A SHOWER OF WISDOM

Lately it seems that I get some of my best ideas in the shower.

Perhaps it is an unconscious response to avoid addressing the naked version of myself.   My mind will travel anywhere other than having to remain present and forced to take in the reality of my own body.

Often I have been so deep in thought that when I emerge I cannot honestly recall whether or not I actually washed anything at all, and I am forced to smell my hair to detect the scent of shampoo and restore my peace of mind.

I look upon this with gratitude, however, and consider it a gift from my mind to my ego.  They've got each other's backs even as I struggle to remember if I've washed mine.

But this morning I hit the soap-laden jackpot and was able to put yet another of the all too many incompletions in my life to rest.  I finalized a poem eighteen months in the making, and it has given my spirit a sense of progress and my mind the guilt-free option of spending some time today in non-thought.

Unlike being brain-dead, the state of non-thought is temporary and can actually promote intellectual rejuvenation if experienced sans any alcohol or narcotics, in case you didn't know.

Ironically, the poem itself is about our propensity as humans to go to great lengths to avoid suffering, sacrifice and struggle; often to our detriment.  It has nothing to do with cleanliness and hair conditioner.

And while suffering is obviously not something any sane human being should seek, it is also not something we should fear.  In fact, it is when we are most challenged that we are also given the greatest opportunity; the opportunity to become wise.

As King Solomon knew when he prevailed upon God to give him a wise and understanding heart, wisdom is the best navigational tool a person could hope to possess to successfully negotiate the trials of our earthly existence.

Wisdom is not a frivolous gift.  It is weighted with importance and gilded in humility and is our best reward for accepting the brutal turns of fate courageously and without complaint.

Perhaps it is because wisdom is such a noble and vital gift that it is offered as the choice fruit of suffering?  We tend to remember the lessons of loss with more reverence and clarity than we do those brought to us on fluid ribbons of joy.  It is a point of honor.  We've earned our deepened insights and are not likely to let them just fade away.

So, now that I have fulfilled my blogging obligation for today, I am going to indulge in a little non-thought.  Between my over-thinking in the shower and serious reflection on the correlation between wisdom and suffering, the remainder of this day is begging to be made into one of repose and restoration, both of which I am in need of. 

Tomorrow I can resume my quest to shower the world with love and joy. 

Right now I think I'll make a sandwich.

Self Indulgence

Some things are never meant to be

Those brittle limbs of misspent dreams

Where consequence is always freed

From knowing all that sorrow means

The sweet allures of self  and choice

Obliterate the Sacred Mind

Denying access to The Voice 

That speaks of fair and truth and kind

Instead we cultivate our plans

To counterbalance discontent

With lies that fashion and demand

More recompense than we have spent

We stake our pride in vapid ground

To circumnavigate our trials

And when no solace can be found

We counteract by swift denials

For every choice a price is paid

A judgement, fair, for every hand

But when the soul has been betrayed

There is no truth on which to stand

Yet, if we knew the somber cost

Of trying to outwit our pain

We'd gamely suffer any loss

To earn the wisdom it contained

MEN, A PAUSE

Why can't men be like girlfriends?

 This was the thought that inserted itself into my vapid mind when I opened my email this morning and read one from my good friend, Mary. It was a complimentary and poetic note of encouragement inspired by the fact that she had recently read my blog.

She wrote: "My Dear, beautiful Susan, I love your blog. You are not Half-Past. You are in the throes of womanhood, fully realized. No young, wrinkleless face could ever be as beautiful as your serene and wise visage. Your face, with your mermaid hair would make an incredible icon for all women."

Wow.  And while it is an extreme exaggeration of the truth, for the few seconds it took me to read it through the first time (Oh yeah. I read it several times, and with each reading it was like counting another favorable ballot in the voting for Prom Queen Of The Universe!), I almost believed it, and I felt like a rare butterfly.

Naturally, all this took place within the space of two or three minutes and well before I actually looked in the mirror or began my morning chores,- which do include picking up the dog poop in the backyard - and was catapulted back into the moody stasis of menopausal reality.

 But it was enough to ignite microscopic nodes of gratitude in my heart and make me feel recognized and valued, albeit in an earthy, sensual way; and enough of a boost to repair my lagging self-esteem and get me once more seated at this computer blogging away.

The reality is that we all need to feel and believe we are visible and valued for our presence, and while it is supremely true that we are more beautiful for what we hold on the inside, it is unfortunately also true that we are mammals and that as such, we tend to play off the instantaneous responses to sights and smells and base, magnetic appeal.

 But if a man noticed me and addressed me the way my friend Mary did, I'd be more apt to give serious consideration to the idea of offering him permanent residency in my heart, which, by default, includes infinite forgiveness and a wide birth of understanding.  Not to mention a host of other perks not suitable to write about in a G-rated, public blog.

 How much more difficult would it be for my husband, for instance, to go from his version of romantic verbal foreplay: "You look hot. Great tits. Let's go upstairs and knock one off." to a softer, poetic and sensual phraseology more in keeping with the sort of thing that Mary wrote to me?

While the odds of this happening are significantly closer to none than even slight, I still think it might be a worthy goal.  Praise is always appreciated, especially in the form of poetry.

Then again, too much praise implies that a certain amount of attention must be given, and I'm not sure I'm prepared to fall under that much scrutiny.  Being overlooked does have it's benefits, and over the years I have readily adapted to my autonomy.

I am like the Invisible Man with two exceptions.  In the movie the Invisible Man had to remove his clothes in order to disappear.  Around my husband, I employ the opposite tactic.  Oh, and I'm not a man.

In the course of my marriage (I think we are approaching our 128th anniversary this year, or maybe thats 200th.) I've learned to relish and appreciate the glorious freedom and autonomy found during those seemingly endless hours my husband may spend watching the game or playing tennis, or working or exercising or running errands or doing whatever it is that he does other than the thirty or so minutes a day he spends actually dealing with me in a receptive, listening capacity......clothed.

 That delicious freedom I currently experience wouldn't be possible were I being doted on and micro-viewed and it would soon become suffocating and redundant.

Honestly, if I think my contentions through,  I wouldn't want my husband or any man to behave any differently than they do. There is something very empowering about being a woman able to capitalize on the perpetual distraction of the opposite sex.

Besides, it makes those very few times when they might actually get it  become extremely poignant and genuine.

We live for those times in relationships and because they happen so rarely, we spend a lot of our time waiting. Of course, being women, in that down-time/waiting period we raise families, start companies,  psychoanalyze small children as well as heads of state, build corporations, write novels, drive race cars, lead nations and do the wash.

 When you really think about it, men actually do women a favor by being themselves.

Sadly, what this means for me at the moment is that I just spent the better part of an hour being wrong. Fortunately, I'm so flexible I don't mind.

To Facebook/Blog or Not...Is That Really The Question?

A couple of months ago I was exchanging pleasantries with a friend, and we got on the subject of facebook and blogging.

 Being relatively new to both I hadn't formed any hard and fast opinions about either, although obviously, I don't have many objections.

 However, my friend did believing that both of these were basically superficial, narcissistic forums and that blogging, particularly, was time-consuming to read and offered no more than self-indulgent, stream-of- consciousness meanderings that are of little or no valure.

After my ego regained some stability (feeling backhandedly offended now that I am a contributor to both), I realized that in order to fully recover my confidence and reenter the blogging world, I needed to step back and objectively consider my experience of both.

To they provide a canopy of connectivity; a canopy under which a myriad of miracles await their bloom.

And connectivity, in part, inspires dialogue, unites hearts, cultivates tolerance, extends empathy, expands ideas and nurtures genius..  It makes the world accessible and approachable, yet expansive beyond mortal reason.  It increases the odds for miracles exponentially.

 An minor example of that occurred the other day when I was trying to recall an exact quote I had heard the space/time physicist, David Lewis Anderson, make on the Coast to Coast radio show some weeks earlier. Mr. Anderson has a facebook page and after that show I sent him a message applauding his work and we became facebook friends.

 But on this day as I sat at my laptop attempting to recall the specific wording, I glanced at the open ichat window, and who should be online and available but David Lewis Anderson!  On the spot I was able to inquire about his quote, and he graciously answered me. Within two minutes, my dilemma was solved.

 To me that is a small miracle, and as the world gets further connected with such technologies, the odds are increased for such little miracles.

 What could be wrong with that?

I see nothing narcissistic or indulgent in taking advantage of every opportunity we can to participate in changing and bettering our world by remaining more easily connected to those we know, those we love;  and even to those we don't yet know but with whom share commonalities.

What difference does it make how?

It is all too easy to feel alienated, pessimistic and alone in a world that is not at all collectively clear on what it is doing or where it is going.

Why not take advantage of a tool that allows you to wish someone who is far away a happy birthday or good luck on a new job or lend a supportive word when they are struggling or a hit of praise when they have accomplished a good?

 You never know the impact such recognition could have.

Of course, there are down sides. What doesn't have a down side? There will be vain and vapid and exploitive people abusing the venue, but those people exist everywhere; yet that doesn't stop us from leaving our homes.

As for blogging,  I've come to realize that it takes a fair amount of courage and blind faith to distribute your thoughts to an unseen and largely unknown audience; one that could number anywhere from zero to thousands.

 With each day that I sit at this computer struggling to shut out the niggling voice in my head as it whispers derogatory asides about my incompetence while I try to release the thick knot in my stomach reminding me that I could at any moment be buried alive by my literary insolence; the greater my respect and admiration becomes for the millions of others who reach out into the dark, pixel-laden void of cyber space to make their mark.

Each time we write, we may be feeding the potential for a miracle.

Here is another example:  It was from Julie Powell's efforts to blog about and cook her way through Julia Child's cookbook that a movie was born.

That movie inspired friend of mine to emerge from a deep funk and subsequently discover a passionate interest in cooking.

As a result of her new culinary passion, it has brought she and her husband closer together than they have been able to be since her husband's prostate cancer changed the physical nature of their relationship many years ago.

They now laugh and feast together with the same deliberate, delicate and tactile intimacy of the lovemaking they can no longer enjoy.
As her husband recently proclaimed, "That movie was the best thing that has happened to me in ten years!"

And that movie was born from an inconsequential blog.

 I also have faith that there is a higher power at work here and that what I am seeing and experiencing is only a tiny portion of what is truly unfolding.

But for whatever reason, I am compelled to write. I don't know why.  What I do know is that I am not going to stop, and if the opportunity to connect with other people is increased by hammering out my thoughts in a blog or by checking in on friends via facebook, then I'm all in.

If other people find cyber communications to be vapid and feeble, so be it.

At this stage of the communication game, I don't really give a damn.

WHAT 'HALF PAST PRETTY' REALLY MEANS

First of all, this blog was not my idea. It was suggested to me by those in the know as a means to an end. I wanted to create a website from which I could display and sell my artwork, and I was told that before the website was launched, I should invest the time in a blog and start blogging immediately. The result of this Machiavellian strategy in a perfect world would be that I would attract a following of sorts, or at the very least a modest presence on the internet in general and in the blogging community, specifically; which would ultimately lead to an interest in my website once it is available.

Theoretically it made a lot of sense, however, I still have not figured out by what method or means will anyone find the blog! I mean, where is the beginning, the starting point, the seminal appearance that will launch me into public view? It is sort of like the conundrum that has plagued me all of my life and that has the power to drive me insane were I to let it, and that is: If God always WAS, then who was the guy who made God? But I digress......

Although I am generally regarded as the quintessential rebel in many respects, I do know when I 'don't know' and will follow advice when necessary, and, therefore, a blog was born. The second layer of advice had to do with focus. Every blog has to have focus; it cannot meander and fray at the contextual edges or you run the risk of sounding feeble-minded and shallow as though you are incapable of absorbing any more than the droll, random, superficial, perspicuous human commodities and conditions, which are evident to all of us anyway, so why would we want to hear about them from someone else? There has to be an underlying posture; a singular thread weaving the hem of a larger garment, and it had better be sturdy and able to withstand the wash and rinse cycle!

Whenever I have a decision to make of some importance I try to sit with it a while; to meditate and pray a little; and after applying that policy to the whole blog-naming or blog-qualifying dilemma, the line that kept turning up in my thoughts was one from a poem I had written a few years ago after turning fifty: "Half past pretty and still just a face in the crowd." After pondering it further, I realized that although initially it was referring to the declivitous physical trend when sparkle gives way to a modest and slightly tarnished sheen, the same description aptly describes my art. In fact, it pertains to pretty much everything!

For one thing, my paintings are largely my flawed interpretations and quirky presentations of great works from masters in much earlier times or from beautiful photographs from the present; and my jewelry is constructed from vintage odds and ends that I repurpose and give a second life: Dog tags from decades past, old buttons, game pieces, broken jewelry, washers and keys and rusted hardware; objects that have already outworn their original intention but are now reinvented and made precious once more even though they are seen differently.

The same thing happens to all of us as we grow older. The beauty and skills and obvious talents and worth that we owned and represented at twenty-five have evolved into something else at fifty; and even though the contents have usually become richer and more extraordinary, they are often missed because the packaging has obviously been on the delivery truck for quite a while and shows significantly more wear and tear. No one wants what they perceive might be used or damaged goods, but that is only because they have not been shown how to see beyond what is there. As the brilliant physicist and philosopher, David Lewis Anderson, pointed out 'We don't see the world as IT IS, we see the world as WE ARE." It is all a matter of subjective perspective, so why not choose to find beauty in everything and everyone?

That is what my art, my writing, my whole being is about. Yes, I fail all the time. My altruistic aspirations far exceed my flawed sentience, but I'm not going to stop trying.

And all this brings me to the poem I wrote from which the 'half past pretty' reference came:

MIDLIFE CATHARSIS

On this day I want to have something to show
Beyond those mistakes atoned for
in rounds of silence
and domestic allegiance

At my stiff age the hard press of phonics
that spew out "Fifty!" amply stun my illusions
(An indictment for the crime of being
'Half Past Pretty' and still
just a face in the crowd)

Now torn from the seam enfolding the clean,
billowing garment of boundless opportunity,
I lie midst a tangle of thread-bare intentions
whose options are all scant

But on this day I will garner all rusted hope,
hurl it beyond the staid implication
of my thick-waisted silhouette
to fall discreetly behind my dreams

Then court and marry the years I've abandoned
and the prayers I engage
with the impartial grace
of an ageless eternity

The First Glimpse of the Final Inning......Part 2

At the moment I am too tired to think of a creative title to this, my second blog entry, let alone come up with pithy witticisms for even a paragraphs' worth of words. I've spent the past nine hours working on creating a website (with the generous and enlightened help of Johnny Asia who is building and designing and basically walking me inch by inch through this whole, arduous process), and being that this is territory about as alien from my abstractly-funded brain function as it can be, I am currently limp in the noodle. (That seems a sadly appropriate visual.)
I did have fun, and I did learn a great deal. However, it is painfully obvious that the construction and contents and operational skills of the brain at fifty-four years of age have quite naturally declined in both their ability to confidently grasp new concepts as well as the skills required to carry out these new mandates.
Succinctly put, I am too friggin' old for this and my head hurts.....

I have spent the day uploading to download to scan-in an opt-out and image transfer to blogspot and bookmark to cut and paste and edit to delete. And for what? So that I can webhost to e-commerce to out-shine and reign-in to rise above and make my mark to ......you get the picture.

But there is something to this whole idea of keeping yourself current and remembering that because you ARE still here after all this time and because you HAVE made it through relatively sane and in spite of the fact that the odds are decidedly against launching an old dog into a new kennel, you STILL want to be HEARD and contribute something VIABLE.

I guess I'm not as tired as I thought.

Oh, and Todd Rundgren, who has had my musical heart and ridiculous power over my imagination since 1970, added me to his Facebook friends list tonight! Of course, I was probably accepted by a computer-generated program, but I choose to believe it was Todd himself who saw my profile and decided he absolutely could not go one minute more without me in his life and immediately added me to the other 2,785 of his closest facebook friends. I'm feeling pretty darn awesome right now. I think I'll make a malted and a notation in my diary encircled with little heart-shaped bubbles and go to bed. Oh yeah.....!

The First Glimpse of the Final Inning......

For what it's worth, I'm not sure what I'm doing. You'd think that I'd have a better handle on my life. After all, I've been at it for over fifty-four years now. But for as long as I can claim a conscious participation in life (which probably didn't REALLY occur until I was about thirty), I have been processing all incoming data and experiences to such an extent and with such enthusiasm that I forgot to make a plan for myself. I failed to forge a pact between my dreams and my reality and negotiate a compromise; the outcome of which would have then become: WHO I AM.

No, I was far too preoccupied trying to figure out what it all meant; everything "out there." All that tangle of life in various stages that seemed to wrap around me whether I invited it or not asking of me only that I deal with it. And that I did. But until very recently I dealt with it in such a random way that an outsider might have thought I had a personality disorder...or multiples of them.

The reason for this being that I had no core connection to or sense of who I was so that I addressed pretty much every situation the way I perceived I was 'supposed' to; almost as though I simply plucked instructions from a book. I think this confused my kids. It certainly confused me. Imagine not knowing from moment to moment whether you were Mohammed Ali or Mother Teresa? I would 'dance like a butterfly and sting like a bee' one minute then issue blessings replete with Holy Water and the Sign of The Cross the next!

And don't get me started on religion! I read Tarot cards at psychic fairs and still said three full Rosaries a day! Is it any wonder my three kids have serious conflicts about their upbringing?

The only real constant has been my art. I have continued to explore and grow and challenge myself in that regard, and I've seen changes there as well. Good changes. Changes that seem to have assimilated themselves from everything that was good about all the wisdom and people and lessons and beliefs and dreams I have absorbed into myself from "out there." My faith in God has also remained steadfast.

It seems that it is within these two distinct loyalties that I am beginning to ultimately consolidate into one person. Perhaps a person who, by today's frivolous and fickle standards, might be a bit long in the tooth and motley; but at least I am making another go of it. I'm doing what is normally associated with and reserved for the young. I am taking risks.

Next step: Create a website where I can sell my unique, whimsical, sacred, and diverse art and jewelry.

I'll keep you posted...............