Beaumont follows me everywhere in the house. Including the bathroom.
Today, he gives me a lesson in every dawg’s need for privacy.
Click HEREand come and join him on his blog. He’ll be really happy you did! As I’m sure so will I ’cause I’m hoping someone agrees with me — he is incorrigible! 🙂
and… just to entice you… here’s a preview…
A Little Privacy Please
Beaumont: I don’t get it.
Me: Get what Beau?
Beau: Why I can’t come in.
Me: I’m going to the bathroom Beau. I would like to go alone.
In the stillness of morning light, I breathe slowly, waiting for the sun to break through wintery skies.
There is a weariness in my bones. I feel the weight of missing precious moments spent with family and friends. A longing for days that feel lost in misty memories of the times long ago when we opened our front door and invited others in.
In the softness of morning light, there is a heaviness to this winter morning. A knowing that today will be the same. Connections made on screens filled with tiny boxes of familiar faces who light up my heart and who once graced us with their presence around our table. My heart is light with the thought of their smiles yet heavy with the missing, Of touch. Of gathering together. Of hugs and farewell kisses grazing cheeks and a touch on the shoulder to say, “I see you. I hear you. I feel you.”
Yes. It is the feel of people gathering together. Of coming together to celebrate birthdays, weddings, anniversaries, reunions, and even a loved one’s passing, that I yearn for.
It is the knowing that today I am not with my 3-year-old grandson celebrating at a party just for him. My arms ache to hold his body next to mine and whisper, “I love you” in his ear. And to feel his sweet, precious breath against my ear as he whispers back, “I wuv you too YiaYa.”
It is the knowing that five months have passed since last I held my granddaughter in my arms and smelt her babyfresh head and kissed her tiny nose and tickled her tummy as she giggled and gurgled in squirming delight at my touch. Five months feels like a lifetime of change in a seven-month old’s world spent watching her grow on a tiny screen. She reaches for it when we talk. I like to think she is reaching for my heart. That she knows this heart she cannot touch except through a tiny screen is full of love pounding a fierce beat to the tune of her laughter and squeals and toothless smiles and sparkling eyes full of joy.
In the stillness of this winter’s morning light, I gently close the door on memories I yearn to feel come alive again. I breathe softly into this moment right now where I sit at my desk watching the river flow and the light slowly break through the darkness.
Clouds cover the sky. A blanket of grey above. A blanket of snow below. Misty. Ethereal. Mysterious light full of memory and longing on a wintery morning.
The sun is hidden yet still it shines. Eternal. Hot. Fiery.
Like my love for those I’m missing. For those not here because they can’t be and those because they never will be again. My love burns eternal.
In the stillness of morning light, I light a candle for those who are gone forever, and those whose absence is just a temporary moment in time passing until we can gather again, hold one another again and kiss one another on the cheek and whisper softly, “I love you”.
It is fleeting, this heaviness in my heart. It will pass. For now, I let my body rest easy in its embrace and warm myself on the memories I cherish and the knowing that soon, I’ll see their faces in tiny boxes on my screen and know, no matter the distance nor the times that separate us, Love will always beat fierce and strong in our hearts. Love will always hold us together.
The muse and I have been dancing in the field of possibility, creating more quotes and paintings for my #ShePersisted Series.
I love the dance. I love how the muse flows with such ease and grace, encouraging me to cast caution to the wind and let my whole body immerse itself in the songs of my heart. it is a dance of love and joy.
Over the past couple of days, I’ve been focused on ‘getting things done’. In particular, the uploading of the last 20 paintings and quotes onto my website.
It didn’t leave much time for dancing (it was a big job!) but it did deliver a lot of satisfaction.
It also gave me the current final painting in the series, No. 69 –
They said, we've always done it this way. It works. She said, your way has never worked for me.
I say ‘current’ because the muse and I love to dance together, and she loves to whisper sweet somethings into my ears. Often, those sweet somethings are new quote ideas for the series.
As well, in looking through the entire body of work, I think I may go back and update some of the visuals. If, and the if is actually an ‘I do’, want to get the series out into the bigger world out there, I need to ensure that each painting reflects my work appropriately in both the message and the art.
And, some of the earlier paintings, especially as I was first stepping into this creative field, are done in a style different than the later works. It makes sense. Given that this series now spans four years, my voice and artistry have evolved as I’ve grown more confident and courageous in its expressions.
Which also makes sense. Do something often enough, with consistency and heart, and your talent/expertise/expression will expand.
It’s like any activity. Shooting hoops. Javelin throwing. Skiing. Writing. Singing.
Do it with consistency and heart, your expertise naturally grows as well as your heart’s capacity to breathe deeper and infuse your physical and emotional efforts with more grace, energy and love.
Ultimately, one of the most vital and exciting things creating the #ShePersisted Series has taught me is… it’s all about heart.
When we put ourselves ‘out there’, when we give our heartfelt and heartful attention to something, our heart grows in its delight of our efforts to dance with wild abandon in the field of our creative expression.
And here’s the thing about ‘heart’. When those who witness whatever it is you’re putting your heart into applaud, cheer you on, encourage you, it becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy of the dance living on and on and on. With every swoop of your body, wave of your paintbrush, throwing of a ball, swoosh down a mountainside, the encouragement of others helps to continuously draw you out of the fear ‘you can’t do it’ into that courageous space where you know deep within your heart, not doing it is the greatest risk of all.
It’s an eternal gift of reciprocity. Dive into what pleases your heart and fill your heart up with what brings you alive. In that space joy flows freely between the giver and the receiver.
And that’s a beautiful thing.
Which is at the core of my mantra today… Dive in. Fill up. Dive in. Fill up. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.
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I have been exceptionally blessed by the encouragement and support of everyone as this Series has evolved. Thank you. Your comments, high-fives, shares make a world of difference and keep my well of joy overflowing. I am grateful.
To take a look at the entire body of work of the #ShePersisted Series – click HERE.
Some mornings, when Beaumont the Sheepadoodle and I head out for our first saunter, we cross paths with the woman in the bright yellow coat.
It is fluffy. Like a polar bear. Cuddly. Like Beaumont’s fur.
When our paths intersect, she always stops to say hello, though she never speaks those words.
The moment she is close enough to be heard, she blurts out some arcane fact of which I have little desire to know if it is true or not. I just like the fact she blurts out facts in the morning.
Did you know, she begins, before going on to tell me some novel thing about the moon, Tom Brady, the height of the Eiffel Tower, the flow of water in the river.
This morning, when we meet, she turns her face upwards as if to catch the tiny flakes of snow drifting down.
She puts one hand out, palm up to receive nature’s benediction and says, while staring pointedly at Beaumont, “These flakes are dog toys falling from heaven.”
Later, after we’ve parted, she to walk up the hill, me to turn into the lane leading to our house, I wonder if I heard her correctly. Did she say ‘dog’ or ‘God’?
It doesn’t matter, forwards or backwards, it is a delightful fact to savour.
I think it’s true.
Snowflakes are dog toys falling from heaven.
Like angels. Always present. Always fluttering their wings to create tiny miracles of joy in every day encounters where strangers come bearing enchanting gifts when their paths cross on snowy mornings.
And facts don’t need checking when they come wrapped up in the wonder of nature. They only need to be heard and honoured with a joyful smile of gratitude for the morning delight.
I wrote this piece in the writer’s circle I participate in every Wednesday night. Created by the remarkable Ali Grimshaw of Flashlight Batteries, the circle is a safe and courageous place to explore word-craft, your poetic nature and our shared human condition.
Ali leads Writing Circles throughout the week. They are a wonderful oasis of beautiful souls gathering around the well of creative expression.
If you are looking for a ‘home’ to find your poetic voice, or just a place to come and rest awhile from the weary humdrum of life’s cachophony, connect with Ali and in that connection you will find yourself immersed in the wonder and awe she creates every week in her circles.
You can find out more about Ali’s online writing circles, click HERE.
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and… this is the part I forgot to include!
This post about snow is also in response to the writing prompt today ‘WINTER’ on Eugi’s Causerie –
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Your Weekly Prompt – Winter – February 4, 2021.
moonlit frosty nights
a whoosh of winter beckons
the awe of wonder
Go where the prompt leads you and publish a post on your own blog that responds to the prompt. It can be any variation of the prompt and/or image. Please keep it family friendly. Prompts close 7 days from the close of my post.
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And don’t forget…. it’s an invitation for anyone and everyone to join in — even if all you do is go and check out the links to other stories, it will be a delightful journey I’m sure!
When snow falls and your heart yearns for spring blossoms, paint your world in all the colours of the rainbow. 7 x 10″ mixed media on canvas paper
The critter and I have a deal. He gets to chatter. I get to decide to listen, or not.
Of course, what’s not part of our deal is how when I choose not to listen, he gets louder. And louder. And louder. As if, the act of yelling will make my ears listen better.
When I’m yelled at, it feels like bullets speeding towards me. There’s no way to dodge them. I just have to take them and in ‘taking them’ hope for the best because under fire, I believe I’m helpless.
Not a very healthy nor creative place to find myself alone.
I’m sure it’s a residual from my father’s tendency to yell. His yelling scared me. A lot. In its presence I learned not to yell back, that only made things worse. I also learned, to ‘go mute’. To freeze.
Fortunately, with time and practice, not to mention therapy, I have learned to stay centered in my ‘I’ so that no matter how fierce the winds are swirling around me, I do not get caught up in the winds and lose my balance and direction.
Yesterday, as I prepared to work on a background I’d painted the day before in my art journal, the critter got busy.
“You know you’ll only mess it up,” he hissed.
I took a breath and readied my work table.
“You know it’s too precious to change? Right? Look at it. It’s lovely.”
I kept getting ready. I filled my water jar. Placed it ‘just so’ on my work table. Lined up my brushes, ‘just right’ and took another breath.
“Don’t do it,” the critter hissed. And then his voice rose as he saw me reach for a tube of paint and squirt some on my palette. “NOOOOO! STOP!!!!!” he screamed.
Startled, I hesitated.
Was he right? Was the piece too precious to change?
“YES!!!!” he cried jubilantly, jumping up and down in delight at my hesitation. “You know I’m right. Just leave it alone.”
It was the ‘leave it alone’ that woke me out of my critter-induced stupor of falling victim to his yelling. I can’t hear my heart beat when he’s yelling. I can’t hear myself in the face of such vehement opposition to expressing my creative essence.
And at the crux of it all, is my habit of wanting to just ‘leave it alone’ and pretend everything’s okay.
Leaving it alone is what has caused so many troubles in my life. Accepting the unacceptable, trusting the untrustworthy, staying silent in the face of abuse, leaving unspeakable acts unspoken, turning my back on conflict – none of that has served me well.
I squeezed more paint onto the palette, picked up a brush and before starting to paint, turned inward to the critter and whispered lovingly. “Thank you for trying to keep me safe. Thank you for wanting to protect me. And thank you for yelling. You woke me up and reminded me how, when I’m not listening inward, I’m prone to falling into the chaos around me.”
The critter sighed and fell back to sleep and I began to paint.
No. 66 – #ShePersisted Series. They said, the facts are black and white. What you want is just not possible. She said, Life is full of rainbows of possibilities. She explored them all and found new ways to make the impossible possible.
I hadn’t planned on a #ShePersisted painting when I entered my studio. I’m working on a collaborative project with another artist and yesterday, my goal was to complete our current section of the project.
And then, the muse whispered and I listened and #RainbowWoman was born. No. 66 in the series.
It started with the background. I had some excess black paint on my GelliPad (a rubber pad used for monoprinting). It looked too inviting to waste so I randomly imprinted some leaves onto it and took a print.
The black and white leaves looked inviting, so I kept going.
“Between black and white there is a rainbow of colour,” the muse whispered.
Earlier, I’d found a cocktail napkin in a drawer. Its flowers were bright and colourful. Perfect for the painting.
I separated the layers of the napkin, cut out some of the flowers and collaged them to the black and white background.
And that’s when the real magic happened.
The muse kept whispering. Kept flowing,
And I kept listening and flowing with her. That’s when #66 of the #ShePersisted series whispered, “Bring me into being.”
And so, with the muse as my co-conspirator, I danced with creative abandon she she came into being.
That’s the thing about creativity. It isn’t that its just for the ‘few’. It’s for and in all of us. Creativity is in constant flow-state. All of life is a creative dance with nature. How we express our knowing of it, our awareness and expression of its delights is as colourful as a rainbow full of possibilities.
Whether or not there’s a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow doesn’t change the rainbow’s beauty.
Creative expression isn’t about the beauty of the output either. It’s about diving into the pot of life’s colourful possibilities bubbling up, seeking expression.
When we stop judging whether we’re creative, or not, and allow ourselves to express ourselves in our own unique voice, nothing can dim the beauty of our creative expressions – not even our self-criticisms.
The world is filled with black and white. You can say you’re creative, or not. It doesn’t really matter whether you accept you’re creative, or not. Fact is, the world is filled with over 7 billion unique expressions of life. We are each a creative expression in action. Each a creative force of nature. Living this one beautiful, precious life awakened to our inherent creativity frees us to express ourselves in all the colours of the rainbow and, it allows us to seek answers, solutions ways of solving big and small problems beyond the black and white of what other’s see as the limits of possibility.
Because, in between the black and white, there are a rainbow of colours waiting to be explored.
Forgiveness does not look backwards. It reaches forward continuously transforming pain into Love.
As she has taken to doing since she passed away last February 25th, my mother once again visited me while I was in the bath. Unlike in life, where her fear of opening doors to the past kept her burdened with sadness, she asked if we could talk about something she’d avoided speaking of all my life.
There are so many truths I could not face when I was your mother of ‘this-world-out-here’ she says. Life was so hard for me and facing those truths only made it feel harder. I was always afraid the truth would break me, she says. I was not as brave as you. I’m sorry.
It was the ‘I’m sorry’ that got me. In life, my mother never, ever apologized. Never.
It was not her way.
My mother’s way was to cling to the picture of being the perfect mother of her dreams. She wanted to give us the world, it’s just the world was so big and scary she had to hold onto the belief she was the perfect mother to keep her fears at bay. It was her fear that blinded her to the beauty of truth in all its sometimes painful manifestations.
To be the perfect mother, she had to hold tight to the belief that the troubles in our relationship were all my fault. I was too outspoken. Too challenging. Critical. Judgemental. Harsh. If there were issues, I created them. I was the one who needed to accept the blame and apologize.
And while I’m not saying I wasn’t all of those things, I also felt she owned some of the issues. I mean, it takes two to tango. Right?
Where my two-to-tango thinking got me in trouble was believing that if she would just once apologize, the past would be set straight, as would my life.
The only way to set the past straight is to let it go.
For me, letting go of the past comes through forgiveness.
I thought I’d done the work. I mean, how much therapy, self-development, journalling, channelling and whatever other process was out there could I throw at myself?
We cannot see what we do not know. I thought I’d done the work and then, my mother apologized and asked if I could forgive her for not protecting me as a child and I discovered a knot of pain, not even her apology could dissolve.
But then, it was never really about her apology. It was about my pain and my holding onto it in unforgiveness.
I cried. A lot. When I felt the knot inside my body. It was lodged somewhere in my esophagus. It hurt.
I want to, I told her. But the words are stuck.
Then practice, she said. Practice saying, I forgive you.
Even that hurt. But I know the wisdom of my mother’s words.
To be free of unforgiveness, I must practice. I forgive you.
This painting comes from my practice. It is a gift from my mother to me. And to my daughters and grandchildren and their children too.
Unforgiveness blocks the beauty from shining bright in the tapestry of our lives. Unforgiveness hinders free passage of the love that weaves us into our family story, the love that forever weaves its way through time, even after our last breath has been tied off on the giant loom of our story.
It is Love that weaves all the colours of the rainbow into the tapestry of life flowing into the story of generations to come. And it is forgiveness that is its warp and weft, muting the pain and sorrow. Tears and fears. Sadness and hurts. Transforming them into Love.
My mother came to visit me. She asked for my forgiveness. Not for me, she said. It’s for you. You must say the words so you can weave an even more beautiful story of your life today that will inspire generations to come.
She was right, this mother of my dreams. There is much beauty in letting go. Especially when threads of forgiveness are woven into the tapestry of your life with Love as the weaver of your story.
It is early morning. Beaumont the Sheepadoodle and I are indulging in our first saunter of the day. Night has slipped into the envelope of eternity that waits at the edge of the far horizon. The sky is pale blue streaked with rose.
The Wolf Moon is high, still visible in night’s lingering caress.
As I walk and Beau sniffs, my mind drifts full of images and thoughts floating. They feel light and buoyant, like the chunks of ice that clog the slow-moving waters of the river below the bridge where I stand to gaze at the moon.
When I come home, I sit down at my computer to write and the words and images that lingered in my mind pour out.
Wolf moon dancing in day's light streaking naked across the sky
Darkness slips silently away, its caress as soft as a lover kissing her beloved adieu.
Love sighs a glorious prayer of gratitude as earth turns her cheek to welcome the sun's passionate kiss.
A dear friend asked me the other day how creativity seemingly just keeps flowing out of me.
I laughed and replied, “I have no idea…” And then after a moment’s reflection replied, “I just accept its presence. I listen to its flow. I don’t question it or criticize its outpourings. I allow them.”
Which is how yesterday’s #ShePersisted painting happened. By allowing it to appear.
I didn’t know what I was going to paint when I began to create a background in my art journal yesterday. I thought I might paint some botanicals and write about the longing for spring that seems to have arrived early in my heart this year. It’s only the end of January and I’m already dreaming of frost-free mornings and buds popping up under the warmth of the sun’s encouragement.
And that ain’t happenin’ yet!
I live at the edge of Rockies, in the land where the plains meet the undulating foothills. Where sky soars forever, and sometimes, so does winter.
We still have 3 months of indeterminate weather. Cold snaps. Polar Vortices. Arctic chills. They’re all in the wind. All a possibility between now and the May 24th weekend when ‘they’ say it’s safe to once again plant gardens.
Painting botanicals seemed like an antidote to the grey on brown world outside.
The muse has other ideas. My creative flow has its own rhythm.
When the inspiration for the #ShePersisted Series of quotes and images began, I thought it would last… just a little while. 1. 2. Maybe 3 paintings. 12 at the most.
Yesterday’s was No. 65. Somewhere between creating the background and writing out what was on my heart, letting myself fall into the flow of creativity rising up from deep within my belly.
No. 65 – #ShePersisted
They said, why must you keep fighting for more. This is all we can give you right now.
She said, I will never stop fighting for my rights until you stop holding onto the rights that are rightfully mind.
This morning, the quote for No. 66 appeared. I wasn’t expecting it or looking for it, but there it was, streaming out of the thoughts that appeared from the words I felt rising up while I stood on the bridge. I almost did a happy dance when the quote wrote itself out.
And…. here’s a ‘teaser’ – “They said, stop shining so bright. She said, I am made of stardust. I am Star Woman shining bright so you can see in the dark.“
I can already envision the imagery and energy of the piece. I feel the essence of the Star Woman shining.
And that’s the thing about the muse. When we listen, she flows freely. When we allow the force of her flow to draw us out of our comfort zones, we fall with abandon into the waters of creative expression flowing wild and free.
spirit of the wolf clan
running through my veins
Fierce. Loyal. Fearless.
streams of wildness
flowing
endlessly
through the vast unknowing
of the mysteries
of life
endlessly
flowing
through the untamed fires
of my heart
burning away
all resistance
to run
Wild. Bold. Free.
The moon. The moon. Oh galaxy of night dreams…
Okay. So that line just wrote itself out when I started to type. It’s kind of a prequel to Spirit Wolf Clan.
It all started with a prompt I read yesterday on Goff Jame’s blog. I followed its thread and landed at Eugi’s Causerie where I found the prompt with instrustions to:
Go where the prompt leads you and publish a post on your own blog that responds to the prompt. It can be any variation of the prompt and/or image. Please keep it family friendly. Prompts close 7 days from the close of my post.
The Spirit of the Wolf Clan is where the prompt took me – first to the poetry, then to the artwork.
All of its creative expression inspired by a prompt to write something, anything, about this month’s Wolf Moon.
Someone asked me yesterday how it is that I just seem to keep creating. How does it happen, they asked.
I don’t really have an answer as much as a sense of memory beyond this known world… A feeling of being open to the whispers of all of life flowing around me and feeling that presence stirring the creative forces deep within the crucible of my belly.
Once stirred, the forces start bubbling up in a wild dancing concoction of words and images weeping through every pore of my body, yearning to get out.
So I let them out.
Perhaps, told my friend, it is that I listen to the whispers and do not censor myself. I don’t criticize, condemn or judge my work-in-process nor in its relative completed state (relative because… well there’s always word for one more brushstroke or one more edit out of a word). I look at it through loving eyes and ask, “What are you here for me to embrace? What windows into my creative nature are you seeking to be opened?”
See, I believe that whenever we say something like, “I”m not very creative,” it’s actually our yearning to experience our creative nature calling out.
We can see through the window, we sense creativity — how would we recognize what we judge to be its absence if we didn’t? — but we’ve never opened the window to let the essence of its nature flow in and out and all around us.
Yesterday, I read a prompt. It stirred the creative forces deep within my belly. I looked through the window of my soul, deep into their depths and opened the window.
… and the spirit of the wolf clan flowed free.
Namaste
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Do pop over to Goff Jame’s place and open the window to his creative force. And once you’ve sated your senses there pop over to Eugi’s Causerie and immerse yourself in all the poetry and sights of the Wolf Moon.
Dare Boldly 