Take The Ride . . . Again

In July of 2008, I launched this blog.

Out of curiosity, I just looked back to see what I'd written when I began.

I was SHOCKED to read my very first entry.

I instinctively knew what I didn't yet know.

At the time of that first blog post, I'd never touched a brush to canvas.

It would be another 15 months before I'd complete my first painting.

Now, painting is pretty much all I wanna do!

Back then, I'd only written private journal entries.

Now I've penned hundreds of blog posts and co-authored a book!

I've re-published that first post for you here below.

In it, I can see what would lead to "my blooming life".

*********************************************************

Take The Ride

I stopped by the park between errands for some quiet - I have so much noise in my head! While sitting in my air conditioned car, I was struck by the sight of a large hawk scratching about on the ground before me. So very gorgeous and majestic!

I watched him for a full five minutes before a girl walked by, scaring him off. How often am I so busy that I miss moments like these? Even the girl strolling slowly by does not notice the large bird. Such tiny moments bring me clarity.

I hear an inner voice telling me to "soften my tone, brighten my outlook, act with more freedom and to take better care of myself." The last month has been so hard. Only two days ago, I told my husband that I felt the need to run away. Not from him or anyone or anything else . . . I couldn't really explain myself further at the time. I've come now to realize it's more a longing to run towards something. That something is my more fully blown self - my bigger, fuller, blossomed self. I do not have to go anywhere to do that!

In my lifetime, I have mostly disregarded that inner voice; minimized it, ignored it. I hear small bits and pieces . . . echoes . . . and only in moments, like this, in silence. I know my soul's direction will make me stronger, more powerful. Not a hard power but a still, quiet strength. A strength filled with inner certainty.

I hear more direction echoing through to me now. I'm guided to "become an artist of life. One who brilliantly lives it, loves it, observes it and records it here on this site - and in the art I can only so far see in my imagination. Make the effort," the small voice says, "articulate it all in writing and on canvas."

This feels so huge, so beyond my capability. Fear comes and paralyzes me. But I am told that "my job is simply to allow. I am not to stand in the way. Allow the flow. Unblock," it says. "Take the ride."

Extreme Measures

I did something extreme!

And it has nothing to do with these tiny little sketches......

I de-activated my Facebook account last night.  

I know!  Gasp!

You see I'd been noticing an addiction -

one of those addictions that's socially acceptable - no one really notices anything is wrong at all.

And as addictions do, it was encroaching on my "real life".

Subtly sucking time and energy away from what I really wanted.

Which is primarily spending more face to face time with my family and friends

(rather than messaging them online!)

AND more time painting, writing and generally being happier, more fulfilled.

That little internal voice kept tugging on my ear until I finally paid attention.....

"It's time to get outta social media.  You'll be happier with less distractions - more action," it said.

And so, I did.

I'm currently going through "Facebook withdrawals".

Way stronger than the feelings I had when just on a short term "media fast".

It feels vaguely like I'm "missing out on something".

But I'm also feeling a growing glimmer of spaciousness.

(Insert oooh's and ah's.)

So never mind these somber-crooked-faced sketches -

Truth is I've been too lazy/distracted/busy to learn how to draw smiling faces!

But now, I just may find the time......

A Day In A Painter's Life

This is how it sometimes happens . . .



Just as you're fully intending to spend the day painting something based on this....



up pops THIS! The dreaded inner meanie . . . the demon robbing me of my creative bliss. My gremlin.



My beginning strokes on canvas were so horrid!
(Wait! Is this only my gremlin speaking?)
Well, I won't dare show you THAT!



In quiet desperation, I literally fell to my knees, spreading all my supplies in a large circle around me. I began spreading paints on a large sheet of watercolor - still the gremlin growled.



So onto the smaller palette of my art journal, where I let him speak to me.



Sometimes it's the only thing you can do - just let him have his say.



A guy just needs a little space - to know I'm listening.....



Only then will he be silenced . . .



and I can begin again.

My Angel Wore Dreadlocks

(I think I may have shared this before, but I'm republishing this story and dedicating it to Connie - my other beautiful friend with the gorgeous dreads.)



*****


“Never drive faster than your guardian angel can fly.”
--unknown

I find it difficult to believe in ghosts, but I do believe in angels.

In 1985, I moved to San Diego. Shortly afterwards, I began dating Rob, a handsome photographer. I enjoyed his company, but it was nothing serious. We went out on a couple of fun dates. I thought he was an interesting, arty type of guy.

One night, he invited me for dinner and a movie. Following dinner, the weather turned cold and Rob asked if we could drop by his home to pick up his jacket. I had not been there before, but felt comfortable enough to agree.

Rob’s car twisted and turned up a hillside road leading through a charming tree-lined neighborhood to his home. Once inside his unusual and eclectic bungalow, he gave me a tour. I was impressed by his sophisticated taste. I enjoyed looking at his black and white photography and stylish European furnishings. Yet I could not shake the feeling that his interiors appeared more like a movie set than a personal home. Scenic photography backdrops framed the setting. Stainless steel lights and professional equipment were used like props—or even sculpture. Picture perfect!

This guy seemed to have potential - handsome, fit, talented and charismatic. Suddenly, he kissed me once and then again. He didn't stop. He wanted more. "Slow down—not so fast," I insisted. I discouraged more advances and reminded him of our movie plans. But he persisted. I grew fearful as he became more agitated and aggressive. What could I have done to make this guy so angry?

I found out quickly that saying “no” to him did not work. Instinct told me to get out of there. But out to where? Where exactly was there? Once outside, where would I go and how?

It was dark, and I was in an unfamiliar neighborhood. When I attempted to leave, Rob tried to block the door with his body. Fortunately, I was faster. I jerked the door open and rushed down steps leading to the street. Unbelievably, a yellow cab was speeding towards me. I hailed the taxi and it screeched to a stop, just like I’d seen in movies.

M i r a c u l o u s!

In an instant, I was seated inside a smokey cab. For once, I didn't mind the smoke. In moments, the cab was flying down Interstate 5. With only $50 in my purse, I nervously watched as dollars clicked by on the mounting meter. I prayed $50 would cover my trip home. Should I ask the driver to let me out early—and where would early be? I was a stranger to San Diego. I leaned back and decided to work out the tab when I arrived home.

The sounds of reggae - and my heart thumping in time with its steel drums - momentarily distracted me from Rob's intentions. Ziggy Marley’s voice came through the car’s tinny speakers as I watched my driver’s dreadlocks swing rhythmically across her beaded seat. Recovering my composure, I quietly spoke, “Ma’am. I think you just rescued me from a very bad situation.”

Her crystal blue eyes glowed against her dark Jamaican skin as she turned to respond. “Yah, mon. Angels are everywhere.”

It was midnight-quiet when we arrived at my place. I gratefully breathed in the calming scent of eucalyptus that grew near my front door. Ah! The lovely scent of home and safety!

Leaning forward to check the meter, I was stunned to read the fare $50-even, leaving no money for a tip. Guiltily, I apologized to my angel. She laughed and said, “Well, my good deed is done.” I thanked her and stepped outside the car. The sounds of reggae still drifting from its windows, I watched her cab fade into the night.

I’ve often wondered if my cab driver’s appearance on that dark, secluded San Diego street was mere coincidence? Perhaps. I don’t think so. I believe it was divine intervention.

I know one thing for certain, my photographer's “too perfect” bungalow was staged for disaster and I got the picture. If intuition is the voice of our guardian angel, thank God I listened to mine. I am forever grateful.

Taking Out the Trash

I have a little story for you. A different kind of story than normally found here.

This morning, I awoke extra early. 5 A.M. to be exact. The house was quiet and dark. My hubby's out of town. Let me also explain that this week has been challenging. More than challenging. Lots to deal with. None of it good. Peaking yesterday with an abscessed tooth and an emergency root canal.

So with this gift of quiet time, I knew I needed a shift . . . some calm in the storm. I clicked on a tranquil little meditation stored on my computer. Twenty minutes of breathing and stillness. Ahhhhh, perfect. I began.

Breathe. In. Out. In. Out.

Not 60 seconds into my blissful state, I realized my computer was bleeping. If you have a MAC, you'd recognize that annoying bleep. The kind warning you when one of your applications needs updating. I opened my eyes to scan the screen for the normally accompanying jumping icon. Nothing. Nothing needed updating. Hmm.

Breathe. In. Out. In. Out.

The sound intensified, quickened. I thought, "I can do this. I can still my mind enough to ignore that bleeping bleep!"

Breathe. In. Out. AAaaaarrrgghhhhh! It won't stop!

Ignore it . . . breathe. In. Out. In. Out.

Somehow through the repetitive bleeping, I managed to quiet down my monkey mind. It came to me in a sudden flash. "Empty the trash", my now still internal voice said. "Just empty the trash." I opened one eye. Do I dare disrupt this stillness I'm feeling? "Yes," it said.

I opened both eyes, glanced at the "trash can" icon and clicked "empty the trash". It worked! The bleeping stopped immediately. Wow, I've never had that much trash in the can before. So I guess it's never bleeped at me.

Breathe. In. Out. In. Out. Peace. Restored.

I sat for the remaining 10 minutes of the meditation with a smile on my face. Listening to my inner voice had worked. How quickly I forget that. Emptying my computer's trash can of all 217 items worked.

A subtle clue to also clear my mind of this week's "trashy" thoughts. I'm dumping all 217 of them!

Swoon

Write What You Know

The advice to writers has always been to "write what you know." I couldn't agree more. That's probably why I'm so drawn to those who write about their daily happenings-diarists really. Writers like Elizabeth Gilbert, May Sarton, Anais Nin and Anne Morrow Lindbergh.

In the past couple of years, I've taken lots of classes. There's been several art and writing workshops. There were life coach and creativity coach training courses. I've learned ALOT. I'm not likely to ever stop with the learning, considering how much I value it.

But it's interesting that while you're soaking up all the wisdom, you can sometimes forget what you know all by yourself. I'm not talking about some sage wisdom you want to teach or pass on to others....but the little stuff you realize about your own self. The stuff that when known and acknowledged, helps you to feel content and centered. And when ignored or stuffed down, has you hiding under covers until you crawl out only to down a half gallon of Haagen Daz with extra whipped cream.

So I've started a little list of self knowledge. Considering the length of it so far, it seems I've forgotten much. I've put it over on the side bar to the right, just to jar the old noggin into recalling more. Funny how I only become aware of these little things when I get real quiet and pay attention! Kind of like being an observer of your own life. Oh! I've just remembered something else....off to add to the list....

What little things do you know about yourself? Do share a few!

My Angel Wore Dreadlocks

“Never drive faster than your guardian angel can fly.”
--unknown

*************************************************************

I find it difficult to believe in ghosts, but I do believe in angels.

In 1985, I moved to San Diego. Shortly afterwards, I began dating Rob, a handsome photographer. I enjoyed his company, but it was nothing serious. We had enjoyed a couple of fun dates and I thought he was an interesting, arty type of guy.

One chilly night, he invited me for dinner and a movie. Following dinner, the weather took a turn for the worse and Rob asked if we could drop by his home to pick up a jacket. I had not yet been to his home, but felt comfortable enough to agree.

Rob’s car twisted and turned up the hillside road leading through a charming tree-lined neighborhood. Once inside his unusual and eclectic bungalow, he gave me a tour. His taste was sophisticated and I was impressed. I enjoyed looking at his black and white photography and stylish European furnishings. Yet I could not shake the feeling that his interiors were more like a movie set than a personal home. Scenic photography backdrops framed the setting. His stainless steel lights and professional equipment were used like props—or even sculpture. Picture perfect!

This guy seemed to have potential - handsome, fit, talented and charismatic. Suddenly, he kissed me once and then again. He didn't stop. He wanted more. "Slow down—not so fast," I insisted. I discouraged more advances and reminded him of our movie plans. But he didn't stop. He didn't slow down. I grew fearful as he became more agitated and aggressive. What could I have done to make this guy so angry?

I found out quickly that saying “no” to him did not work. Instinct told me to get out of there. But out to where? Where exactly was there? Once outside, where would I go and how?

It was dark, and I was in an unfamiliar neighborhood. As I attempted to leave, Rob tried to block the door with his body. Fortunately, I was the fast one. I jerked the door open and rushed down steps leading to the street. Unbelievably, a yellow cab was speeding towards me. I hailed the taxi and it screeched to a stop just like I’d seen in movies.

M i r a c u l o u s!

In an instant, I was seated inside a smoke filled cab. On this occasion, I didn't mind the smoke. In another instant, the cab was flying down Interstate 5. Realizing I only had $50 in my purse, I nervously watched as dollars clicked by on the mounting meter. I prayed $50 would cover my trip home. Should I ask the driver to let me out early—and where would early be? I was a stranger to San Diego. I leaned back and decided to work out the tab when I arrived home.

The sounds of reggae - and my heart thumping in time with its steel drums - momentarily distracted me from Rob's intentions. Ziggy Marley’s voice came through the car’s tinny speakers as I watched my driver’s dreadlocks swing rhythmically across her beaded seat. Recovering my composure, I quietly spoke, “Ma’am. I think you just rescued me from a very bad situation.”

Her crystal blue eyes glowed against her dark Jamaican skin as she turned to respond. “Yah, mon. Angels are everywhere.”

It was midnight-quiet when we arrived at my place. I breathed in the calming scent of eucalyptus growing near my front door. Ah! The scent of home and safety!

Leaning forward to check the meter, I was stunned to read the fare-$50-even. I no money left for a tip. Guiltily, I apologized to my angel. She laughed and said, “Well, my good deed is done.” I thanked her and stepped outside. I watched until her cab faded into the night, reggae still drifting from its windows.

I’ve wondered since then if my cab driver’s appearance on that dark, secluded San Diego street was just coincidence? Perhaps. I don’t think so. I believe it was divine intervention.

I know one thing for sure, my photographer's “too perfect” bungalow was staged for disaster and I got the picture. I believe intuition is the voice of our guardian angel. Thank God, I listened. I’ll be forever grateful.

Take the Ride

I stopped by the park between errands for some quiet-I have so much noise in my head! While sitting in my air conditioned car, I was struck by the sight of a large hawk scratching about on the ground before me. So very gorgeous and majestic!

I watched him for a full five minutes before a girl walked by, scaring him off. How often am I so busy that I miss moments like these? Even the girl strolling slowly by does not notice the large bird. Such tiny moments bring me clarity.

I hear an inner voice telling me to "soften my tone, brighten my outlook, act with more freedom and to take better care of myself." The last month has been so hard. Only two days ago, I told my husband that I felt the need to run away. Not from him or anyone or anything else . . . I couldn't really explain myself further at the time. I've come now to realize it's more a longing to run towards something. That something is my more fully blown self-my bigger, fuller, blossomed self. I do not have to go anywhere to do that!

In my lifetime, I have mostly disregarded that inner voice; minimized it, ignored it. I hear small bits and pieces . . . echoes . . . and only in moments, like this, in silence. I know my soul's direction will make me stronger, more powerful. Not a hard power but a still, quiet strength. A strength filled with inner certainty.

I hear more direction echoing through to me now. I'm guided to "become an artist of life. One who brilliantly lives it, loves it, observes it and records it here on this site-and in the art I can only so far see in my imagination. Make the effort," the small voice says, "articulate it all in writing and on canvas."

This feels so huge, so beyond my capability. Fear comes and paralyzes me. But I am told that "my job is simply to allow. I am not to stand in the way. Allow the flow. Unblock," it says. "Take the ride."