The Book of Matthew, My Son

“Never judge someone
By the way he looks
Or a book by the way it's covered;
For inside those tattered pages,
There's a lot to be discovered”

Stephen Cosgrove     

My youngest son in many ways is very diverse and yet quite simple.  He has been a point of interest to me since his birth 36 years ago when he began to unfold before my watchful eyes.  He was sweet in nature and tormented by his two older brothers who were several  years apart.  He learned early to blame the older boys for any misfortune from the acts of his own hands, and felt the earth tremble when his sister was born.  

My youngest son was easily found in the garden digging carrots well before breakfast had been served.  He loved to quietly fish and to be outside in the sun.    Even in the winter with darkness closing in, he would be scaling the snow drifts and wandering in the light of the moon.  The security of his life was deeply shaken when his animated uncle passed after a lengthy battle with cancer.  Death was beyond his understanding and he feared being snatched from his own simple life.  He disclosed he was 'beginning to forget the meaning of stars'.

From his paternal grandmother, he learned the love of flowers and to watch most anything grow.  He seemed to have ten green thumbs which enabled life to prolifically grow.  One of his teacher's told me she could only capture his attention after fall until the arrival of spring.  Then he was gone again, his spirit wandering to other places and things.  His favorite teacher built upon his love for the outdoors and gentle nature.  She filled his plate with morsels of history from which he could explore his favorite things.  He loved to carve from old dead trees and deeply revered the living nature of things.

My son did not excel in school nor was he particularly interested in sports although he did his best to participate.  As his personality began to form, it seemed to be characteristic of Native American lore.  He loved to go barefoot and grew his hair long.  He would rarely miss the setting of the sun and even played a drum.  In college he connected with authors who taught him how to live off of the land and he visited caves with his mind speculating and sensing life times long passed.  He was growing into a man who could easily be happy to live off of the land.

He invested time with his brothers and they remained close, but his time with his sister seemed to mean the most.   With her, he would play with dolls, let her paint his nails with polish, and become her not so invisible guardian in later years of school.  He had an innocence about life that frustrated him as his world was far from peaceful and frequently touched by strife.

This son of mine, so very dear, finally fell into a profession following his brother.  He was successful and traveled far away from home, and he began to gently sand off the rough edges allowing himself to find his own home.  Oh how I loved this boy now man.  Financially secure, but losing his gentle spirit to the expected ways of the world, he again returned home and searched for a life that would support his love for the earth and nature.  He finally found his way to balance what was important to his livelihood and gentle nature.

 When his son was asked what he wanted to be when he grew up, he easily replied, "To be like my dad and help people."  As a father of two, he greatly excels. Besides his accomplishments and leadership at work, he still finds time to garden.  His woodworking on pause will some day return, but he did make the highchair and crib for his children.  His little girl is the beat of his heart.

My son has tattered pages from a life force both strong and mild.  He isn't an easy book to read, but his idiosyncrasies are really quite detailed.  Pages are watermarked, edges are burned, but the book of my Matthew reflects a good man striving for his authentic life.  He is his own person, both light and dark, but I could not possibly love him any more from this place deep in my heart.

Trees Will Whisper

Trees are sanctuaries. Whoever knows how to speak to them, whoever knows how to listen to them, can learn the truth. They do not preach learning and precepts, they preach, undeterred by particulars, the ancient law of life.

Hermann Hesse



Trees are so amazing.   Some are tall and strong while others are bent and gnarly.    Two trees can be so closely entwined they appear to be one while one lonely tree may be sitting on a bluff with no other trees for miles.   There are some trees who have funny things looking like mustaches hanging from them or those prickly things called gum balls or some with things looking like old banana peels.  

The Weeping Willow tree had once been my favorite.  I loved the unusual shape of it and the rustling of the branches.  Even without leaves, it seemed to be a magical umbrella.  Up north, the birch trees with their white bark stand incredibly straight and very tall, but the Weeping Birch is  feminine and more lovely.  I have been in a Bamboo Rain Forest, an Eucalyptus grove, and the plush garden from the movie Jurassic Park.  Not far from here there is an acre dedicated to a particular kind of Pine tree.  Standing in the middle of this acre one can hear the silence of a forest.  The Banyan tree, however, may be one of the most interesting as one tree can spread itself over an entire block.

When a friend's body gave up the physical plain, we held a celebration of life for her.  Each participant in the celebration had two ribbons loosely tied to their wrists.   Then at a certain time, we were asked to individually tie each ribbon on a branch of a tree with a loving thought or wish for our friend now physically gone.  When this was completed, the trees in her back yard were beautiful and we could feel her presence amongst us.

Most everywhere I have lived, I have had a designated favorite tree.  Sometimes it is difficult to narrow it down to one and it is not something I consciously do.  It is like a best friend, it grows deeper into you the longer time is spent together.  I can lean against a tree and feel its energy and its presence.  I can stare at a gnarly tree deciphering all of the strange images hidden within the bark.  Sometimes, if I am very still, trees will whisper to me.

Not At The Top

"Good art is a form of prayer. 

It's a way to say what is not sayable."

Frederich Busch

                                                                 

To sit at my desk without any inkling of what I want to say is frustrating.  Zillions of ideas dance through my consciousness, but I cannot seem to limit my ideas to one stream of thought.  I have pulled several books from the book shelves and nothing is grasping my attention.  There is one prevalent thought, however, which is I wonder what the reader really would like to know.  How can I decide which direction to go ... dreams, self-esteem, cultivating an art, creating sacred space ...

We are all unique human beings carrying our individual gifts and talents.  Our life experiences create our personal history which will flavor our actions and words.  So perhaps we must discern what it is we want to say and how we want to say it.  Do we want to express ourselves through speaking, writing, painting, singing, dancing, gardening, cooking, etc ...  Whatever we decide to use as a means of expression will define in our own unique way what we find difficult to say.

Judith Jamison shares, "Learn the craft of knowing how to open your heart and to turn on your creativity.  There's a light inside of you."  There is a small whisper of Spirit within each of us yearning to be expressed in whatever way is possible.  We may have to make several attempts of learning how to be creative, but the point is to take action and to try.  Keep in mind the importance is our original imprint and not a goal of life time achiever.  We may never master a particular skill to disclose what we hold within, but that is fine.  The importance is creative expression on any level in any form.

The other day I was longing to water color.  I am not very good, but I love the forgiveness of painting with water colors.  They blend together and the experience is so freeing for me.  Did I do it?  No.  My ego or some old critic inside my head was telling me it was a waste of time and that it was stupid for me even to try.  I was so disappointed.

This is probably true for most of us.  We self-talk our creative urges back into oblivion.  The worst is if we never try.  We must have reasonable expectations as anything we attempt we will be apprentices and not masters.  Our expectations are centered upon releasing our creative feelings, not upon the unlikely outcome of going from 'rookie' to star. 

We must not compare ourselves to anyone, as no one is like us.  We must honor individuality and develop an appreciation for whatever attempts we make.  We can keep our accomplishments to our selves, as sharing sometimes depletes our inspirations.  Whatever we can do right now is good enough.  We must begin somewhere and we won't be beginning as an accomplished musician, dancer, or painter.  Any accomplished person began somewhere and it wasn't at the top.

Gifts from the Art Fair

 I was in a queer mood, thinking myself old;  but now I am a woman again ~ as I always am when I write.  

Virginia Woolf

A few days ago, we went to the Peoria Art Fair.  It was a gorgeous drive as the leaves on the trees had taken on vibrant fall colors.  We have had so little rain, I expected the leaves to crinkle up and turn brown, but this clearly isn't the case.

I thoroughly enjoyed the drive as either side of the highway was splattered with deep rich colors.  It felt as though the trees themselves were casting out a powerful energy to anyone willing to take in the beauty of nature.  This array of colors and texture certainly set the mood for the art fair.

We arrived one minute prior to the opening, but the parking lot was mostly full and many art enthusiasts were already wandering through the works of art at the river front park.  Oh, I was excited!  The sun was out and the temperature had not even reached 70 degrees.  It was a perfect fall day and quality art, interesting artists, and a creative atmosphere would soon be tantalizing all of my senses. 

We wandered the art fair for a few hours while I marveled at the creativity of many artists from Michigan, Colorado, Minnesota, Wisconsin, Tennessee, Florida, Alabama and other states as well.  The art exhibits were very diverse so each tent brought an interesting and unique surprise. 

I must admit my favorite part is talking with these creative artists, listening to where their imagination leads them, and how they express their art to obtain the end result.  One such artist, Erika Mock from Superior, Wisconsin, was delightful!  She creates textiles for body and soul with the suggestion of "Balance your  life with art."  She was an enchanting and spunky individual and we had an immediate connection.  Everything about her was unique and I felt as though I had met a kindred spirit.  Her website:  www.erikamock.com

Designs by Dana also captivated me, but for a different reason.  At this exhibit, several women were working together.  They were all dressed uniquely, and with artistic flair!  They were decorated from head to toe and they were having the time of their life!  The tent was filled with buyers interested in their textiles, but their atmosphere of good friends having a 'hoot' pulled people right in.  They encouraged every one to try something on, while their laughter and sense of sisterhood  encouraged every sale.   Their designs can be found on facebook, Etsy.com or www.DesignsByDana11.com

Brenna Busse is an artist from Minneapolis, MN and can be found at www.brennabusse.com  She makes these incredible pieces difficult to describe.  To call them a doll would be insulting.  They are intriguing forms with richly colored fibers.  Only the tiny head, hands and feet are exposed.  My instant reaction triggered thoughts such as:  historical form, ritual, honor, symbols,  and intricate details.  She was a gracious woman who definitely enhanced my day's experience.

There were more artists working with oil, water color, or combined mediums.  There were steel designs and very unique jewelry worthy of future heirlooms.  And just as interesting were those attending the art fair.  It was an atmosphere of fun, peace, and friendliness even though it was an odd assortment of folks who had never met before.  They were the true gifts from the art fair,  inspiring my mind, my heart and my soul!



I Can See Myself ... Georgia O'Keeffe

 

I know now that most people are so closely concerned with themselves that they are not aware of their own individuality.

I can see myself, and it has helped me to say what I want to say

in paint.  ~ Georgia O'Keeffe


There are many ways to project our voices ... through creative expression.  Whether we use paint, pen, or song, the need for self-expression is vital.  We often do not realize what we are thinking or believing until we express it for examination.  We are often surprised as the truth slips out or the out grown evaluations spew. 

How can we seriously expect others to know us if we do not know our selves?  If we hide behind masks, those around us react to what they see and not what is hidden inside.  It is similar to going to the doctor complaining about a pain in the foot when it is really the right shoulder we cannot move. 

Some years ago, in an attempt to know me better, a man asked me what I most liked to do.  Without hesitating I blurted out, "I love to swim!"  Then waves of horror washed over me ... my body in a bathing suit at my age, shaving more than my legs, being exposed to cancerous sun rays that would burn me to a crisp!  This shared insight was so far off course I started to laugh hysterically.  I quickly supplied a different answer, "I love water ... everything about it!" 

Truth be known, I love the sound of water whether it is a gentle rain drop or a crashing wave.  Water soothes and calms me, lulling me into a state of peace.  Whether it is a bubble bath or a sprinkler, my body awakens to the caress of water.  It is cleansing and refreshing.  It is everything opposite of being stuffed into a bathing suit!

Perhaps if we made a list of things we truly enjoyed and then went back over the list adding all of the ways we supported our desires, we would become more aware of how well we knew our selves.  The list would also be a good indicator of how well we met our creative or personal wants and needs and what means we used to express our individuality. 

Can we clearly see our selves?   Do we present our selves accurately?  Are we saying what we need to say? hmmm ....