I M Perfect lady

Tag: self

  • Who we want to talk to.

    I have watched myself in various conversations whether online, in person or on the phone, and I marvel at myself and its ability to respond or the lack thereof.

     

    I find that I mostly enjoy dialogue in the present, and the first person. Stories of stories have me fade away or zone out.  I can’t seem to be present with a non-present story.

    It is almost like having a front row seat to their minds, and them replaying what happened.

     

    I guess I am much better in a happening place to have it going on in real time.

     

    Real speak, real dialogue, not dialogue about dialogue.

     

    And I was friend for a day with one lady, whose walk was similar to mine, but we viewed our healing totally opposite.  After a few exchanges, she de-friended me.

     

    There can be fear when someone doesn’t see what you see, and it may be threatening to your pathway.  However, unless it gets personally draining or toxic raining, I can stay in and actually enjoy the exchange of different views.

     

    I am more alive in a conversation where I am dancing around the same issue with someone who sees differently than if I am listening to a conversation about a conversation.

     

    People are so revealing in conversations, about what they talk about, don’t talk about, or talk around, sometimes you can have a full conversation without ever seeing the person you are talking to…for they give you info about things, but not themselves.

     

    I used to be interested in things, now I wait for the person to arrive, to step forth and to talk to me, to leave the ‘things’ behind and just show me their self.

     

    It is almost like the mind talking and rambling along…and the real self is seldom revealed.

     

    I can see that I challenge the mind and seek to go around it to find the real self.  Both in conversation with others but more importantly with me.

     

    We can talk to our selves about things, or about what really matters, our truths, our fears, our dreams, our inner desires…we have to decide who we want to talk to.

     

     

     

  • Pain Free

    "A huge part of our task becomes noticing unskillful reactions and learning to let them go. This is not a denial of some part of our self. It is simply the abandoning of actions that cause harm and suffering (mostly to ourselves). When we pick up a hot utensil on the stove, we don’t have to think about who we are before we drop it, or who we might become if we dropped it, or become afraid that we would not be authentic to ourselves if we drop it—it’s painful and we drop it!Most of us only make such a mistake once. It’s the same in the heart, except that the hot utensil has been in our hand so long, maybe most of our life, that we’ve forgotten what not buring feels like or don’t know who we would be without the burning, we are afraid to put it down. This may sound absurd, but when you think how hard it is to stop being defensive in the face of criticism, or to let go of self-judgment, it makes sense.  But that doesn’t mean easy.”                       Sean Felt

     

    I saw this posted on Facebook, and find that it is the perfect paragraph I was seeking to explain how it is easier to hang on and continuing doing the same hurtful thing instead of letting go and changing. 

    It seems incredibly insane to want to hold near and dear to you things that cause you pain, but if the only ‘normal’ you have ever known feels this way, it isn’t painful it is love.

    Which is why it is so very difficult to get people to drop the burning utensils, for they have become calloused and acclimated and have forgotten what not burning feels like.

    Not burning feels like an enemy when it is actually your friend.

    This flipped upside down reactionary response to clutch hurtful things and steer away from cool non-hurtful ones, creates a journey filled with self inflicted pain for we don’t know how to let go.

    As incredible as it seems it is ‘easier’ to hang on than let go.

    It is the only self we know, this painful hurting self, we fear being a pain free self.  

    I have found that it is incredibly hard to let go and drop that which hurts you, when you had labeled hurt love.

    I wasn’t dropping abuse… I was dropping love.

    It seems so silly that you will not release yourself from hurt, but we don’t call it hurt we call it love.

    And in this flipped out state, our reactions are the opposite of what is normal.  Clutching hurt we push away from real love.

    We live as this anomaly, upside down and inside out.

    It’s not easy to change this, it will take Herculean efforts to return your self to normal responses, to reset your reactions to what hurts and what doesn’t, to feel normal while pain free.

     

  • I faded

    It is so easy to fall out of sight of your self, to disappear and only catch fleeting glimpses through out the day.  It is amazingly easy to not see and pay attention to your inner world and to be present and aware to all things.

     

    When I did yoga each morning I was with myself for an hour and a half.  I was with each breath and focused on my body, and when I stopped doing yoga, I spend very little time paying attention to me.

     

    I miss being with me in such a concentrated healthy way, watching my body become stronger and more flexible, being with the emotions that seemed to flow from my muscles, to gaining balance inside and out.

     

    It has been good as well to see how I seem to disappear from my self while being here, how I can lose sight of my wellness and get lazy…fall back into a sea of apathy.

     

    It’s easier to do nothing…

     

    It takes time, effort and its much more difficult to be on task of being the caretaker of you.

     

    You have to carve up your time each day making sure you take a good chunk for yourself.

     

    I used to do this right away each morning, starting out my day with me in focus, and that set the tone for the rest of the day.

     

    I would then have my best interest front and center.

     

    I am toying with the idea of getting back into the demanding routine of daily yoga.  Perhaps taking one day off each week.

     

    By doing this all things in my life go better; I move better, feel better, sleep better, am much more alert, aware and see clearer…and I am lonesome for that self.

     

    I allowed my self to start fading away, to drift along in the sea of life without really paying attention to where I am going.

     

    Yoga brings me back to me and I feel a greater connection to the Universe…

     

    The wise people are right, you do get what you focus on.

     

    I was not focusing on me and I faded.

     

  • Out of Control Controlled Person

    While discussing the attributes of suicide, two different people suggested that the body is out of control…and neither felt it was ‘them’ that did it, but a whole other person, a self that they did not know.

     

    I am very intrigued by how they see the person who almost died as someone different than them…and yet when they are well, or back on solid ground, that depressed person does not resemble the person who now has some control.

     

    This led me to ponder that you can be out of control as a rock, who is incapable of moving…or out of control moving… incapable of stopping.

     

    And it matters not whether you are moving or not moving, what matters is the lack of control.

     

    This lack of control means something or somebody else has control over you.

     

    You have lost owning your self.

     

    This lost self and the found self are totally different.

     

    A self that is under the control of a cult like religion and who has grown up in a dysfunctional family does not have control of her self at all.

     

    We give up the rights to our own lives, choices, beliefs…we lose control of self movement.

     

    No one says that a brainwashed person is out of control…we use that term only for moving things…yet it works the same for unmoving.

     

    The staunch faithful will not make a move that goes against the teachings of the church…while being controlled by others, they themselves have no control.   

     

    They only control themselves to remain faithful to the other that is controlling them.

     

    There is no self to control; they lost contact with the self.

     

    They see themselves through the controller’s eyes.

     

    Who would ever think that a person who is completely under the control of cult etc, is out of control?  It seems like an oxymoron.

     

    A very out of control controlled person.

     

     

     

     

  • Wanting me to disappear.

    I found it interesting that my mother’s voice still echoes in my head, that it rings out loud and clear each and every time I veer off her well-beaten path, my fear of disappointing her screams louder than the thrill of doing what I love to do.

     

    These echoes have traveled with me a long long time, and they are laced with fear that freezes me in my tracks if I even begin to ponder doing things differently.

     

    This underlying system was created when I was very small, and the definition of self was built upon this very odd system, where my ‘goodness’ was mirrored when she was happy and my ‘badness’ when she wasn’t.

     

    It had nothing to do with what I wanted to do, but had everything to do with her.

     

    This track was laid down within me by how my mother reacted to life, and making her happy was my only goal, for her happiness meant her loving me. 

     

    It had nothing to do with the actual things I was doing, but the withdrawing of love dare I venture into a place that made her frown.

     

    I wonder if this is how all children learn about life, that we simply follow the smiles and steer away from all the frowns, that we never learn to steer by our own smiles, we learn to navigate through life by others happiness.

     

    Living in this backward system for 46 years, the last 6 have been spent learning how to live from my inner smiles and standing strong against their frowns.

     

    Learning that I am not responsible for other people’s faces, that it is not my job, has been a full time job, undoing the tracks from childhood, taking them down one piece at a time.

     

    I can see how people lose themselves while living with themselves, how they get pulled into the lives of others simply for happiness and love.

     

    What is so debilitating is that your life disappears while theirs seems to thrive.  And how is that love if you disappear?

     

    In order to be loved by my parents, I had to disappear.

     

    My needs had to disappear, my wants, my desires, my happiness, my joy, my love and my life.  I learned to disappear for love.

     

    As I walk forward learning how to love myself, her echoes come back to remind me of where else I let my self go, where I lost a part of me, where I buried myself and now where I can reclaim that piece.

     

    I didn’t know I buried her in so much responsibility. 

     

    I find now, when I feel so stuck, so angry without a choice, I am tugging on a piece of the old track, and it has nothing to do with what is going on today, but instead what I have learned a long time ago. 

     

    A voice from the past wanting me to disappear.

    1Shared Wisdom closeup 
    This quilt represents my inner wisdom and the young artist…. I am so happy that this one didn't sell!

     

  • Mine.

    As I was reading Chapter Two of The Artist’s Way book by Julia Cameron, I found similarities between finding your artist self and leaving toxic relationships.

     

    She is leading you forward suggesting ideas and things that will focus on self and in doing so you discover where you are standing and how you have been living and who has had their hands on the reigns of you.

     

    Unblocking the Artist is like opening the eyes of those in denial.

     

    Julia speaks of poisonous playmates and crazymakers and I see them as the dysfunctional family I was lost among where there was no space for my self.

     

    She makes reference between giving up toxic thinking as giving up drinking.  And those still enjoying the toxic beverages and the toxic mindset, will not be your cheerleaders and in fact will weaken your resolve.

     

    The Artist Self is the self that is untouched by other’s influences, but whose sense of being comes from within and is connected to the Universe. 

     

    She is looking at this process from the self outward, where I was looking at leaving the mess of dysfunction.

     

    I wasn’t trying to find an authentic artful self, but rather fleeing from the abusive family that I felt had stolen my self.

     

    And it had, a pattern maker or follower had replaced my own artistic creative self, I had no personal connection to the Universe, I was plugged into an extension cord. 

     

    My sense of self flowed not from the Universe; it came from my mother/father/brother/sister/friend/anyone but the Universe and me.

     

    When everything that was holding the definitions of me was shown to be very dysfunctional, I then seen my own dysfunctional self. 

     

    I saw what the extension cord was plugged into, and I unplugged them all.

     

    It was the unplugging them that freed me to be available to hear the Universe, to pay attention to my body, my feelings, my emotions, to connect me back to me.

     

    The definition of Universe is one song.

     

    I am now singing one song… mine.

     

     

     

  • Same Piece.

    Last night I viewed lots of different Art, and it seemed each Artist had a message or feeling of energy that came through the piece.

     

    The art piece said more about the artist than the art.

     

    It is like the art is an inner imprint of how the artist feels; a coded message from within.

     

    Some artists are so exact in realistic portrayals; their perfection is displayed as judgment or even a God like imitation, their gift is replicating, being able to mirror the landscapes.

     

    There was Art that made you stop and think, wondering about the message or dichotomy it presented…a confused thinker sorting out his thoughts, making you pause and wonder.

     

    Perhaps our attraction to Art equals the way we are attracted to certain people, and repelled away from others.

     

    Somehow I separated the Artist from the Art not really believing that the Art told the truth about the Artist’s life.  I believed you could paint a pretty picture while having a tortured soul.

     

    Yet you can tell a lot about a person in their Art, which is why I feel many are unable to do art, for they fear displaying their self.

     

    The same goes for writing 3 pages a day, the deeper unconscious fear keeps them safe behind the excuses of no time, nothing to write, I know me, done the work, am okay with who I am.

     

    It’s the voices of fear to be seen in public without the layers and layers of coverings… like a painting draped with cloth so the picture lies hidden underneath.

     

    To drop the cloth and stand exposed seems it would be fearful and it is actually the opposite, with nothing to hide, you have nothing to hide, and you are free to be.

     

    Perhaps the fear lies in not matching another painting nearby or being as colorful or as dramatic or as calm and serene. 

     

    Yet imagine a gallery  with walls and walls all displaying the exact same piece.

     

     

  • Your Art

    Between The Artist’s Way writings and exercises as well as pondering a Bio for myself, it came to me that Life and Art mirror each other, perfectly.

     

    My Art has changed along with me, or me along with my Art, at times it gets confusing as to who is leading who.

     

    I used to live life following a pattern, steering close within the lines, feeling secure that if I lived a certain way, I would know how life would go and where I would be in the end.

     

    My life style matched my quilting and crafts, I followed patterns and felt daring when I did not.

     

    One of my first attempts at Art was working in clay, and I made button covers and bolo ties and necklaces, all very bohemian, triangles and swirls.  When I brought them to a Gallery, the lady replied upon seeing them, “that’s not Art.”

     

    I remember feeling the blow, but still stood by the ‘art’…and signed up for a local Art Fair, had a tent and sold quite a few necklaces and bolo ties.  In a booth to my left was the lady from the Art Gallery, she watched as folks walked away with my  ‘not’ Art.

     

    For some reason, even against criticism I followed my Art…for it felt like Art to me.  And while I wasn’t good at standing up for my self at that time, I stood resolute behind my creations.

     

    Another Bright idea I had was to make coffin quilts. They rest gently on the coffin and have a drape that hangs down to cover your lower half.  These quilts spoke of the things the person loved while living.  I felt they were a memory quilt of sorts, a remembrance of what their Spirit enjoyed while living.  Yet they were misunderstood by the funeral home director how deals with dead bodies and the grieving.

    He said they were too full of ego.  I was shocked and horrified, for they were the complete opposite.

     

    This was my first glimpse of the confusion between Art/Spirit and ego.

     

    My art had more spirit in it than I myself did, which is why I felt so strongly aligned with it, a part of me was in each piece, perhaps more of me than was living in my life at that time.

     

    And the folks talking about my art were saying more about themselves than about my art. 

     

    While I was trying to find the definition between Art and Craft, I should have been looking closer at the people who were looking at me.

     

    Today my life is much more in sync with my spirit, with my truth and my integrity, so my art bleeds the same, it echoes me, and I fully understand when folks don’t understand my art, they more or less will not understand me.

     

    The lady from the Gallery dresses very different, her clothes shouting Artist, and it seems to me she is trying to be an artist backwards.  That she is believes if she looks the part, art will come.

     

    I feel that my Art is taunting me and hollering to me to be more like it, to add color and loosen up, to catch up…to dare to stand unique and it seems I am living precariously through my art…or using it to let my self run wild. 

     

    My art makes me an Artist; I don’t make art to be an Artist.

     

    My quilts are much further ahead of me in life; it takes months sometimes for me to understand the meanings or messages they bring. 

     

    Similar to my life story and how looking closely at my life’s events, I needed each one to create who I am today.

     

    Perhaps each day or moment in our lives are little works of Art, expressions of Spirit…your Art.

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  • Reconstruction on the Outside.

    I was surprised at how at ease I felt writing and even how peaceful I was inside, how comfortable I wrote my thoughts as they drifted by, as I looked upon this day, as I just seemed to write effortlessly.
    Six years later the me that is doing The Artist’s Way is completely different inside than the last time…I have a hard time recollecting the old me.
    She was a compilation of her parents, built upon their patterns and beliefs, structured to fulfill their needs, a woman with very little sense of self.
    Now my insides are bursting with me, my knowing and fully comprehending who I am, where I came from, how I made the choices I made etc. A woman with her History pretty much figured out, but a woman with an open slate and a big world to explore.
    The other thing missing inside is the fear of changing, the dread of trying something new and even appearing silly or a beginner…all my sense of pride is gone, with nothing left to lose, I can only gain.
    It is astonishing to me how different I am, the years slipped by and tiny layers of confidence grew on me, so that I am in a much better spot to now add accessories to the new me.
    Just as a woman adds to her outfit, I will add to the strong core of who I am, colorful and exciting things, my bling.
    I have never been a person to wear wild clothes or trends, to dress with flair and be fancy, but I can feel that I am standing here, in need of a bit of that.
    Perhaps The Artist’s Way will change my outward appearance to match my insides…or at least begin the reconstruction on the outside.
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    The journal cover I made for myself yesterday!

  • The Artist Way.

    December 1, 2004, I began writing Morning Pages, a tool in the book, “The Artist Way,” A Course in Discovering and Recovering your Creative Self, by Julia Cameron.

    Here Julia explains the Morning Pages.

    “There is no wrong way to do Morning Pages. These daily meanderings are not meant to be Art. Or even writing. I stress that point to reassure the nonwriters working with this book. Writing is simply one of the tools. Pages are meant to be, simply, the act of moving the hand across the page and writing whatever comes to mind. Nothing is too petty, too silly, too stupid, or too weird to be included.”

    “The Morning Pages are not supposed to sound smart – although sometimes they might. Most times they won’t and nobody will ever know except you. Nobody is allowed to read your morning pages except you. And you shouldn’t even read them yourself for the first eight weeks or so. Just write three pages, and stick them into an envelope. Or write three pages in a spiral notebook and don’t leaf back through. Just write three pages and three more the next day.”

    “Although occasionally colorful, the morning pages are often negative, frequently fragmented, often self-pitying, repetitive, stilted or babyish, angry or bland – even silly sounding. Good!”

    “All that angry, whiny, petty stuff that you write down stands between you and your creativity. Worrying about the job, the laundry, the funny knock in the car, the weird look in your lover’s eye – this stuff eddies through your consciousness and muddies our days. Get it on the page.”
    Julia Cameron

    Six and a half years later I read my first Morning Pages, and she is absolutely correct, they are rambling, fragmented, petty and all over the board, but I recall enjoying them.

    Sitting down with a notepad, a bunch of well sharpened pencils and writing three pages worth. Let me tell you, you do have to scratch and sift to find three pages worth.

    It is amazing what pours out of you once you begin, “Good Morning Pages….”

    I had a problem calling them pages I kept calling them papers. Nonetheless, I wrote. I wrote mindless chitchat for three days, and then it was discovered that my father was a pedophile on Dec 4th and there shows a break of about a week and a half and then I picked up a pencil and wrote again.

    The Morning Pages became journals and the journals changed into a blog, but the writing continued, the exploration and discovery and recovery deepened…

    This tool literally saved me as I walked into deep waters of life, however, I feel I want to go back and pick up where I left off, doing The Artist Way. Reading the book and doing the Twelve Week Exercises.

    As I begin again, I have invited a bunch of Lady Friends to join me…and I am excited I do have a few takers! Anyone can join…there is room for everyone!

    I am excited to begin again, as I was back then, for I felt I was idling along in life on pause or repeat perhaps and was feeling like I needed to open myself up wider…to grow or stretch, to expand my life to include more artist like things, classes or outings etc…and I feel that again.

    I am once again stepping it up a level or kicking it up a notch, expanding my horizons, using this one life and experiencing more that it has to offer, adding to me some new and different things.

    I will go back to handwriting the three pages each morning. I can’t wait to see what happens. I have missed the sharpened pencils and the exercise of writing without a thought…and even more excited to have Lady Friends who will join me on The Artist Way.

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