Await The Wind [on Two Artists Tuesday]

windblown flags copy

when the wind is perfect,
the sail just needs to open and the world is full of beauty.
Today is such a day. ~ (a slice of) On A Day by Rumi

Skip wrote. His sail is open and he is full of the beauty of this world. It’s all around, the sounds, the smells, the tastes, the color and movement. Basking in the early fall sunshine.

He’s been painting regularly and I teased him: the gift of painting is the practice in seeing. Only I wasn’t teasing. It’s true. Paint everyday and something happens. Seeing is not a passive act, it is an active engagement. A relationship that opens awareness both subtle and profound.

His email stopped me in my rush to get through the day. Getting through life requires a closed sail, dulled senses. I dropped my list and imagined importance and went outside. I haven’t touched my brushes in weeks. Skip asked if I’d taken my painting materials to the island. I did but never went near them. “Too much to do,” I kept telling myself.

I told Horatio that I felt empty. The island took a lot. NO-ART-IN-ME. He smiled and assured me that the wind will return. My sail will open again.

Brushes or not, as Skip reminded me, the world is full of beauty. Today.

 

read Kerri’s blog post about WIND

 

windyHHwebsite box copy

Invite Them In

When Kerri read this poem I almost laughed. She was leading the Taize service and had chosen this poem specifically for me to hear. I had, all day, decided to have a very very hard day. In retrospect, nothing happened that was necessarily overwhelming. A tornado did not blow my house down. My paintings did not burn in a hill fire. All of the people I love survived the day, in fact, most thrived! My challenges were imaginary. They were walls of my own creation!

I chose frustration. I danced with disappointment. And then I got angry at myself for being frustrated. It was a feedback loop of self-incrimination. I told myself that I’d lost a perfectly beautiful day in my dedication to my mania. In the middle of my dark storm, Kerri introduced this poem. Enjoy it. Remember it the next time you choose to have a very very hard day.

The Guest House by Rumi

This being human is a guest house                                                                                               Every morning a new arrival.                                                                                                                 A joy, a depression, a meanness                                                                                                   Some momentary awareness comes                                                                                                 As an unexpected visitor.

Treat each guest honorably.                                                                                                                 He may be clearing you out                                                                                                                 For some new delight.

The dark thought, the shame, the malice,                                                                                       Meet them at the door laughing                                                                                                           And invite them in.

Be grateful for whoever comes                                                                                                     Because each has been sent                                                                                                                    As a guide from beyond.

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