trip to remodeling our kitchen and then my big hike in August.  I somehow found the energy to keep writing through all that, and then a week before Christmas it ran out.  I wrote a short post to let you know.  I just thought I needed a little break for the holidays.  I completely expected I’d start up again at the beginning of the year.  I had no idea I’d be away so long!

I’ve heard from some of you that you’ve been missing my posts – I loved hearing that. But even knowing this hasn’t gotten me going again.  Nothing else has seemed to point me back to my keyboard either. I’ve been concerned that I might never get back to my online journal!

The Dream: 

In the early part of the year I had a dream.  It was strange as many (or most) dreams are.  It had to do with a plumbing supply showroom and Mary, one of the artists in our Thursday group.  Just before I woke up a sentence was somehow there, in the dream – in French – and then the English translation of the sentence was revealed.  As soon as I realized I was awake, I knew I had to record it.  I had to write down the sentence and one of the French words.  The sentence made perfect sense in the dream, but sounded a little odd once I was awake.

Deep healing ends deep opacity.  And the word in French that in the dream was translated as “opacity” was abrité.  Looking up abrité I found that it means sheltered, protected, nestled or snug.

Ok, so… I’m supposed to do some kind of healing in order to be less sheltered… less opaque… more visible?  But, what needed healing?  Talk about opaque – I was in the dark!

The Word:

Along came an audiobook to help me see what my dream might be telling me.  Oriah Mountain Dreamer became well known around the year 2000 for a prose poem and a book called “The Invitation.”  I knew the poem, though I had never read the book, nor was I aware of what else she’d written.  She later wrote the poem and book “The Call.”  Ever the curious seeker, I dove in.    The poem ends with these lines:

Remember- there is one word you are here to say with your whole being.

When it finds you, give your life to it. Don’t be tight-lipped and stingy.

Spend yourself completely on the saying. 

Be one word in this great love poem we are writing together.

My word found me one dark Thursday evening, driving back from leading the evening group in Larkspur.  I was listening to her explain this one-word thing.  She says we want it to be peace, love, truth or beauty.  But it’s not. These are all words that we are all living into.  It’s also not related to not our unique gifts – things that come to us naturally.  Our word is what we are spending our life learning – the thing we have a hard time with – in fact the hardest time with. Our word also is not complicated, not a lofty idea – it’s simple enough for a small child to understand.  Oriah Mountain Dreamer is a driven, hardworking person, determined to live her life as purposefully as possible. Her word is rest.

At first I thought that my word was no.  I have a hard time with no.  I wasn’t born with an ability to easily set boundaries.  But then, while driving my car through the town of Ross, on Sir Francis Drake Blvd, my word found me.  My first thought was:  Oh, God, not that word!  It so self-ish and self-centered.   But my word wouldn’t leave.  And no other word has yet come in its place, either.

My word is: me.

I do have the hardest time with me.  Though I’m better than in my earlier life, I still have a hard time doing what is best for me – including stopping what I’m doing and going to the damned bathroom!  I can’t tell you how much of my life I’ve walked around having to pee!   I don’t drink enough water, I don’t get to bed early enough often enough,  I take care of others around me first – while having a need that, if I were to take care of it, would make me much better off for everyone. I bet I’m not alone – I’m guessing there are a few of you for whom me is yours to live, too.

So, what’s happened since?  Well, I’ve lived knowing this is my word, my contribution to the great love poem, as Oriah calls it.  Not a lot else has changed very much.  I’m certain this is a life-long project.  We never get “there,” wherever that is.  Me has become a guardian of sorts – a reminder of what I’m here to do, of what is my practice in this life.  Happily I’m not using the knowledge of my word to be mean to myself.

What it has done is given me permission to do something that has been in me for a few years:  to paint myself.

The Portrait:

It was several years ago, hiking up the hill when the thought first arose that I need to paint that picture of myself when I was almost 35, laying on the wall at my mother’s cousin Jacinta’s place in Croatia.

No one in my family remembers who took the photo and I don’t remember laying down on the wall – sort of a strange thing to do at the house of a relative who I’d just met.  But there it was.  I saw how the light made the skin on my left arm glow and I thought that young woman had no idea how lovely that body of hers was.  None.  So, to honor that body and her, I needed to paint it.

It was a wonder-full experience.  I watched myself performing the craft of working with the colors in my brushes to make the shapes and contours of my clothes and my body parts, woven through the realization that this was me.  My ankle, my toes, my nose, my eyebrow.

I’m happy that I’m happy with how it came out – there are no guarantees with art.  It was fun to paint jean shorts – I never had the occasion to do that before!  Looking at the finished painting I can feel, viscerally feel, that body.  It’s more light and lithe than the one I’m in now.  (It was more than 20 years ago!)  It really is lovely.   I have made myself real to myself in a way I’ve not before experienced.

I’m amazed at the good fortune to have had this photo reference – of my younger self, at the end of living six months in Paris, on the island of my grandparents’ birth, having come through my divorce, relaxed and at peace.

Taking routine care of myself is always there for me – making time for my new yoga home practice, asking for what I need in my relationships – and getting to the bathroom when I need to – oy!  These are all living my word in the most basic way.  But having the ability to paint in order to create this piece of art to honor myself – as I said on Facebook:  I’ve never felt more grateful to have become an artist.

With my gratitude,

Cara

PS: Ok!  I’ve broken the spell! I’ve written a post!  What can you expect from me now?  What has become clear is that I’m not at this point going to write every week as I had been – not posts this extensive, anyway.  I’m not sure what I’m going to do, but it will likely be more like once, or maybe twice a month I’ll share something.

It is good to be back.

PSS:  My time away from writing has been purposeful in other ways though:

• I painted another 40”x60” painting – a whole wall of roses – my feminine-feminist-anthem of a painting, amongst other flower and fruit paintings.
• I put together the content for my first art magazine article which has just been published! More on that very soon.
• A new series of workshops to help beginner watercolorists get going came through – as well as a second weekend workshop on color. Both of these were launched this year.
• Andd this weekend I’m leading a pilot of the first color workshop – Get Intimate with Color ONLINE!!! It’s been a long-time coming to offer my guidance to those who can’t come to Larkspur, CA.   Stay tuned for more on that too.