Necessary Detours

'Life? or Theater?' --- an autobiographical series of paintings by Jewish Modern Artist Charlotte Salomon

Yesterday i flunked an important technical exam. I was given an hour to go over the manual and all my notes to trace the steps i have missed. After a retake, i resurfaced with a perfect score. Thank God for second chances, i can now proceed to the next module of the course.  

Such is life. I don't think anyone in this world can claim walking an absolutely straight and perfect path. We have, at one point or another, had to redo some things, clean the slate and start all over,  and take the same tests over in order to learn its lessons. This has been the hallmark of my life.

One step forward, two steps back.  

Just when i thought i made progress, i find myself in direr straits. It does not matter as long as i can capture what is being taught. But of course in the thick of it --- the struggle, and the wrenching and wretchedness of it all is discomforting and unnerving. Sometimes to the point of despair.  I have reached that marker several times. I know that path too well. 

And how did i survive? Detours. By taking in what is being taught.

And by pushing myself to do  things out of  my normal and usual routine. Just when i  thought i have long been done with college: listening to lectures, studying, reviewing, practicum, and exams to pass -- i am back there alongside the young ones.

This is why I connect to the artist Charlotte Salomon.  She was driven by “the question: whether to take her own life or undertake something wildly unusual”. Fraught with a life of pain, she launched into something extraordinary --- painting. 

I know that my detour is a path forward.

Necessary Losses

Losses. No one wants to have them. From the moment we leave the comfort of our mother's womb, we lose something of value: the comfort and total security of that cocoon. As babies we all experience our parents being out of our sight. There is always some form of loss as we engage in this thing called life. Fearsome, pushing us to learn, grow, thrive in any kind of circumstance. No one is exempt.

And we have that to thank for this ability to flourish.

Still when things become too easy, we still lose something -- that push that makes us flap our wings,  and strengthen our sinews -- opportunities to evolve. While we are yet still breathing we can not have it any other way. The Animal Kingdom illustrates much of the oftentimes violent thrust of such losses that spur their young to survive. Think about the birds who are pushed out of the nest, the forced sending away at a certain age of bear cubs to fend for themselves, or even the snake's need to shed his whole outer skin to give way for the new. Renunciation, whether consciously or not, is our lifestyle.

If you can grab a hold of this book by Judith Viorst, so much the better. Got mine from my favorite book shop http://booksale.com.ph/. My thirty-five pesos in exchange for a treasure.

Here's what you will find in those pages:

Growing up means letting go of the dearest megalomaniacal dreams of our childhood. Growing up means knowing they can't be fulfilled. Growing up means gaining the wisdom and skills to get what we want within the limitations imposed by reality—a reality which consists of diminished powers, restricted freedoms and, with the people we love, imperfect connections.

When we think of loss we think of the loss, through death, of people we love. But loss is a far more encompassing theme in our life. For we lose not only through death, but also by leaving and being left, by changing and letting go and moving on. And our losses include not only our separations and departures from those we love, but our conscious and unconscious losses of romantic dreams, impossible expectations, illusions of freedom and power, illusions of safety -- and the loss of our own younger self, the self that thought it would always be unwrinkled and invulnerable and immortal.

For healthy growth involves being able to give up our need for approval when the price of that approval is our real self.  

All of us, including the very holiest, have impulses we struggle against every day. 

Voluntary relationships (like friendships), like all of our relationships, will have their disappointments, as well as their joys...friendships, we learn, are at best an imperfect connection. 

The good news is that  sometimes the bond between a husband and wife is stronger than any damage that can be done to it.
The bad news is that no two adults can do each other more damage than husband and wife.

Part of letting our children go is also letting them be, and that means letting go of our expectations for them...respecting their right to choose the shape of their life.

Losses by Lina Scarfi

What are you shedding today?

What thing do you need to throw off since it hinders you from moving forward?

The Ethereal Peony: Marilyn Monroe on a Stem

"Like Marilyn Monroe on a stem, peonies are glamorous, voluptuous, and heart-stoppingly unforgettable."

That is how Tovah Martin of The Oprah Magazine described the peony flowers. Flowers do have their own personalities. Our choice of flowers express who we are and our desires. No wonder they have come to have meaning --- for those giving and receiving. 

In the Valentine's Day of this year, i received a bouquet (from The Flower Shop Around the Corner) from my husband. And for the first time in my entire life, i get big blooms of scarlet peonies. I was enthralled! I couldn't take my eyes off them. "Peonies are the hussies of spring. No shrinking violets, they are so blowsy and brazen that a single glance can leave you breathless," Tovah Martin goes on to say.  I like that: passion, and romance, pulsating in the message.

Sadly, they do not last long. Everyday, they shed their waxy petals. If i had a bathtub, i would have strewn them on the water. 

"Not everything, though needs to be forever. Once the affair is over, you'll be left with some sizzling memories. And then: same time next year." ~ T. Martin

From Prayer to Prayer

Iyanla Vanzant, famous millionaire inspirational speaker and author gone broke, when asked if she was living from paycheck to paycheck said, "I'm living from prayer to prayer."

How that hit me. And hard.

In her latest book which I want to get a hold of -- she, with rigorous honesty, tells her story.

"...her testimony might bring tears to your eyes while also forcing you to question the depth and resolve of your own faith and relationship with the Lord. At the same time, she offers neither an excuse nor appeal for pity on her behalf. Iyanla in her book, tells the truth about the moments of her life leading up until now, from the death of her mother, being raped by her uncle and the pathologies set in motion by both." 

 http://www.huffingtonpost.com/morris-w-okelly/iyanla-vanzant-from-brink_b_784636.html

Inspiration. It can come from anywhere. At a time when i was down in the dumps, chewing the fruit of ingratitude and resentment, seeing only a life of scarcity --- i catch Oprah interviewing Iyanla.

Hosea 10:12-13 NIV

"Sow righteousness for yourselves,

reap the fruit of unfailing love,

and break up your unplowed ground;

for it is time to seek the Lord,

until he comes

and showers his righteousness on you.

But you have planted wickedness,

you have reaped evil,

you have eaten the fruit of deception.

Because you have depended on your own strength

and on your many warriors."

Got that.

From prayer to prayer...

Hope for the Flowers

In one of my pleasurable trips to the nearest second-hand bookstore, i chanced upon an old copy (1972 newsprint) of the book: Hope for the Flowers by Trina Paulus. It was almost for free at the unbelievable price of 15 pesos. Yes, fifteen!

I first came across this beautiful allegorical tale back in the eighties when i was just starting to have my mind toss around the meaning of life.

Don't be fooled by the comicbook-ish feel to it. There are many points too profound that a simplistic 15 minute sweep cannot cover. One must savor the story as one savors a glass of good wine. We wonder at some point if there is more to life than what we are currently living. I do have those moments. And those times certainly make me restless. There are also those frantic days when i tire myself out over things that do not really add value to my person. Shallow stuff mostly. Mostly meaningless, but indulged in. 

This book is even included in the reading list of an entrepreneurship course in some business schools. Get yourself a copy. If you can't find one, at least google the summary.

Are you still a caterpillar?

Why crawl when you can fly?

From Jason Mraz's lyrics:

Crawling out the cocoon I've been living in
I hear familiar sounds but few recognize who voice it is, 
I've been sleeping in until now, and charmed I started scribbling unscrambling towns, games we play imagining everything, 
Aint we really lucky cause we get a pair of wings, 
Aint we really lucky and that is a lovely thing, 
Aint we really lucky there is hope for the flowers
Yeah yeah yeah oh yeah oh yeah...

...Might you try to walk before you learn to crawl
You know much better well if you want to fly just close your eyes
And click your heels together and tell me nothings wrong with this picture, nothing is wrong with this picture 
I've been sleeping in until now I spun a course in miracles
I'm really close now, I want us to experience a myriad of styles, 
Games we play while managing everything
Aint we really lucky cause we get a pair of wings
Aint we really lucky and that is a lovely thing
Aint we really lucky there's hope for the flowers
Yes oh yes oh yes
There is hope for the flowers yes oh yes oh yes
There is hope for the flowers yes oh yes oh yes
There is hope for the flowers yes oh yes oh yes mmm

My New Favorite Flower

Yes, the luscious, vibrant clusters of the showy Hydrangea -- that's the one. Coming from an interview one late morning last week, i chanced upon a very small stall of plants at the neighborhood mall. The Hydrangea was difficult to miss as the flowers were the only bright petals among the nondescript assortment of house plants there. 

They seemed to call out to me. And loud. I could not resist. At that point i needed their energy. I needed the life they had. They seemed to reassure me that i would be alright, and that the path i am taking -- albeit unfamiliar, is going to be fine.

I purchased one plant still in its black polythene plastic bag. Would have wanted to buy a couple more but i was taking public transport home. We immediately bonded as it spoke a thousand and one stories from each of its petals. They each knew my name. Whenever i look out from the kitchen window into our backyard garden, we exchange notes. I exhale from the deep that which i am afraid to express to creatures of my kind, while they listen without judgment. It is no wonder that this flower stands for friendship, devotion, and understanding. The name comes from the Greek word that means vessel. Myself, a vessel, empty as it is, will draw inspiration from the Hydrangea.

One Flew Over the Nest

Irene Corey

I think i may be developing a compulsion to collect bird knick knacks, bird images, bird stuffed toys. But this must be clipped, lest i  amass dust-gatherers. Ewww.

As of last posting the avian theme has strongly inserted itself into my psyche. 

Thought bubbles floating around in my head: flying the coop, spreading the wings, learning to fly, trying out one's wings, not under our wings...

This is why: one of my sons has made the move to live independently, yup. Alone, fending and taking total responsibility for himself. He is of age. When i was his age i couldn't wait to take on that freedom...the challenge of being accountable to only myself. I left home to live in a dorm in Refugee Camp upon being accepted for a teaching position. It was exhilarating! I see the same in my son's eyes.

Embarking on his own life, he is thrilled.

How do papa and mama birds feel when this happens? My brain says, yes, it's about time -- for him to go out into the world and conquer it, learn what it means to be a responsible adult. We are confident that he has been equipped with the necessary life skills to survive. We are actually proud that he initiated everything. He is street smart. He's got chutzpah, this one. 

But the heart of the matter -- is heart breaking due to some sense of loss. No more "child". The transition has happened (of course, not just now) to full adult --- officially, that is. The Empty Nest Syndrome we have been feeling these last couple of years, i must say --- but more of a joke between myself and my husband. Now, the reality has begun. The sad feelings are slowly trickling in.

This is a comforting thought:

The greatest gifts you can give your children are the roots of responsibility and the wings of independence."

 - Denis Waitly

One guy said that leaving home in a sense involves a kind of second birth in which we give birth to ourselves.   Happy Birthday, son! May this new chapter usher in a better you. Walk in wisdom's steps. Contribute to the good in the world. God bless you.

And to me in this new phase, the same prayer.

Today. Day 1.

Got Worms?

This second half of the year the metaphor of looking for "worms" to take home to our young adult kids has been in good use. It is an image which my husband happily institutionalized in our simple yet joyful family. Every time we are away --- the travel back home finds us stopping at some food joint to get some "to-go's" to our waiting kids. The pasalubong need not be expensive. Even a doughnut each cuts it.

At our kids' ages one may think it absurd that we reverted to this gesture at this point (it is usually reserved for young children still in primary school). No spoiling from us, though. It is the joy of giving from the heart and in return, receiving that delightful look in their faces showing they appreciate having been thought of.

The three of them practice the same with us. The joy goes around.

I Think a Muse Has Come For a Visit

Finding myself solitary, just the dog and me, iPod and the window by the bed with the lights off -- i realize, is bliss. 

How often do we get to savor such moments with nary a distraction except the occasional pause to listen to some music? Hmmm...Life is as we take it. One friend is teaching me to embrace the light and dark parts of myself. So in silence and in a kind of disengagement i lose myself in thought. I can almost even smell what silence is like. Even as a young girl i would climb our rooftop in the late afternoon to catch the breeze           and take in the view of the nearby fields. It was my ritual detaching from the world below. 

View from Padi's Point, Antipolo

A Reflection

A Thousand Lanterns
by LaurenAnn

Hollow is the heart never broken;
Like the lonely space inside the drum;

With pangs and crushing comes fullness;
Just like the soil must be turned in preparation
for planting;

So our tender hearts must be tilled;
And our souls
Soggy with tears;

Will soon explode with a blinding light;
As if a star, a glittering speck amongst a million others;
Chose to leave its home in the sky;
And captivate us with its supernatural brilliance.

So what was once dark now shines
With the glow of a thousand lanterns.

Japanese Lantern Flower

(Physalis alkekengi)

You. Me. -- Artist

"Most of us are uncomfortable thinking of ourselves as artists...But each of us is an artist...With every choice, every day, you are creating a unique work of art. Something that only you can do...The reason you were born was to live your own indelible mark on the world. This is your own authenticity...Respect your creative urges...step out in faith...you will discover your choices are as authentic as you are. What is more, you will discover that your life is all that it was meant to be: a joyous sonnet of thanksgiving."

                        ~Sarah Ban Breathnach, Simple Abundance

So encouraged after reading the passage from Simple Abundance. I am often teased by my sons about my being an artist --- not because of any form of art i create but because of their perceived moodiness in me. I do have it in my veins --- the painful urge to make something one may call art. Sometimes i dabble in sewing crafts, put together some collages as cards for encouragement, and at times -- i dream of being able to make leather or fabric-covered journals.  On some days, i wish i could paint.

I realize that i have not given the respect due these urges. They have only been suspended in the hazy cloud of mere ideas. Long have they been wanting to be given birth to, i suspect. 

Yet art or no art --- my daily living is a showcase of how i enflesh the possibilities offered me by my Creator, the Great Artist.  I choose to live purposefully, vibrantly, with courage and  faith to get me going. 

A joyous sonnet of thanksgiving --- that's my kind of life.

Quilt-ridden

Our lives are like quilts - bits and pieces, joy and sorrow, stitched with love.

I feel that i am about to embark on a journey within --- see where it leads me. I have started on a new kind of fast to cleanse myself internally and spiritually. It is an attempt to do better, to emerge from self-imposed deprivations with a new take on life.

As of the moment, i still have to nail down a lot of stuff: my skewered thoughts, my lack of joie de vivre, and a lot of unnecessary baggage that has become too heavy to lug around. Almost like the show Hoarders. It is revolting to accumulate too much stuff thought of as important only to be buried in it. All the clutter sucks the life out.

So painstakingly, i will sort what goes, and what stays. I will see what pieces need to be put together, and what needs to be snipped off. Who says i can't reorder my life?

Flower Fix

Thank you, Creator of Flowers. 

You are so gracious, gentle, 

loving and kind for allowing us 

to enjoy the exquisite work of your hands. 

May we bloom wherever we are planted 

that we may be pleasing in your eyes.

Amen.

Letting the Dust Settle

Trying my best to keep a good attitude. The house is topsy-turvy with all sorts of containers, dishes, and kitchen cabinet contents strewn outside. Drilling of holes, dust galore. Major repairs going on with our water pipes after a discovered leak which happens to emanate from a punctured pipe buried underneath concrete. After much breaking up of floor tile and some part of the wall, the darn pipe could not be found. The solution --- ugly. A bypass of the water system has to be done with pipes exposed running from the main source to the second floor baths, with pipes out in the open for all to see. The prospect of the blue pvc pipes detracting big from aesthetics, the pipes as dust magnets and keepers, is just too much. Forgive the rant.

As i pound away on the keyboard i breathe in dust which has made an ugly haze inside the house. I must wait for about three more days for everything to be back to normal. Patience is required. I can start the clean-up when the dust has settled.

Isn't that the way we need to deal with inconvenient scrapes in our lives. We can't just make any counter attack, er, solution when things are all too hazy, all too muddled --- including our thoughts.

Waiting for the dust to settle...

Still Life

Fleur de printemps, pommes et poires. 1866

Henri Fantin-Latour

Inanimate. Unperturbed. Grounded. Still.

Such is a state when we are at peace with ourselves, with others, with life.


"But I have stilled and quieted my soul; like a weaned child with its mother, like a weaned child is my soul within me."  - Psalm 131: 2

Trompe L'oeil

I love the trompe l'oeil technique in art. This "deceive the eye" style is a crossover to reality. When one is faced with such a painting, the urge to touch it is strong. "Is this for real?" A validation or confirmation is in order. Such is what happened to the painting of Adriaen van der Spelt (1630-1673) and Frans van Mieris (1635-1681) called Still Life with a Flower Garland and a Curtain in a Dutch gallery.

When life nips us in the butt, or when we are harshly jolted by circumstances, as a cushion to the blow --- the first reaction is one of disbelief. Somehow, somewhere that circumstance must not be happening. We heave and ho. We struggle.

Postmortem, what matters is what is left of us. What we have become. Or what we have learned.

Most of the time, problems are actually gifts that are wrapped quite differently. "You seek the problems because you need their gifts." --- Richard Bach, Jonathan Livingston Seagull. Things are not always as they seem.

Getting Lost

When i was a little girl, i used to hide on the highest branch (which my courage can take) of a tall acacia tree in our backyard to escape... get some time off. It was my way of diffusing any tension felt. Because i was feeling a lot, the fear of falling from that high branch could not enter my consciousness. Reclining atop a thick branch was comforting amid the calls from below as to my whereabouts.

That's just my style. My way of coping. Up to this day.

When things get rough, i check out for a while --- through my books, among the racks of clothes in thrift shops, or a destination-less short trip to wherever. Or when whimsy catches up with me --- be incognito among the flowers --- in my mind.

How about you?

Inclement Meditater

Strong rain.
Windy.

Best to stay indoors.

Lights went out. No internet connection.
No radio. No tv.

One board game with family. Then the kids are bored.

We take up our books which prove to be great company filling up the wide space
left by technology.

We sleep to our hearts content. Awakening to a world only with the sound of rain,
and the wind. More wind banging on the windows...spraying in the rain.

As the windows are shut, a rage is muted...with only the noise in my head.

After reading several entries in Nouwen's journal, my mind and heart rests. I reflect on my own
struggles with personal handicaps, joy, as well as pain in my own small corner, the shift of emotions,
friendships -- its constant need for affirmation and the necessity to mutually forgive, and understand...

The rain makes me soak in many thoughts. Both of gratitude and the longing to draw nearer to
the presence of God. Amen.

Fanciful

Was craving for cake today. It is that time of the month. I am glad that my husband shared with me his sans rival, a take home surprise given by our youngest son. Sweet! on all counts: the cake, the hubby, and our son. Such are the simple joys that make me heave a sigh of contentment.

Seeing the intricately cut paper cake doily, i reminisced on an old bundle of letters between my dad and my mom. As a little girl i used to climb up our green steel file cabinet and pry into its contents. In my quest for interesting things to behold, i chanced upon that bundle, keepsakes of two people in love. What caught my fancy was a beautiful love letter written by my father to my mother. I do not remember what the exact words were but i have imprinted in my mind the resourcefulness and thoughtfulness of a man who recognized the beauty of that doily and used it as a wonderful porter of his expressions.

Women and Flowers

"Flowers that are so pathetic in their beauty, frail as the clouds, and in their coloring as gorgeous as the heavens, had through thousands of years been the heritage of children - honored as the jewelry of God..." ~Thomas de Quincey

God's jewelry. So, so befitting.

Even without the most  precious stones one can ever imagine, women past and present have managed to adorn themselves -- with blossoms. There is something bewitching about flowers. It is as if a spell has been cast and the link between the female of our species and nature's blooms was set.

Reflections

"I think the mirror should be tilted slightly upward when it`s reflecting life -- toward the cheerful, the tender, the compassionate, the brave, the funny, the encouraging, all those things -- and not tilted down to the gutter part of the time, into the troubled vistas of conflict."  ~ Greer Garson

Went back to Chapter 11 of Melody Beattie's book.  To those of you who are in recovery or recovery work/service this would be very familiar. Chapter 11 is entitled Have a Love Affair With Yourself. I am guessing that many in our midst have a disintegrated self-worth, sabotaging their own selves with everything that negates the goodness of who they are. I am one of them. Why i beat myself up for lot of things beats me.  What i have been neglecting to do is to honor myself. As the book says, i need to give myself a big emotional and mental hug and eschew those that eat away at my perception of who i am. This is not to say that i do not acknowledge my weaknesses. It is just that i will not allow them to override my strengths.

Only That Which Has Worth

By Susan Sanford

Received this text message not too long ago from JA: "Worries are like birds. Let them fly over you...but don't let them build a nest on your head."

I'm not one to worry much. However, i thought that there is stuff i battle with constantly. The negative i allow to saturate my thoughts is self-defeating. It is like a bothersome buzz which keeps me from being productive. There is a big chunk of Scripture which exhorts us: "Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus...whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable --- if anything is excellent or praiseworthy --- think about such things...put it into practice. and the God of peace will be with you."

My friend AF taught me to say "release" when a thought intrudes upon my time of silence or quieting. Same with any negative thought --- which when not addressed, multiplies and becomes a habit or pattern of thinking. But since those thoughts come in hordes, i  must say "disperse" or "explode". Poof! There goes one...

A Prayer

I hold a basket in my hand

filled with my pain.

I carry the prayers

my own heart is shouting,

and that of those

whose pain i hear in the din.

In those scraps of paper

we have drawn the many arrows

that have pierced us.

In it we are showing you the chains 

that have bound us

and kept us

hidden from you.

As we open the gates of our hearts

receive that which we have exhaled:

the breath of hope and the sting of death.

Amen.

Layer Upon Layer

Going back to the dermatologist today for a Diamond Peel treatment. I'm excited to have old skin sloughed off including all the impurities that have taken up space in there. I love the metaphor of "peeling back the layers of an onion" --- used this once to introduce a  very good friend who was about to address an audience. The essence of a person is not found in the topmost layers obvious to everyone. Instead one needs to go deeper to the core to get to that savory part.

I find my spiritual journey quite slow and oftentimes disappointing. There is a  layer i wish i were on, yet am not. But then it dawned on me that it is okay. I just need to allow myself to be "peeled" film by sheet, by tier, by strata...by layer. Sometimes in life, none or just a little is revealed. Other times momentous, cataclysmic circumstances violently chop off multiple layers in my person.

There is a poem by Gertrude Jefferies which reverberates in me:

"Under construction! He's working on me.

Shaping my life as He wants it to be. 

Precept upon precept, line upon line.

Purging the dross until His image shines."

Van Gogh Sunday

Stayed away from his well-known sunflowers...

Here are his other flower paintings. 

And some of his quotes.

"As we advance in life it becomes more and more difficult, but in fighting the difficulties the inmost strength of the heart is developed. "

"Great things are done by a series of small things brought together. "

"I am still far from being what I want to be, but with God's help I shall succeed. "

"I experience a period of frightening clarity in those moments when nature is so beautiful. I am no longer sure of myself, and the paintings appear as in a dream. "

"An artist needn't be a clergyman or a churchwarden, but he certainly must have a warm heart for his fellow men. "

"Conscience is a man's compass. "

"It is not the language of painters but the language of nature which one should listen to, the feeling for the things themselves, for reality is more important than the feeling for pictures."