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The energy in the house is becoming very uncomfortable.
Dad’s come home drunk again and Mom’s
piercing silence, shattered with abrupt bursts of
sarcasm, renders them both to be unbearable. I invisibly
remove myself from the kitchen table and go into
my bedroom where my ritual begins. I quietly drag
the old stepstool into my small closet and climb
upon it; this boosts me up high enough to reach
the pull cord that will illuminate the sacred space
I have secretly created. With the light now on,
I carefully step back down upon the floor, close
the door and separate some hanging clothes. My eyes
eagerly search the far corner spot beside my shoes
where my hidden tools of escape are lying in wait
for me.
Ahhhh…There they are. The mere sight of them
is such a comfort. A box of broken crayons, some
pencils and a diverse collection of any kind of
paper I can possibly find. I make space for myself
to work and then pick the appropriate paper I need.
From there my intuition guides me in creating free-form
expression with the limited palette of succulent
colors I have now strewn before me. All the noise
stops, there is no longer any chaos. I have entered
the world of my true self where there are no limitations.
It was and still remains my survival; and it works.
This haven that I manifested for myself was so secret,
that even to this very day, no one in my family
can remember me doing this.
So began my passion for creating over 40 years
ago. Today, I no longer have to physically go into
the closet to create and some of my tools have changed,
but the world that I entered as a very young child
is as alive as ever. It is there, in this inner
world, that the answers to my life’s most
complex questions are placed before me; however,
the understanding is not in linear terms, it is
more like a perplexing puzzle with each drawing
or painting that I am led to bring into fruition
an intricate part. In order to manifest the solution,
the puzzle must be completed with all the interconnecting
pieces intact. I am finally learning that this is
a life long process and until I willingly and devotedly
surrender to the calling, the visions will unceasingly
haunt me. I will forever remain in my own chaos
caused by not showing up. I must bring back the
faith and trust that I had as a child.
Even knowing this so intensely, showing up everyday
remains a challenge. An on going battle rages within
and distractions become abundant. They seem to appear
before me in order to test my commitment and passion
to my soul’s undertaking. Many days I fail.
I am tired. My marriage of 22 years ended a year
ago. I am left with my beloved little island house,
enormous bills, and 5 special-need animals in my
care. I have no way to make enough income to support
all of this. Even if I wanted to and could work
a regular job, there are only a very few low paying
ones available in this area. I have been left with
no choice but to pursue my art. Never have I been
so frightened. Over this fragile year of adjusting
to my new life, I regretfully succumbed to my fear
and supplemented my livelihood with my credit cards
and they are now almost maxed out. Spirit has me
cornered and I am on my knees.
When the intense fear overtakes me, I freeze; become
almost paralyzed and end up spending most of my
days cleaning, feeding and walking my beloved pets.
The responsibility for their care is never-ending.
In somewhat of a self-inflicted trance, I drag out
my daily chores for hours on end each day and use
them as a crutch to not to show up at my easel.
It is denial of facing my self. Because of this,
time escapes me and my life’s calling to create
takes a back seat. My world crumbles and falls apart;
emotions ride in turbulent waves of anger, sadness,
and confusion that intermingle mysteriously between
layers of happiness, fleeting relief, and a new
found freedom. It is overwhelming at times.
So many days I feel like I am going insane. Perhaps
that would be an easier path than the one I am actually
traveling upon. Especially during these desperate
times, I cannot fathom the reasons why entering
the “closet” of my youth, where creating
was just as crucial and natural as breathing and
eating, becomes a constant struggle. This is still
survival at its utmost; nothing in that sense has
changed. Instead of dealing with alcoholism and
sarcasm, I carry the passion of my soul’s
calling and pitch it against the financial responsibilities
of being in human form and existing in this material
world on my own. Why do I end up out in right field
when I need to make a home run?
Perhaps it is a belief; my innate beliefs of the
limitations I choose to live by that aren’t
even real. They overtake my sensibility and direct
my creative life path on a treacherous expedition
of scaling all around the summit of the true hidden
landscape of my soul, but never allowing entrance
to it. When I used to cross the threshold of the
closet of my youth, not once did I doubt that the
healing elixir I needed would be there. I had no
reason to. The comforting colors and papers, as
well as the aroma of waxen crayons and leaded pencils
that amazing produced the images appearing before
my eyes, always kept me safe. Never had they failed
me. So why do I doubt them now? Those restorative
images still live within me and relentlessly wait
to be born. By not allowing their birth, I put myself
in a perpetual state of labor with my offspring
begging and aching to be born, as I stubbornly fight
an inner, imaginary battle to keep them imprisoned
behind the thin veiled wall of taking their first
breath. It is no wonder I am exhausted.
Perhaps I spend too much time trying to consciously
understand what happened in my life to cause this
block to persist. If I just allow myself to enter
the space, the answers will be provided as they
always are. It is only I that stops the creative
process and it is only I that will ever be able
to face it head on and conquer the fears that bind
me. No one else can do this for me. No matter what
is going on in my life, I must show up, get out
of the way and let spirit guide me on my quest.
No more excuses. No more crutches.
The decisions we make help to create our paths
to our futures. Life forever changes. These are
the only things that I really do know. People and
animals that we love in our lives come and go. Finances
rise and fall. Life itself has its own agendas and
will do what it must whether I kick and fight or
surrender. The energy I exert in response to life
is mine alone to choose. So why must I fear any
longer the things that are beyond my control? We
all have such a precious gift to share with each
other and ourselves. The life of every living cell
depends on our uniqueness and the sharing of our
visions.
So today I make a vow to myself. I will get up
off of my knees and brush off the dirt. I will love
my animals, my home and the challenging changes
in my life that provide my growth. I will be grateful
for all that I have and accept the things I do not
like, cannot change nor understand, and find beauty
and grace in them. I will remember that the journey’s
struggle is just as important as the goal.
The closet door is once again beckoning my presence.
Deep faith has returned to me as I confidently turn
the knob that holds the unknown darkness, put on
the light, take a deep breath and enter my self.
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