Nakedness is blinding

Asking why appearances matter so much in the material world answers itself: because it IS the material world. Things are solids and shapes and we identify them by how they look.

In my world, where spirituality and creativity merge, I am much more interested in the inside. What composes someone? What is their interior life? Who is the self they don't often show?

Prickly self/paint and pastel on paper

My oldest is currently enamored with costume and fashion design and served as lead costumer for the high school play, for which she performed admirably. The fashion world seems superficial to me and yet, something she said yesterday has me thinking otherwise. "Mom, the thing I like about fashion is that it can be so individual and you get to express yourself." As an artist, I know that is true and surround myself with color and what I call the magic of accessories. I wore orange purposefully Wednesday to boost my energy and brighten my aura on a particularly tiring day.

One morning at the gym this week, I noticed the cute 40-something moms in their neon racer-back nylon shirts and matching shoes, hair looking perfect. Meanwhile, I was dressed in 10-year-old yoga pants, inherited gym shoes, a nondescript t-shirt and bedhead. I really don't care what I look like at the gym. I am there to work.

Apart from the pack of moms, I noticed a perky red-head with whom I had a long conversation about nine months ago. Our daughters attended elementary school together until the family moved. They changed schools, then districts for their daughter, who was struggling. When we spoke, she was excelling at an alternative school and I was lamenting the pressure my then-sophomore was experiencing. The mother opened my eyes to looking at other options for my daughter. She was a good listener and shared her wisdom generously.

So, I decided to interrupt, which is atypical for me, and let her know how much that had meant and that my daughter, now enrolled in a post-secondary program where she attends college classes part time, is blossoming. That the high school stressors were gone.

Her entire demeanor changed when I uttered those sentences. "I really needed to hear that today. I broke away from my friends, I am a rebel and independent, but mostly because I was furious today. Furious with how things are going for my daughter."

We spoke about 20 minutes and she shared how her daughter had missed her friends, so they tucked her back into a small suburban district known for its academics. And she'd sunk back into old anxiety patterns and was a mess. My heart broke. This teen struggles with anxiety, yet is cool as ice on the outside. The district doesn't get this and really is of little help. "They only see the strong exterior and assume she's like everybody else," the mother confessed ... though everybody else, who seems perfect on the exterior, is anything but inside.

We talked about my nephew, a very premature baby who has grown into a wonderful young adult and will always struggle with cerebral palsy. Had my sister not become his advocate, he would have been written off. In fifth grade, the district informed my sister they were placing him on the non-graduation track because, essentially, he impacted their test scores. She had a fit and asked what the point of finishing would be. Wouldn't that district love to know he's taking college classes ... thanks to mu sister's continued advocacy. He's a smart kid with processing difficulties.

This mom's other daughter shares some of those same issues. She's got her hands full.

"You're so open about all of this," I remarked. "I have to be real," she said.

Being real, that's exactly what I am looking for.  No pretenses, walls, fences or facades that project a perfect image. Because we're not.

Chronic pain has taught me that lesson and tomorrow I'll be co-leading an hour workshop on pain as teacher. Our goal is to provide safe, creative community where those struggling can share themselves and be open to what their physical pain may be signaling.

And I keep thinking about this beautiful teen who has learned the trick of pretending on the outside because most of the world isn't ready to deal with its realness. Nakedness can be blinding and awkward instead of real and beautiful.

• How do my insides and outsides mesh?
• When am I real?
• With whom can I be real?
• Am I comfortable being real with Spirit?
• What happens when I am?

as an artist,
I am attracted
by what something
looks like

as a mystic,
I want a closer
look, to
examine
the inside

for that is
where the center
of anything,
authenticity,
can be found

and it's
where God
resides

within

Listen to this post:

Baby in my pocket

Crazy, but I've been carrying a two-and-a-half inch, plastic baby doll around in my pocket for three days. I noticed her out of the corner of my eye, laying amid a pile of junk as I was coming up the basement steps.

"What are you doing with her?" my 14-year-old demanded. "I just found her."
"I dunno, just want to borrow her for a bit."
"Okay," she replied.

I knew full well what I was doing with her: keeping her as a token reminder to tend my inner child. I've been on a baby kick ever since an amazing one-year-old's birthday Sunday. I wrote about that last post (http://salonforthesoul.blogspot.com/2014/11/celebrating-miracleness.html)

So she's been tucked inside my Scottish, wool sweater pocket inside a nest of clean, but not crisp Kleenex. Periodically, I reach in and touch her, much like a worry stone. To reassure me that I haven't lost her.

Yesterday, it took my tears and a few confessions for my shaman to tell me that I am burned out and in need of nurturing. "That's why you have the baby." He, as always, was right.

I have felt so tired and overwhelmed this week at the mountain of work awaiting me as I organize a formal board of directors for Artsy Fartsy Saturdays, the arts exploration I launched for at-risk middle schoolers, file paperwork and wade through months awaiting the IRS 501c3 designation. Some days it seems like a super structure built just to keep the program going and growing. Anything but simple. I have so many lists of possible board prospects and a recently acquired knowledge of how to build a board thanks to an intense ArtsWave program I completed. Didn't help that an attorney who handles non-profits warned me at a seminar not to go that route if I don't have to. An incredible amount of work, he said.

More work. More work. More work.

That's all I have been seeing.

Yet that wasn't all I wanted to talk about at yesterday's session. I mentioned the new, local church that wants to help. I was really jazzed about that earlier in the week and found that meeting so affirming. Complete strangers who heard me talk, called my work "passionate, from the heart and making a huge difference." Enough so that they desire to partner with me in helping these families.

Some help. Some help. Some help.

And then there was the other thing I wanted to process with Gary: the close encounter with the snake I'd had in September, While hiking in my little five-finger yoga shoes, I suddenly felt something slimy brush against my ankle. Fortunately, I walked on before it registered. When I looked back, I noticed a rather large white snake coiled, rising up and hissing at me. On another path, a larger black snake quickly slithered across. When my college friends and I returned to the lodge and one went to take a show, she discovered a worm in the drain. Enough. I get the snake message.

One of the first things Gary asked me is if I had meditated and asked the snake what she wanted. Never occurred to me, though the idea was very appealing. He walked me through the ins and outs of snake medicine: that they shed their skin slowly and, in this transformation, are temporarily blinded. That their new skin is bright and alive and they are vulnerable. That they unhinge their jaws to eat large prey and only eat occasionally; they can swallow large amounts. And, then we addressed the kundalini energy. The feminine energy coiled at the base of the spine. 

He imagined I was low on that, so that became a focal point of the bodywork. While I took breaths in a circular manner, coached by Gary, and his trained hands eased my aching muscles, I began to see the snake. The big, white female snake. I normally don't talk during the bodywork portion of the session, but I told Gary that one of my favorite stuffed animals had been a white snake with red-heart eyes. I also giggled and offered that Harry Potter could talk to snakes. "You can, too," he said

Before I knew it, the snake told me her name, Charlotte. "That's the name of a spider and my spiritual friend," I shot back. "Mine, too," she said, batting her big eyes. Soon, Gary released me, I felt energy return and it was time to leave.

I must be insane talking to snakes named Charlotte and keeping mini babies in my pocket.

I've experienced a very low energy day. Perhaps because my off day revolved around the shamanic work, lunch with a friend who wanted to learn about blogging, shopping for a baby-shower gift, arriving home too late to take my youngest to theater practice, attending a two-hour evening Bible study, then picking my daughter up at 10:30 pm.

In the study, we have been slowly exploring Pauls' first letter to the Corinthians. Last night, I was reeled in by the idea that we are God's temple. God resides within and there's no need to go elsewhere. Ah, perhaps I'd better take care of that treasure. Which led me to the 23rd Psalm, which I had studied with my mother's Bible group Wednesday. What struck me was the passage about being made to lie down in green pastures: forced rest.

God may be telling me to take a break. But I trudged on anyway. Stumbled into the studio almost in tears of sheer weariness and prayed for nurturing and encouragement. The phone rang and it was my mother. She called to check in and tell me that a local club she belongs to wants to help Artsy Fartsy.

More help. More help. More help.

And she let me unload a little. Actually, a lot and I felt much better.

Nurturing. Nurturing. Nuturing.

I hung up and checked e-mail before sitting down to write this post. It was almost unfathomable what rolled in. Seventeen potential board candidates that I will meet next week at ArtsWave have an interest in serving Artsy Fartsy! A chemical engineer, attorney, digital marketing specialists, arts professor, financial analyst, HR managers, brand manager, small-business developer, a non-profit consultant, tax manager and a chemical engineer ... oh my.

Don't tell me God doesn't answer prayer.


• How do I take care of God's temple?
• What do I do when I am burned out?
• What signals help me see this?
• How does prayer work for me?
• How aware am I of it working?


she rolled around
in my pocket
a few days

was with me
the time
Charlotte
introduced herself

and I still
didn't get
it

there are
just some
things I can't
do

and are left
only to
one source

God does
answer
prayer

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