Tag: play

  • Enter In

    Julia Cameron writes in The Artist’s Way, “I like to think of the mind as a room.  In that room, we keep all our usual ideas about life, God, what’s possible and what’s not.  The room has a door.  That door is ever so slightly ajar, and outside we can see a great deal of dazzling light.  Out there in the dazzling light are a lot of new ideas that we consider too far-out for us, and so we keep them out there. The ideas we are comfortable with are in the room with us. The other ideas are out, and we keep them out.”

     

    “In our ordinary, prerecovery life, when we would hear something weird or threatening, we’d just grab the doorknob and pull the door shut.  Fast.”

     

    “Inner work triggering outer change?  Ridiculous! (Slam the door.) God bother to help my own creative recovery? (Slam.)  Synchronicity supporting my artist with serendipitous coincidences? (Slam, slam, slam.)

     

    “Now that we are in creative recovery, there is another approach we need to try. To do this, we gently set aside our skepticism – for later us, if we need it – and when a weird idea or coincidence whizzes by, we gently nudge the door a little further open.”

     

    “Setting skepticism aside, even briefly, can make for very interesting explorations.  In creative recovery, it is not necessary that we change any of our beliefs.  It is necessary that we examine them.”

     

    “More than anything else, creative recovery is an exercise in open-mindedness.  Again, picture your mind as that room with the door slightly ajar. Nudging the door open a bit more is what makes for open-mindedness. Begin, this week, to consciously practice opening your mind.”      Julia

     

     

    Yesterday I was panicked due to my one-day weekend, and I was not open to letting the chores go and just using it as my play day as I had threatened to do.  I slammed the door on playing, staying with old habits of getting my jobs done first.

     

    I was crabby but doing the work.  Resenting that I couldn’t play.

     

    It is like being locked in a room to which you have the key, yet unable to actually use it to turn yourself free.

     

    There is an exchange I can’t see to agree with, messy house in exchange for playing!

     

    I want both.  And if I stay that course, I will continue exchanging playtime for work time, for as we all know there is always another job to be done.

     

    She is suggesting that we ‘use’ this excuse in order to keep our Artist from going to explore the wide-open world, that we have become comfortable in the cramped workspace.

     

    My grumpiness spread like a virus, or tried to, but most left me alone in my unhappiness. 

     

    My daughter took her playtime first, and later on in the fading daylight mowed the grass.  My resentment at her is that she has mastered the art of play over work time…and is doing what I can’t allow me to do. 

     

    I blame her for me being unable to exchange playing for a clean house. 

     

    As I sit with this thought, I used to get appreciation and attention for keeping my mother’s house in order…and the opposite may be true, wrath if I didn’t help.

     

    I recall many siblings not caring where I cared too much.

     

    When I thought I cared about a clean house, in fact I cared what my mother thought of me.

     

    Perhaps, this is the issue that needs to be examined. 
    ”I am better if I have a clean house, even if I am grumpy.”

     

    Who do I like better or who feels better inside?

     

    It seems my self-identity is wrapped up in what I do and how external things look. 

     

    How brave to let it all go and play…That is the challenge this week…being a child doing what she feels like, letting go of responsibilites that can wait.  The 'mother' in my head may want me to slam the door to fun, but I have to be strong enough to nudge it open and enter in.

     

  • My Second Childhood.

    I am reading the chapter titled “Basic Tools” in The Artist Way book by Julia Cameron and love her take on both.

    “Logic brain is and was our survival brain. It works on known principles. Anything unknown is perceived as wrong and possibly dangerous. Logic brain likes things to be neat little soldiers marching a straight line. Logic brain is the bran we usually listen to, especially when we are telling ourselves to be sensible.”

    “Logic brain is our Censor, our second (and third and fourth) thoughts. Faced with an original sentence, phrase, paint squiggle, it says, “What the hell is that? That’s not right!”

    “Artist Brain is our inventor, our child, our very own personal absent-minded professor. Artist Brain says “Hey! That is so neat!” It puts odd things together (boat equals wave and walker). It likes calling a speeding GTO a wild animal: “The black howling wolf pulled into the drive-in…”

    “Artist Brain is our creative, holistic brain. It thinks in patters and shadings. It sees a fall forest and thinks: Wow! Leaf bouquet! Pretty! Gold-gilt-shimmery-earthskin-kings-carpet! Artist brain is associative and freewheeling. It makes new connections, yoking together images to invoke meaning; like the norse myths calling a boat a “wave-horse.” In Star Wars, the name skywalker is a lovely artist-brain flash.”

    “Why all this logic-brain/artist-brain talk? Because the morning pages teach logic brain to stand aside and let artist brain play.”

    At the end of that section on Morning Pages, she writes.

    “Often, the students most resistant to morning pages come to love them the best. In fact, hating the morning pages is a very good sign. Loving them is a good sign, too, if you keep writing even when you suddenly don’t. A neutral attitude is the third position, but its really just a defensive strategy that may mask boredom.”

    “Boredom is just “What’s the use?” in disguise. And “what’s the use?” is fear, and fear means you are secretly in despair. So put your fears on the page. Put anything on the page. Put three pages of it on the page.”

    As for the Artist Date, the second main tool, she writes.

    “The other basic tool of The Artist’s Way may strike you as a nontool, a diversion. You may see clearly how morning pages could work yet find yourself highly dubious about something called an Artist Date. I assure you, artist dates work, too.”

    “Think of this combination of tools in terms of a radio receiver and transmitter. It is a two-step, two directional process out and then in. Doing your morning pages , you are sending – notifying yourself and the universe of your dreams, dissatisfactions, hopes. Doing your artist date, you are receiving, opening yourself to insight, inspiration and guidance.”

    “But what exactly is an artist date? An artist date is a block of time, perhaps two hours weekly, especially set aside and committed to nurturing your creative consciousness, your inner artist. In its most primary form, the artist date is an excursion, a play date that you preplan and defend against all interlopers. You do not take anyone on this artist date but you and your inner artist a.k.a. your creative child. This means no lovers, friends, spouses, children – no taggers of any stripe.”

    “If you think this sounds stupid or that you will never be able to afford the time, identifying that reaction as resistance. You cannot afford not to find time for artist dates…”

    She writes later on to say. “It is frightening to spend quality time with a child or lover, and our artist can be both to us. A weekly artist date is remarkably threatening and remarkably productive.”

    “A date? With my Artist?”

    “Yes. Your artist needs to be taken out, pampered, and listened to. There are many ways to evade this commitment as there days of your life. “I am too broke” is the favored one, although no one said this date need involve elaborate expenses.”

    “Your artist is a child. Time with a parent matters more than monies spent. A visit to a junk store, a solo trip to the beach, an old movie seen along together, a visit to an aquarium or an art gallery – these cost time, not money. Remember, it is a the time commitment that is sacred.”

    “In looking for a parallel, think of a child of divorce who gets to see a beloved parent only on weekends. (During most of the week, your artist is in the custody of a stern, workaday adult.) What that child wants is attention, not expensive outings. What that child does not want is to share the precious parent with someone like a new significant other.”

    “Spending time in solitude with your artist child is essential to self-nurturing. A long country walk, a solitary expedition to the beach for a sunrise or sunset, a sortie out to a strange church to hear gospel music, to an ethnic neighborhood to taste foreign sights and sounds – your artist might enjoy any of these. Or your artist might like bowling.”

    “Commit yourself to a weekly artist’s date, and then watch your killjoy side try and wiggle out of it. Watch how this sacred time gets easily encroached upon. Watch how this sacred time suddenly includes a third party. Learn to guard against these invasions.”

    “Above all, learn to listen to what your artist child has to say on, and about, these joint expeditions. For example, “Oh, I hate this serious stuff,” your artist may exclaim if you persist in taking it only to grown-up places that are culturally edifying and good for it.”

    “Listen to that! It is telling you your art needs more playful inflow. A little fun can go a long way toward making your work feel more like play. We forget that the imagination-at-play is the heart of all good work. And increasing our capacity for good creative work is what this book is about.”

    “You are likely to find yourself avoiding your artist dates. Recognize this resistance as a fear of intimacy –self-intimacy. Often in troubled relationships, we settle into an avoidance pattern with our significant others. We don’t want to hear what they are thinking because it just might hurt. So we avoid them, knowing that, once they get a chance, our significant others will probably blurt out something we do not want to hear. It is possible they will want an answer we do not have and can’t give them. It is possible we might do the same to them and that then the two of us will stare at each other in astonishment, saying, “But I never knew you felt like that!”

    “It is probable that these self-disclosures, frightening though they are, will lead to the building of a real relationship, one in which the participants are free to be who they are and to become who they wish. This possibility is what makes the risks of self-disclosure and true intimacy profitable. In order to have a real relationship with our creativity, we must take the time and care to cultivate it. Our creativity will use this time to confront us, to confide in us, to bond with us, and to plan.”

    “The morning pages acquaint us with what we think and what we think we need. We identify problem areas and concerns. We complain, enumerate, identify, isolate and fret. This is one step, analogous prayer. In the course of the release engendered by our artist date, step two, we begin to hear solutions. Perhaps equally important, we begin to fund the creative reserves we will draw on in fulfilling our artistry.”

    Julia Cameron

    Tomorrow morning is day one of week one. I am excited to begin this process. While I have been writing each morning for 6 ½ years, I will once again return to pencil and paper to see again the process of Morning Pages. As well as follow her suggestions for each week, and planning Artist Dates.

    I look forward to cultivating or seeking to find new and exciting things I like to do. It has been a very long 6-½ years of healing and unraveling; I am looking forward now to actively grow Art, to intentionally play with my child self, to go hand and hand out in the big world and see what is out there.

    It feels like being two or three, but in a big body, with words and able to drive myself place, to be a child without a mom holding me back, warning me or scaring me of unknown things.

    My second childhood.

  • Keep the Scales Balanced.

    I have watched the future steal my today, the tomorrows weighing heavy upon this now moment, grabbing this energy for its use, sucking out of my life my life.

    I was going along adjusting and accepting the role of a working girl, doing my five days with a sprinkle of unhappiness, but for the most part well adjusted working girl, getting up and going in, doing my deal, and then they changed the rules.

    The job now will require me to give up one more day every other week, and I keep focusing on what I am giving up…and will have to switch and find the gifts this brings, find the place of good change, not just bad.

    It is forcing me to see the weight of the household needs balanced against the time I have, with a counter balance of playtime.

    If I didn’t want or need or enjoy playtime, I am thinking this schedule of work and then house work would be fine. In fact this is a perfect life for those who love to lose themselves in their work. The old me would have been thrilled by this new routine…the perfect martyr life.

    But a new me lives within me now and she is not thrilled by this latest development and is challenged to now be more vocal and demanding.

    What the old me used to do, was to take in new changes and absorb them alone, not letting them impact those around me, like a shock absorber, allowing their rides to continue on a smooth trip while mine was very bumpy.
    It will be up to me to not absorb more work and less play.

    Instead of taking this on alone, my household will feel jostled as I work more.

    I fight the selfish connotations inside of me as wrestle for playtime while turning my back on ‘responsibilities’ within the house, the usual sparing partners vying for my attention.

    Finding this new balance will take some time. And if I allow others to share this new burden, the burden itself will feel lighter.

    It is best for me to give up being a shock absorber and instead be a passenger in a car of six, all going over the same road.

    We will all have to make some concessions and adjustments with this new change. I guess if you don’t go with the flow you get left working against what is.

    This is our new reality…change requires change in behavior.

    It is up to us to hold on tight to our priorities…play in equal balance to work is where my intentions lie…by setting my intentions, I can focus on fitting in enough play…so if one more work day was added, I can see more play has to be as well.

    Instead of gaining 26 days of work a year, I now will have to add 26 days worth of playtime. The harder I work the harder I will have to play to keep the scales balanced.

  • Keep Play Alive!

    I discovered a great truth about myself and my feelings, that I want to own what I feel and it feels worse to have someone try and get me out before my time, I want feel as long as I want to feel.

    My mail route has been a five day a week job, and I found out on Thursday, that it was switching to a six day a week one week and then a five day the next, rotating every other Saturday off.

    I sulked, and I pouted, and felt deep disappointment in losing a day off, and when my boss tried to placate me with false hopes, it made me feel worse not better.

    It then came to me, it is much better to let a person sit in her pity puddle for as long as she likes and when she comes out on her own, she will be ready to face the life change that put her there.

    I felt cheated and manipulated and cajoled to be feeling a false emotion for her sake, but not mine. Me, I wanted to sit and grieve over my loss of a day off.

    And she felt responsible for my sadness and then tried to feed me false hopes of it being an error that perhaps it will change, etc.

    I told her, please just let me get accustomed to my loss, let me be here, I will adjust and acclimate myself in time. I am okay being sad.

    It began to bother me more that they couldn’t accept me being upset. I can now see it is best to honor the feelings and emotions and not try changing them with words.

    Just let them be.

    I can now see how I have mishandled or perhaps over-handled my daughter’s emotions messing around in them and confusing or mixing them up for my ease.

    I love that we have a right to our emotions and we can express them at our own pace.

    Losing a Saturday every other week does make me sad, it is like losing a play date, a recess or free time…I will have to manipulate the rest of my week to make up this time, perhaps giving up cleaning or washing clothes or cooking…sometimes it takes time to find the silver lining.

    Instead of giving up playtime, I will give up more domestic chores…every other week.

    Whatever it takes to keep Play alive!!!

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  • We Play!

    “When my daughter was about seven years old, she asked me one day what I did at work. I told her I worked at the college – that my job was to teach people how to draw. She stared at me, incredulous, and said, “You mean they forget?” ~Howard Ikemoto

    Imagine a world where we didn’t forget to be a child, to have the childlike wonder of the world, a sense of knowing we know how to do anything without fear and lack of self-confidence?

    Where we didn’t have to take classes to learn how ‘draw correctly’ or write perfectly, but instead do what feels right for you.

    It seems at times we are taught so much, we are taught how not to be ourselves.

    We learn until we lose our way back to our self.

    Perhaps the class we need the most is an open class without rules or expectations, a class where we go to unlearn all the fears and lacks that have been preached to us, a safe zone where we shed the years and layers of all the things that are not us.

    A shedding room, a fleecing space where we can get back to the childlike place, where we are the center of the Universe, where we can do anything and we admire ourselves and all that we accomplish, where we affix stars to all that we do each day, where there is an unlimited amount of energy and things we want to see and do, where the world is wide open and we are free.

    How do we take off the heavy cloaks of doubt, fear, and lack that we drag around each day? How do we quiet the voices that have trained us to be motionless in fear?

    We wiggle free by doing things no adult in their ‘right’ mind would do… we play!

  • Pick Up the Broken Piece.

    What a slow learner I am, how incredibly naïve and blindly stupid…I am surprised that I am just now catching on. How has it taken me this long, almost six years to figure this out?

    The pain I have gone through, the mental anguish and all the soul searching, and still I didn’t know.

    My family didn’t break apart, wasn’t destroyed and didn’t crumble under the weight of abuse, it wasn’t shattered, or flung upside right or mentally broken, only I was.

    I broke.

    In my head I had them all broken up like me, but they remain intact, a full family, minus a few.

    No worse for the wear, unscathed and unbroken, they are holding up strong as the same family unit, while I am broken.

    My brokenness is sharp, loud, and unwanted, a jagged point that doesn’t fit into the familiar routine.

    A routine I can’t remember, forgetting the lines and missing the steps, characters changing before my eyes, my script no longer matches theirs.

    When they laugh I cry, what they love I fear, when they gather I flee…I shout at their silences, say wrong words that jumble up the play.

    I am the heckler or a bad actor playing on the wrong set and ruining the show.

    When I am gone and silent the show returns to its familiar dialogue.

    I see the picture clearer now…I see me trying to direct a play in progress, wanting to hand out new scripts, change characters and lines, make it a horror movie instead of a comedy…

    What I have been trying so hard to do is change a play in progress.

    I have been wanting them to change so the broken me fits in…while they want me to return to the stage unbroken, healed, once again the old me.

    The spot is open, the stage is there unchanged all I have to do is not be broken and rejoin the chorus line.

    What I know to be true of all people who are abused within the family, it is not so much the first betrayal, but the second one.
    The second betrayal is that once you expose yourself and speak your words is that nothing changes, except that you are now alone and exposed.

    Kicked off the stage of your childhood home.

    I sit here dumbfounded at my naiveté how I foolishly believed that a child, even an adult child that was broke, would break the whole family, but my family marched on, again.

    No one stopped to pick up the broken piece.

  • I Play Where I am Happy!

    “It’s easier to love a happy me,” is a comment I made and it seems profound in a very simplistic way.

     

    How can you love yourself if you are unhappy?

     

    What I found by writing is that unhappiness is wanting what is impossible to have.

     

    If you are not happy with what you have, you can’t love what you are.

     

    My happiness came when I discovered that there was no chance in getting what I wanted for me, that I had to accept what I was.

     

    I wanted me to be a not abused girl.

     

    I didn’t want to own the abuse and all what the abuse did to me, nor any of the characters attached to the abuse, or the church’s line of forgiveness.

     

    The list went on and on, and nothing on the list was pleasing to me; a full menu of things I didn’t like.

     

    When there was no hope or a pray in heaven that my reality could/would/should change, I found happiness.

     

    It was either be okay with my lot in life, or be unhappy.

     

    It is easy to be happy with a nice pair of shoes or jeans that fit you well, but try and put on reality when it seems too sordid to tell and be happy in that.

     

    But it hurts more to be forever waiting and wanting what is impossible to have.

     

    For some reason it is better to accept what is possible than to get left seeking the impossible.

     

     

    I made friends with what was possible.

     

    I learned mostly I had possibilities.

     

    “When God shuts a door, he opens a window” I believe is a phrase many use.

     

    Instead of sitting by the closed door, I went to the window and had the courage to find a way to be happy.

     

    By turning my attention and desires away from the closed door, I was presented with a million opportunities to be happy. 

     

    They would never be the choices behind the closed door, they were all different and I was delighted and surprised to find they made me happy.

     

    In the window of opportunities I began to see a new life, a new way, a new me, a new normal was being born.

     

    There is simply nothing I can do to change my past or all the characters who played there, but I can now decide how I play today.

     

    I play where I am happy!