Amidst all the tragedy of the last 24 hours, my heart was lifted today with a brief moment of sunshine. May all beings find peace amidst the pain, today & always.
Over Thanksgiving weekend, I did a lot of painting. For most of Friday and Sunday, I painted our living room, kitchen, and bathroom, and on Saturday I spent 6 hours scraping wallpaper. I had a list of other things I needed to do over the long weekend, but I din’t get to most of them. Normally, I’d be stressed about this, but there was something magical that weekend about the work I did. There’s the obvious reward of a job well done, a finished product that I really liked. Our colors did turn out really well–we couldn’t be happier. But there was something deeper in this experience.
On Saturday morning, I had a rear-end collision that was my fault. The other person and I were fine, but my van was pretty messed up. I started on Saturday scraping the wallpaper simply because I wanted to be able to paint the room on Sunday. I wasn’t sure if it was even possible for me to finish the job by myself. But as I scraped,, I realized I was releasing some good energy, pent up frustration over the van. It gave me strength and motivation to continue. As I worked, the energy of frustration was replaced by the energy of accomplishment, creation, and transformation. The more I scraped, the more transformed the room became. Not pretty yet; very ugly actually, with various clashing shades of paint throughout. But right before my eyes, the room was changing, and it was changing because of ME, because of my power, my creative influence.
In addition, this job was manual, experiential. I was an active participant, physically making this transformation possible. As the hours wore on and I should’ve become more tired, I instead became more energized, relishing in the freedom and creativity of my manual labor, the joy of unbridled creative expression on a very large canvas. Though it was just paint and wallpaper, I effected a change — to the rooms bright with new color and to the people who encounter them. Some may love the color, admire the work. Others may point out the errors, be repelled by the shade. But either way, they are affected, and my job as Creator is done.
Poem 2 in the series…
It’s taken so long to get words on paper
The words come out
But they’re jumbled, messy
Thoughts form in my heart but get stuck in my mind
Swirling around, confusing and irritating my soul
Writing is my refuge, my soul’s escape
But my muse is fickle and dependent on an unhurried, uncluttered mind
So much life to live in only short spurts of time
The bending of time doesn’t happen so frequently
When I don’t give life over to Spirit.
I’ve tried to take control, to let earthly concerns dictate my heavenly path.
Control is the enemy of the soul;
It calls forth the ego, which reminds me where I’ve gone wrong,
Numbing my excitement for life
I wrote a series of poems over the last few days. They came in fits & spurts and I tried to make them all into one, but in the end, they wanted to be 3 poems. I’m not even sure that they’re each complete, but nevertheless here is the first in the series.
It’s like I woke up one day to realize
I’m a priest working in a brothel
I don’t know how this came to be
But I do know that I’m the one I’ve been pimping out
The word “trapped” lingers in my mind
A reminder that a lifetime of decisions brought me here
Sometimes it seems it will be a lifetime before I redirect the course
But it can’t be — time is short to follow the path
The sense of urgency is strong