Thursday, June 23, 2011

"I would like to step out of my heart"

Rob's painting exhibition was on the weekend, and it rained and rained, which was perfect somehow for an art show. It was a wonderful afternoon, we felt so blessed by all the people that came out. He's been showing at this particular gallery for 26 years and I do think it was his best to date.  Which goes to show that if you work at something, painting in a realistic mode say, nearly every day for 26 years you're bound to get pretty good.

Well, after the show we were wined and dined.  It was the perfect ending to a lovely and successful weekend.  By successful I don't just mean that he sold many of the paintings.  Not all, but many.  But that so many people came out and admired and were so excited by what they saw.  That part was truly thrilling.

I can't believe how thoroughly exhausted I still am, days later. Drained. The other great thing about the rain is that the mint I planted this year has gone quite mad, and I've been enjoying beautiful cups of tea in my window seat.  Contemplating and drinking in the dewy green world and generally talking myself into the fact that I can relax for a few minutes and not worry.  It's impossible to dream when one is filled with this constant worry.  And for me dreaming is so deeply connected to writing.  In a certain way, there's still a lot to worry about, but I'm going to try and put it aside for a while and live in happy denial while staying mildly aware that now the whole cycle begins again.

I found this beautiful poem by Brian Patten on The Poetry Archive which begins: "You ask for a poem / I offer you a blade of grass."

I've been taking extra long walks with the dog, trying to figure out what's next for to strike a balance once again, how to get centered again.  Have been listening to L. Cohen. Letting his lines repeat in my head, "Forget your perfect offering, There is a crack in everything, That's how the light gets in."

And still more Rilke, "I would like to step out of my heart / and go walking beneath the enormous sky."

I'm feeling fortunate that I've had a couple of days to listen to birds and music and watch the grass dry and grow.  I've been thinking about listening too.  How important that is.  This afternoon, once all my work is done I'm reserving a little time out in the backyard to listen to the sounds of the universe.  

Have you read Brenda Ueland?  I keep coming back to this essay of hers on listening, where she says, "Now this little creative fountain is in us all. It is the spirit, or the intelligence, or the imagination - whatever you want to call it. If you are very tired, strained, have no solitude, run too many errands, talk to too many people, drink too many cocktails, this little fountain is muddied over and covered with a lot of debris. The result is you stop living from the center, the creative fountain, and you live from the periphery, from externals. That is, you go along on mere willpower without imagination."

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