For the troubled hearts

A friend asked yesterday if I'd been out of town -- because she noticed I'd been posting Rumi poems all week, which I often do when I'm on the road. But no, I haven't been away.  I've been processing.  A dear friend had a heart attack on Monday.  He survived -- in fact, he's doing well: he's young, and fit, lives a healthy active life... He'll be fine.  So why have I been struggling with the blog?

It's not that it's a wake-up call, exactly.  It's more than my coping mechanisms are feeling overwhelmed: this is merely the latest in "a series of unfortunate events," most of which have not directly affected me.  But each has been a reminder of vulnerability,  of the unpredictability of life.  And every time I tried to write about that, it started to sound like whining -- and so I'd retreat into Rumi.  Rumi is my safe place.  It's kind of like nesting: I wrap the words around me and breathe, trying to still the anxious protective urges fluttering within; trying to find them a way to express themselves without getting too irrational.

But even though I haven't been blogging, I'm still painting.  And I'm surprised (though perhaps I shouldn't be) to see what emerges. The previous painting was clearly (if totally unintended) a response to the tornado in Oklahoma.  And this one... well... all I can say is -- when I look at it, I see troubled hearts.  So -- for all the troubled hearts in the world: this one's for you.