What you really love

These balloons drifted up onto our beach a few days ago, and though I suspect they were from a child's birthday party, they seem an appropriate greeting for a Valentine's Day post.

I get that Valentine's Day is supposed to be an exciting opportunity to express love for our dear ones, but so often this image seems closer to the truth -- our inflated dreams of love so often wither with time and the pressure of reality.

Perhaps that's because the day becomes -- like Christmas -- all tangled up with expectations for what we hope to get rather than what we long to give?  I hesitate to go down that road, though, because it seems more like an accusation designed to make us feel guilty for longing.

Perhaps instead we should look behind the longing: what is it we really wish for?  What is that pull to completion that propels our hunger for love?  While looking for thoughts on love yesterday, I found this lovely Rumi quote that seems to cut to the heart of this tension:

Let yourself be silently drawn
by the stronger pull
of what you really love.

So that's something to dream about today as you find yourself surrounded by thoughts of pink, and sweets, and hearts and flowers -- what is it you really love?

The Body a Tree

The body a tree,
God a wind.
When He moves me
like this, like this,

angels bump heads with each other
gathering beneath my cheeks,

holding their wine barrels,
catching the brilliant tear,
pearl rain.

Love, a tree.  
When it moves us like this,
How can our soul's limbs not touch?

Hafiz -- A Year with Hafiz

Door to the Divine

Where is the Door?

Where is the door to God?
In the sound of a barking dog.

In the ring of a hammer, 
in a drop of rain, 
in the face of everyone,
everyone I see.

Where is the door 
to the divine tavern? 
Yes, in all we can behold.

-- Hafiz, A Year with Hafiz

Collective visions

This first photo is the headshot of me that's posted in the lobby of the theater for our production of Clare Booth Luce's delicious 30's play, The Women, which opened last night to a full house and much acclaim.  (I have to say -- we were REALLY funny!)

Clearly some massive airbrushing has occurred, because the second photo is a far more accurate rendition of what my skin looked like to me in the mirror, just before I began removing my makeup.  Ugh -- no WONDER my husband hates seeing me in makeup!  And I can't imagine how my friends were able to sit across from me at the Pub after the show and chat normally -- what was I THINKING to go out in public looking like that!

And now I realize this must be a continuation of yesterday's post, about being seen for who we are.  From the way they talked with me -- so open and easy -- I'd have to guess my friends have no attachment to my external appearance: they were interacting with the person that lies beneath the makeup and the skin.  Which is lovely, and very endearing.

On a probably unrelated note (although perhaps it will become clearer as I write!) my reading in Trust the Process this morning has brought me to a chapter on Vision.  Which is, of course, all about what we see, or are capable of seeing...  And there were two passages I particularly wanted to share with you here:

"In my experience there has rarely been an absolute determination that "I should have done this rather than that" because whatever I have done shapes what I am at this particular point in time.  I might regret something I did in the past, but some form of life is inevitably born from it, something that would not otherwise exist.  This is the way of  creation."

and this..."God leads through the process of creation.  A force catches my attention, and I listen to what attracts me.  The vision is what calls, what touches us. It is an ongoing movement, a process.  It moves through us.  In order to receive the vision, we learn how to sit, watch, and receive.  It wants to be known...


The vision is a sense of what can be, and the visionary has a confidence that it will happen together with a willingness to commit everything to the idea.  Visions are a sense of possibility and never rigid scripts.  They grow from a person's longing and interactions with the world.  The person who serves the vision always lives for something other than the self.  Whenever personal gains are paramount, the vision withers."

I was trying to explain this to the young woman who partners me in my scene last night.  She was anxious, because there were some last minute changes preparing for the show (she got a new costume for the final scene, and someone had left the hot rollers on all night so they burned out, and  she had to create her hairstyle with a borrowed curling iron) and it threw her energy levels off.  I told her we were just channels for this entertainment that is being put on through us, and to just relax and let the scene happen through her.

Thinking about it now, maybe the play itself is a vision, a collective vision, born of Luce's writing, and Steven's directing, and Barbara's costumes, the theater's desire to entertain, and all of our delight in acting.  In such cases getting tangled in our personal desires for acclaim can only get in the way of the ultimate goal: we are a team, supporting one another, each willing to step in and cover for the other in the event of forgotten lines or missed cues.

Which is the heart of the joy I find when I do theater: it's that sense of community and support.  You don't get a lot of that working alone as an artist in a studio...
 ---------------

PS: A friend just sent me a marvelous quote that's so relevant to today's topic:

"When I speak about playing our role within a design, what I'm talking about is finding a way to walk in harmony with the events of the day, knowing that these occurrences--all of them, no matter what they are--are not meant to oppose you, but to compose you. That is, not to tear you apart, but to put you together." 

-- from Neale Donald Walsch

Internal and external critics

My husband was in charge of setting up the computer/ projector connection for my photography talk the other night.  And as we were driving in he was giving me tips about engaging the audience, which I found rather amusing.

And then, after the show was over, he complimented me on my performance, clearly indicating that he was surprised it went so well.

All of which is odd, because I have been giving sermons and presentations to groups since I was in my 20's, did it extensively in my last job, and did it for almost every class session while I was enrolled in Antioch's graduate program in Organizational Dynamics last year.  Which means I've been doing increasingly more of this for almost 40 years -- and yet he was surprised to discover that I do it well.

How is it that you can be married to someone and not know what their gifts are?

Ah well -- we haven't actually worked together in the same organization since shortly after we married, so I suppose he just never gets to see that side of me... although he did watch me give that presentation at Seattle U last year... 

It's curious, that there is this longing in each of us to be seen, to be visible, to be heard, to be appreciated. And of course we artistic types seem to have that longing in spades.  And if I am somewhat invisible at home, perhaps that's what drives me to get involved in plays like the one that's opening tonight.  Some part of me is anxious -- two of my dearest humans, who are also very strong theater critics, will be coming tonight.  But another part of me trusts that if I do well they will see and appreciate that.  And any criticism will be constructive -- and helpful; they know and love me too much to let me get away with anything less than the best.

What does any of this have to do with this picture?  Perhaps it's just that the picture, like my talk the other night, feels... right.  It may not be perfect, but I like knowing I can look at it and say it was good: I did the best I could given what I know and what I had to work with.  And in the end, if my own internal critic is pleased, whatever the rest of the world has to say will not devastate me, but only offer me new ways to grow.  And that's a very nice place to be.

A little peace and calm

Last night I gave a talk to our local camera club about my artistic adventures in the world of photography.  One of the slides in my powerpoint deck showed the sorts of images I used to do, and one displayed more contemporary images.

So that was in my head this morning when I found myself with a half hour to spend between physical therapy and my weekly Thursday morning coffee date.  It was raining lightly, but I had brought my camera into town with me, just in case, so I headed down to the Waterfront Park shared dock -- where I've taken MANY MANY pictures over the ten years I've lived on this island.

I was partly doing that to kill time.  But partly, also, because I've been so frustrated trying to explore and tackle something new.  I thought perhaps if I went back to the familiar it would at least feed my soul (being around the waterfront always does that).  And I had learned, developing the presentation, that all my work seems to feed on what went before: maybe I needed to stop advancing and just retreat for a while.

This is one of the results.  Is it informed in any way by the time that has elapsed since I last shot boats at the waterfront?  I don't think so.  But it IS a lovely calm photo.  Perhaps that's all I need right now; a little peace and calm...

Grab the brass ring

These are two of the magnificent bronze doors that open into our state capital building in Olympia.  To me they symbolize the magnificence of my friend's new career as a legislative aid and serve as a fitting tribute to all the exciting changes in her life.

I suspect there are doors opening everywhere for all of us, much of the time.  Just because they're not always quite this spectacular, that doesn't mean there isn't a wonderful new opportunity waiting on the other side.  But it's not enough to admire the doors: you really need to grab that brass ring and pull...

But that's all I have time to say today; gotta run.  I'm giving a presentation at the camera club tonight AND it's final dress rehearsal before our play opens, so I'm doing my best to be in two places at once. Without LITERALLY breaking a leg!