Art and Darkness

I remember being in college and writing a short story for a fiction class in which a character in my story described her fear of being seen. She said that she was afraid that she was like an envelope that had traveled around, unopened, and that when someone finally opened it, it was empty. It was my own fear of nothingness that I was writing about. The nothingness inside, the feeling of not being enough. Those were dark times. Struggling with depression, afraid to go out in the world. I think most college students get drunk on a regular basis, but I got drunk to feel comfortable in my own skin, or rather, to escape my own skin and become someone else. As I sit writing this in the Big Boy, (yes, that's my best option) drinking my coffee, I am reminded of those days. I was so tortured and spent many a late night in a coffee house or donut shop, writing about my angst. Mostly cynical, angry, dramatic poems or monologues which eventually became part of a play. Though I was pretty miserable back then, I was inspired to write. It was my only outlet for all the anguish I felt...the only expression that felt safe. And what at the time were just bits and pieces, random thoughts from a dark place, eventually became something more meaningful...they became art. Here I am, almost twenty years later, and I sit in a very different place. I fell in love and have been loved, unconditionally, by the most amazing person. But in love and contentment, I lost the desire to create, to write, to dance. I have spent many years trying to avoid darkness, to avoid depression, agitation or anxiety. What I see now is that discontentment really is a gift. It's an opportunity to grow, to evolve, to discover, to express, to create. Some of the most beautiful things have come from the darkness of our souls. The trick is to not get stuck in it...to sit in it, go with it, but know that it's temporary. And to be able to see the light that is shining on the flip side of that darkness. What I also see is that the depression and anxiety came from an inability to connect with my true self. My authentic self. It seems my whole life I've been trying to discover myself. I've sought therapy, spiritual practices, yoga...I've gone inward, I've analyzed, reflected. But it is only been in the last 10 years that I have actually realized all that I am, that I am most definitely NOT an empty envelope. It has been a long process but it was and is worth it. It sounds so cliche' but it is true that the answers do not lie outside of us, they lie within us. There's no secret formula to find them because we're all so unique. But when you find them, the ordinary becomes extraordinary. It doesn't mean you'll be happy all of the time, but you'll love even the moments when you aren't.

Why is it so hard to lead an authentic life? I mean, it's really hard. Especially if you're not a narcissist. Authentically, I don't mind work if it's for/on something that I'm passionate about or otherwise motivated in some way. Society doesn't want me to work on something I'm passionate about...at least I won't be financially supported by it, which is sort of important when you have a family to raise. Authentically, I feel torn between creating something that feeds my creative and or/humanitarian soul and devoting myself to my kids and my idea of what is best for them. Authentically, I feel burnt out, desiring of simplicity, art, travel, community, though I certainly have elements of all of them in my life. Authentically, I long to fly like the bird, free and soaring...but can I? Sure, but only at the expense of the amazing children who count on me, who love me, who seem to want me around even when I have energy for little more than the very basic of their needs and an attention-span worthy of a triple ADD diagnosis (no there's no such thing, but I was lacking a proper example).

So how do I remain true to myself, my authentic self, the one who is not mother or friend or daughter or homemaker or teacher or even artist without risking the emotional well-being of three small people? Why does it seem so difficult to find a happy medium? And why do I feel so guilty for being so self-focused these past few years?

Because mothers are supposed to have endless patience. Mothers are givers and nurturers and are connected to their children like no one else. They are fierce when it comes to their well-being and put them first always. Right?

So where is my authentic connection to them lately? I love them, no doubt. Love them and appreciate them and who they are, am grateful for their health, for their friends and mine and yet so much of what I do for them and with them seems obligatory lately. Truly, like a job but one which I never know if I'm doing right and one that is not valued in the same way a "productive" job is...a job that doesn't support me financially and takes a huge amount of emotional energy and is never done.

I could put them in school and give myself a break...from the pressure of providing them with everything they need, in every way... a chance for silence and a break from the constant mess in my house. But I want to honor who they are as people, and at least two out of three of my kids are not people for whom public school would be a good fit. I believe in how I'm raising them, I believe in the unschooling model...but it's a huge commitment and I can understand why so many people choose to send their kids elsewhere.

I've come up with three options:

One: build or join an unschooling community, where I'll feel supported daily by others who are doing what I'm doing, where there is shared responsibility and resources so that the burden is not all on me every day.

Two: Get a job that will give me enough money to send them to a private school that embodies the methods I'm using or that has similar values.

Three: Get a strong anti-depressant and plough through, finding as many opportunities for escape and renewal as I can.

It's hard to be in the middle...to be feeling an ethereal, spiritual being within you, to resonate with nature so much you just want to "be" as it is...to be human and connected to other humans and all that that entails. When I feel lack of joy, in my humaness, sometimes all I can find is serenity in the arms of nature, the universe, the in between.

Beauty of Balance

I had an experience recently at a dance workshop/training that was so illuminating and significant to me that I felt the need to mention it. It had to do with the dark and the light and began with an exploration of darkness, under a blue silk. Listening to the music, we danced underneath, quietly and subtly, as night does. I began very much engaged, movement coming freely and naturally...but at a certain point, I felt a sense of being lost, not knowing what I was supposed to be getting or doing...and then, almost instantly, I was calmed by my own realization that I didn't have to know everything. I could experience what I was experiencing for its own sake...that not knowing was okay. And many times, our fear of the dark or darkness is just that...the unknown. What we perceive as "bad" is really something we don't understand or know...what we reject.

In the same evening of movement, we had a celebration of the light, with candles and music and water. There was a moment where I raised my lit candle up to the night sky and I had the overwhelming sense that the two were greeting each other...the light wasn't trying to banish the dark and the dark wasn't trying to smother the light. It was a simple acknowledgment of one another, of seeing the other and saying hello, without judgment or anger or fear. In that place of greeting was beauty, balance and connection. In that moment, I understood what is possible for us all.

Weekend of Contact Improv

A few weekends ago I attended a Contact Improv Retreat. I had the delightful and rich experience of dancing with some people I know very minimally and dancing with complete strangers for the better part of two days.

We started with a "structured" class where the instructor, Yves, gave us some starting points to work with. We crawled, played with moving from low to upright positions. We then worked with partners, holding another's arm with our eyes closed while we let our partner lead us around. I found this exhilarating and frightening at the same time, especially when my partner pulled me while running. Flying, feeling air in my face, trusting my partner completely to make sure I didn't run into someone or something. And once that trust was there, just enjoying the ride.

Then the dance began. I danced for several hours, loved having so much room to work with, really taking up space and allowing myself to move uninhibited, dancing with people, pushing, pulling, flying, running, falling, rolling. Because of the vastness of the space we were in, I was able to be in perpetual motion for longer periods of time--to really see the flow through, to follow the momentum to its natural end, which was a new and liberating feeling.

I especially loved moving to the live music: a cello, piano and drums. Between the musicians and dancers, I was given such a rich tapestry of elements to play with and off of. Such an amazing experience that I didn't want to end.

I guess it's not news that physical contact with others can be healing. We know that babies need to be held, touched, even have skin-to-skin contact with their mother or caregiver to bond, to feel secure and to grow into empathetic adults. Giving a kid a hug can cure just about any minor ailment.

I think as adults, we forget how good connecting physically with another human being can be. We may enjoy that physical expression with our spouse or significant other (with or without the sexual component) or our children. We may hug our extended family or friends as a greeting or maybe hug someone we know is having a hard time.

But how often do we really take in those bits of affection, of connection, that we're getting? How often does it become simply obligatory or rote? While dancing in contact with others, there is tenderness, care, exploration, sensuality, playfulness and everything in between. Moments of stillness, many times taken when a position feels particularly restorative or comforting, allow time for one to really take in that connection. It is truly a beautiful practice.

The Flawed Healer

I used to believe, naively, that healers and other people in the helping professions were healed themselves...that psychologists must not have issues, that energy healers never got sick...that somehow these people had the key to their own well-being. It was always disillusioning to me to discover the person I'd been seeking guidance from was flawed, sometimes greatly so. How could I trust what they were telling me if it didn't work for them?

Now I think, how could they be helpful if they didn't experience those things? How can you help other humans if you yourself don't have human emotions, human ailments, human thoughts? It seems obvious now. It is in our own suffering, in our flaws that we are able to help others because we are able to empathize. And it is our own suffering or discontent that pushes us to find answers, encourages us to find peace, however we can, and in so doing, help others do the same. At least if we don't get stuck in it.

Sometimes it works the other way around. Sometimes when we are striving to help others, we help ourselves as well. This is nowhere more evident than in a parent/child relationship. If we can relate and listen to our children, perhaps we can heal that child who was never heard. Or if we can honor our kids' "selfish" side, maybe we can learn to honor our own Self that has been neglected. And if we can truly show unconditional love to our kids, we might just be loving some lost part of our own inner child.

It's sort of a chicken or the egg kind of thing. It's cyclical...it's hard to give someone what you haven't gotten yourself ...but it's sometimes even harder to give to yourself.

I have many energy healing modalities at my disposal and when I am in pain or out of sorts, I can achieve a certain level of relief by using them. However, many times I find the result is more drastic when someone else works on me and my work on them is more effective on them than their own is. I can only speculate that this is because we can't see the forest through the trees, so to speak. Perspective changes everything and we usually don't have great perspective on our own issues. Or maybe it is the sheer act of purely receiving that is so healing...either way, we have the potential to help each other heal, if we could just see the connection, the reflections of ourselves in everything. I think we need to play both healer and healee in order to find balance and peace.

Being human, accepting all that that means, and being a healer or teacher are not mutually exclusive. Quite the contrary...speaking as someone who wants to help people heal, it helps us be more compassionate. And speaking as a patient or client or student, having a leader or healer who is human and embraces that, shows me that I, too, with all my human issues, have the same potential to help others.

Spring

I love spring. I love the smell of the rain and the trees just beginning to bud. I love the anticipation of seeing the first sprouts coming up from the earth and the mystery of what those sprouts could be (especially because I often forget what I planted the year before).

Every day I go out and tour my own yard as if I'm seeing it for the first time and in a way, I am. Each day brings new wonder, new surprises. Spring is still hopeful. It isn't quite late enough to discover that those lilies I planted didn't make it or that the blueberry bush didn't produce. There is still so much potential.

I have planted shrubs before and waited anxiously to see them budding in the spring only to discover them dead. A few days ago when I walked around my yard, most of the new shrubs I planted appeared to be dead. Since they're new and I can't remember exactly what they are or when they're supposed to bloom, I decided break off a tiny piece of the branch to see the inside. I was delighted to see green. I have decided to take that to mean the other ones that appear dead are really just waiting, protecting themselves until it's warm enough to emerge. That's the wonder and beauty of spring.

Every year we gather with friends for a spring celebration. There are nature crafts for the kids, potluck food and drink for the adults and a planting ceremony. We all write down on slips of paper what we want to sow...wishes, goals, ideas. We take turns digging with a shovel and bury our hopes with a plant or seeds. We also have a bonfire and let go of anything we need to and take a turn sharing where we're at and what spring means to us. It's a beautiful tradition, one that I look forward to. For many of us, it is the hope, the light, that means so much.

For the past two years, I have gone into my dance studio above the garage in the spring to find a bird trapped there. They had somehow found their way in but couldn't find their way out. The first was a male cardinal, the second year a mama robin. In both cases, I was amazed to find that the bird allowed me to cup my hands around it and carry it to the open window to let it out. I can't explain how honored I felt by that. Perhaps they knew I could help or perhaps they were just too scared to struggle or fly away, I don't know. And though I was helping the bird, it felt like I was the one being given a gift.

The gift is being allowed to touch something that usually seems so separate. As a human it is a privilege for me to connect with another life that I usually just admire from afar, that is so light and free. I am touched by being part of returning that thing of beauty to its freedom. In this way, I am part of the hope that spring brings.

Love and Logic

I have a friend who is in love with a man from another culture, one where he is expected to marry a woman of his family's choosing. The man loves her, too, but is torn between that and his loyalty to his family and their expectations of him. It is very likely he'll have to make a choice. His family will probably disown him if he chooses to stay here. Their situation is complicated and at times, seems to my friend, impossible. They are from two different worlds and yet they are in love. Knowing this, knowing that there is a good chance that this man will choose his family, hasn't prevented her from seeing him, from loving him.

If only love made sense. If only we could reason with our hearts, make them love who is best for us. It's funny how we'll try....we'll try to find logical reasons for why we love who we love but the bottom line is that many times, most times, there is no logic. We feel what we feel.

They say that love is blind. Maybe that's true or maybe it's that love sees all...goes beyond the surface to see the potential in someone. Sometimes that potential comes to fruition and sometimes it doesn't and if we act on our love for that person and their potential we are making a willing choice to take that chance.

And what is romantic love anyway? Is it the chemistry between two people, the physical attraction? Is it the enjoyment or comfort we get from being around someone? Is it the feeling we get when we look at someone across the room or look into someone's eyes and can't look away? Is it the desire to know that person? To be near him/her? All or none of the above?

None of these things are logical or can be rationalized, no matter how we try. Nor can we control them. The only thing we do have control over is our actions, how we respond to the feelings we have. I suppose that's where the mind, where logic can be helpful. It has the potential to temper our actions but we don't always listen. And sometimes it can pay off and sometimes it doesn't. I guess the wisdom is in seeing both potential outcomes and being willing to accept either one.