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“The situation is hopeless but not serious.”
Paul Watzlawick

Here you’ll find musings on the necessity of solitude, re-thinking perspectives, new paradigms for relationship and intimacy, living creatively, guidance for hard times, questions about what’s essential and some of my own poetry.  May you pause long enough to listen and so recognize your own heart-wisdom and beauty in these reflections.  Enjoy!

Image: Marc Chagall

Talking Back To Darkness: In Praise Of The Creative Impulse

 

 

 

 

Talk back to darkness with song and dance and praise.   No matter that such acts may
seem incomprehensible, for “Just to be is a blessing.  Just to live is holy.”  (Rabbi A. Heschel)

(The following is the text of my welcoming remarks at TEDxBend Women on Saturday, December 1, 2018.  What an honor and a privilege!)

Do you identify as an artist or creative sort?  Yes, no, maybe?  If not, then within the next 20 minutes, I want you to be able to say hell yeah.  If so, I want you to feel fully affirmed in that big YES.  Because when you harness the creative impulse, you can talk back to the darkness that’s disabling, that enforces silence, that makes you wonder if what you do matters.

There’s another sort of darkness we can keep faith with, one full of promise and fertility.  Consider that embryos, carrots, tree roots and dreams are nourished in darkness.  I’m talking about the pregnant void of all possibilities , from which the creative impulse emerges and returns for refreshment.  Artists draw from this source, responding to and also influencing their inner and outer worlds.

I want you to exile self-criticism and self-diminishment so your artistry has a fighting chance to be born, ripen and evolve.  I want you to take seriously the creative impulse throbbing within you.  I want you to grok that creativity isn’t something you do, it is what you are.   The way you express the creative impulse, that’s your artistry.

There’s nothing extraordinary about our inherent capacity to create; it’s as natural as breathing, yet it’s an incomparable treasure.  Creativity, artistry and art are given their due when we stop reifying these ideas.  But there’s a caveat: you have to name, claim, honor, explore, use and hone your creative impulse.

I’d love to know what you’re an artist of, what mark your creative thumbprint leaves.  This matters, but only if you want to talk back to joy-robbing fear and despair.  Or, if you want to transform the blistering fire of personal rage into a fire of steady, passionate resolve and illumination.  You with me?

Let’s try on other words for art, artistry or creativity: flair, innovation, skill, proficiency, virtuosity, finesse, style, gift, giftedness, talent, genius, brilliance, aptitude, imagination, inventiveness, ingenuity.  These words apply to you, unless you insist that they don’t.  Please, don’t do that to yourself.

My mama, for instance, is an Artist of Wonderment, a Genius at seeing beauty in all creatures.  My siblings and I were gracefully taught that horseshoe crabs aren’t ugly, spiders are fascinating, mice are precious.  You get the picture.  “Worms think they’re beautiful, ” she said as we watched one wriggle in the grass decades ago.

Know this: your unique artistry enriches.   We are awakened, enlivened, consoled and fed by the creative impulse given expression. Artistry is a revelation of something deep within that is often ignored or downright dismissed by people who nevertheless hunger, without even realizing it, for what the artist offers.

Everyday I read this inscription found on a headstone in Green River Cemetery where Jackson Pollock, Elaine de Kooning and other artists are buried:  Artists and poets are the raw nerve ends of humanity. By themselves they can do little to save humanity. Without them there would be little worth saving.  This affirmation knocks out any stupor, self-doubt or complacency I might be mired in.

Recently in a Creativity Playshop I offered on the subject of Talking Back to Darkness, a group of us reflected on art, artistry and creativity.  We investigated what it means to be intimate with the creative impulse and the power it endows to talk back to the bleakness of fear and doubt.  Here’s a sampling of what came from our deep dialogue:

Creativity is the outward expression of an inner impulse that is universal and intrinsic to creation, including but not limited to the human species.

Creativity is surprise, the hand moving in a way it hadn’t before, before the mind defines and limits the movement.

Creativity is the life-force expressed by the artist until final exhaustion, while the life-force itself, continues on.

And what is the artist?  Usher, ambassador, explorer, parent, breast-feeder, storyteller, baker, painter, dancer, gardener, bee-keeper, yogi, poet, writer, daydreamer, sculptor, traveler, organizer, administrator, listener, lover, cook, assembler, dismantler, designer, mind-bender, architect, ritual-maker, music-maker, singer, blogger, somatic healer, giver of warmth and hospitality, friend-of-silence.  A short list, I grant you, but we made a great start.

So what makes you an artist?  George Saunders, author of Lincoln in the Bardo, brilliantly writes:  “The indispensable interior voice of ‘I’m doing it because I want to’ makes you an artist.”  Say it loud, say it proud: I’m doing it because I want to.  Let this be a motto.

Then there’s the imperatives of the artist.  These vital directives were framed by Kathleen Dean Moore, author and explorer extraordinaire.  The imperatives are to Love and Celebrate the World, to Warn and Witness, and to Re-imagine the World. 

Allow me to share an example.  This prayer-poem came to me just before Thanksgiving.  I felt compelled to talk back to darkness in service of these imperatives.  You may feel free to share this if you like:

To Be Woven Of Beauty
I am up to my elbows in dish water and gratitude, even as I lament
that gangsters and thieves stand at the helm of our troubled nation.

I am praising, even as I bring to mind California’s mega-fires,
the scorched land, charred trees, displaced people, dead animals.

I am praising, even as desperate amnesty seekers walk for miles
and miles, only to arrive tired and hungry, at a militarized border.

Incomprehensible as this praising is, it makes me soft and fierce and loving
and I have no idea where we’re headed and neither, truth be told, do you.

Still, I offer up what I can, where I can, as I can.  I am giving the muse
full reign, creating and speaking past frightened silence, into what might be.

So every day, I bow in all directions, all directions.

I bow to spirited beings and ancestors whose lives make mine possible,
and to those who inhabited this land long before the trauma of colonization.

I bow to you who honor life and our mother-earth, who gives only everything.
I honor the gift with acts of love rooted in unending reverence.

I bow even in the direction of our dangerously disturbed leaders. In that bowing,
what’s raw in me gets cooked.  Bless the sacred fire that forges resolve and compassion.

And every day I pray we find our way, wide-eyed and yearning,
to rituals of connection that ignite seeing and singing, so

we grow wise together, and together, we shall be a sheltering
tent open on all sides, woven of beauty and astonishment.  So be it.

In closing – a story:  a couple months ago I was in line at the grocery store.  The woman in front of me said, I know you.  You’re the poetry lady.  True enough, though I couldn’t place her.  I asked how we met.  You gave me a poem once.  I did a memory scan and said:  Ah!  Poem In Your Pocket Day, two years ago during National Poetry Month.  I stood on a corner handing out poems!  Bingo!  Right, she said, you gave me a poem that day.  I was surprised by the impact it had on me.  I still have it and I still read it.  What you’re doing…don’t stop.  Duly noted.

It’s not your job to know the outcome.  The job, should you take it, is for irreplaceable you to be faithful to your artistry, in whatever forms it takes.  Love and harvest your deepest yearnings, give them birth.  Let them shine as lamps in the dark.  Bless you and thank you.

Invitation: Give yourself permission to claim your artistry and how you give expression to the creative impulse.  Hint: tune into what you love deeply, what gives you joy, the gifts are you are called to offer.

Now complete these sentence stems.  Do it again tomorrow.  And repeat.

My artistry is expressed by or through _______________________. 

I am an artist of _________________________________________.

Find people to share this with, and for goodness sakes, take the next step.  Hone your artistry, offer your gifts.  If you can’t think of anyone to share with, reach out to me.  I promise I’ll respond.

Avec amour, always, Krayna

By |December 3rd, 2018|

“…but this is wondrous strange!”

 

 

 

 

 

 

“And therefore as a stranger give it welcome.”   Shakespeare, from Hamlet

The Dream Title:  “wondrous strange”
Introduction:
A woman walks with astrologer Rob Brezny and his rabbi friend, a silent yet friendly bear-man, in a large park filled with old trees.  They stroll slowly and quietly, pausing occasionally.

First movement:
Rob looks at her, matter-of-factly, says: Your lips move before your feet are grounded.  She begins to protest.  Rob and Reb Bear remain silent.  She:  Say it again.  Rob: Your lips move before your feet are grounded.  She considers the grain of truth in his words and smiles, softer now, nothing to defend.  They walk on.

Second movement:
Rob stops by a stone wall.  Using chalk, he draws a coat of arms, then points at the drawing.   She nods in understanding. They walk on.

Third movement:
The word pray rises in her mind at the very moment he says: pray.  She notes resistance arise and is about to tell him there’s no one to pray “to,” nothing to pray “for.”  Before she opens her mouth to question him, she decides to take it up within herself and contemplate.  They walk on.

Coda:
Time to part ways.  Reb Bear hugs her good-bye.  Rob’s eyes say good-bye.  She silently expresses gratitude and wanders off.  Time now for solitude.

Interlude:
This dream came nine months ago.  It feels like a poem to me.  Since then, I’ve turned it over gently, absorbing its richness.  What does it mean?  There’s no correct answer, no fixed meaning.  Dreams, like poems, give of themselves over and over, offering infinite possibilities, revelations and guidance.

The dream was given to me, though you can make it your own if you imagine it as your dream.  Let meanings, energies, associations and guidance of your own emerge.  That way, we wisely circumvent the tendency to interpret one another.  Another imperative when considering dreams or poems is to use a soft gaze.  I never place them under harsh light, insisting on answers.

For me, all aspects of a dream reflect the dreamer’s landscape.  Though they often carry archetypal patterns that can be instructive for others, like this one, which is why I’m sharing it.  It’s no accident I feel moved to extend this now, after mid-term elections.  Make your own sense of this.

One Possible Meaning of  “wondrous strange”

Introduction:
Engage the astrologer-seer within.  Pay attention to your inner night sky.  Become adept at reading the stars, planets and transits of your life.  Welcome friendly spirit Presences, human, animal and tree, and you’re in good company.  Respect their silences.  Let them teach you.

First movement:
Send your root deeply into the ground before you let words pass through your lips.  Wait until the wellspring of silence inspires and fills you.  Words can benefit when they move from that universal pool of wisdom.

Second movement:
The coat of arms is an ancient a symbol that evolved to represent one’s alliances, home and lineage.  To what and to whom are you faithful?  Offer thanks; take refuge in those sources of goodness, strength and nourishment.

Third movement:
Overflowing with gratitude and love, who cares about the what and who of prayer?  Let it go.  Praise!  That devotional experience is the Heart’s language.  Praise and praise again in the face of the world’s sorrows and joys.

Coda:
You’ve been given all you need and more.  When you say your good-byes, give thanks.  Remember you are not going it alone. Every being you’ve ever loved, every being that’s ever loved you, remains in your Heart.  Wondrous strange!

***  Does this dream resonate with you?  Does it have relevance for you in these times?  If so, make the dream your own. Feel free to let me know where it takes you!

Avec amour, always, Krayna

Image by Marc Chagall, The Dream
Musical accompaniment:  Gymnopédie No. 1 – Erik Satie and Henryk Gorecki, Symphony #3, opus 36

By |November 7th, 2018|

Truth Will Defend Itself. Let It.

 

 

 


What if you tell the truth of your own experience?
And what if in so doing, the wound you sustained is not denied,
but liberated?

In their 1999-2000 report, the South African Truth and Reconciliation Committee (TRC) categorized and/or redefined  “truth.”  Their purpose was to heal trauma and horrifying violence that victims experienced during apartheid, as the country forged ahead with a new, democratic government.  I found their process incredibly instructive and see applications to not only for countries, but for communities, families, couples and individuals.  In this time of painful truth-telling, this can be a roadmap, a lamp, a way forward.  Here are the four types of truth they illuminated:

1.  Forensic Truth – What happened to whom, where, when, how, who was involved.  This can include verbatim reports, addresses, graffiti, photos, facts surveying the human condition.  This can also material taken from medical charts, war and peace reports, statistics.  Facts describe, they don’t interpret.

2.  Personal Truth – This is truth of one’s personal experience, of recollection and memory.  In the words of the TRC, “Memories of pain, however flawed with forgetting…” are witnessed and honored.  Not debated.  Personal stories are not the whole or full truth, “but they are integral to the truth that leads to new justice.”

3.  Community Truth – “I” becomes “we,” “us,” “ours.”  Multiple forensic and personal truths are woven into the community’s story, as in:  This is how we – our culture, our land, our memories, our language, our children, our community – were affected.  According to the TCR: “The truth of experience…is established through interaction, discussion and debate…the process of dialogue…includes transparency, democracy and participation,” all of which make ground for reaffirming dignity and integrity.

4.  Healing Truth or Public Truth –  This truth exposes past events to bring about public awareness of wrong-doing and harm done, such that we collectively agree: “no more” or “never again.”  Out of the matrix of the three proceeding truths, we begin finding the way beyond what was.  This is a perspective changer.  We see ourselves and our pain in a new light.  We endeavor to work it out together.  Forming a new unity, we talk back to darkness.

Should you decide to share the truth of your experience, make sure it’s to someone who can listen.  Without interfering.  As in giving advice, telling you it wasn’t so bad, offering opinions and the like.  There is no one truth any of us can claim, but we can speak to our own experience, and in so doing, walk into a new possibility.  Bless you.

(My thanks to Kim Stafford for reminding me of the work of the TRC.)

By |October 3rd, 2018|

Lucky’s Lair

Each month,
the Luckster shares
his own deep thoughts.
Then,
he goes back to sleep.

“The river that flows in you
also flows in me.”

Kabir

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