To The Artist For Mother's Day

There are moments of anguish that come and that I sense so deeply that they leave me feeling, in every fibre of my being, that I wont make it through the day.

This all encompassing oppression comes in a wave unseen, unheard and devastatingly accurate every time. It knows exactly where I am at every minute of every day and it hits with with a quality that seems akin to vengeance.

It feels violent and angry with me.

Do all women feel it?

It comes when I have dishes to do and laundry piling up. No one here laughing with me. No one here asking for me. No muses.

It comes as the vacuum gets pulled out, every two days. It comes when I am choking on the dust in the air. It comes with the floor mopping and dish stacking. Spring cleaning is a deadly time. 

It comes with room re-arranging, ( for the 50th or 51st time in 25 years ) no one really cares about. It comes with the re design of the dining room table no one really looks at or even cares to sit around any more.

It comes with the constant bending over and picking up everyone else's belongs..the things they cant lose, need and must have.

It is so insidious as to have snuck into the garden while I am there.

Now it comes when I rake the leaves in the spring, when I carefully plan out the flowers and ‘pretties’ for the deck, the pool area, the cute little bar table and chairs.

It comes even tho I loath its presence. Who would go somewhere knowing they are loathed, I ask you??

The muses, they played with me. We sang all the time. We danced every day. I painted pictures for our house when we couldn't afford the store versions. I made the muses birthday shirts, and great parties. Held social gatherings, hosted weekly play dates, ran them to and fro and cheered!!!! Oh brother…I cheered and cheered…in my sleep I cheered them on…all of them, hubby too. I cheered my little heart away it seems.

I play the piano a little. I play the harp , a little. I play the guitar, I sing. I carve. I ride a motorcycle. I am a Reiki Master, a reflexologist, a budding writer, and I hope, very soon now, a budding painter…a wise woman at times. I feel the presence of Angels and Ascended Masters, Spiritual Guides, Ancient Ones, and I live with my heart wide open to the True Creator of this, my Life. 

I see my mother now. There she is before me. Fabulous singer, excellent piano player, baker of the most marvelous pastry.. a painter of portraits. A lover of all beauty. Of colors. Of textures. Of smells and feelings. An Empath and seer. Healer, friend to the elderly, caregiver. A woman terrified to own her gifts for fear of rejection on many levels.

She desperately wanted to let go and abandon herself to the creative process driving her. I understand that so clearly now. To live it out, listening intently to the voice that was for her only. To live outside of the constant judgment. To live outside of the expectations to conform, outside the four walls of a very plain and unadorned box. (Well, except for what she could adorn it with in her desperation ) 

She wanted to live HER life FIRST. Not waiting for the others, not beholden to the money maker, not waiting for acknowledgement or approval… not thought to be broken when grieving the absence of many of her own ( would have been ) stellar choices, accomplishments, unsung songs, unpainted and yet exquisite pieces of her art. Not sitting in silence in front of the television thirsting for a life every night.

She made it through every day for 90 years. But she had shut down way before that. Shut every door to the Creators expansive world except inner dialogue; prayer with Divine One. A constant effort to remain in that space of beauty took every ounce of her effort for her last 15 years.

There is something in an artist's soul. Deep and mighty, dark and so powerful. It must be present to be an artist of depth, a being of vivd colors, exciting textures, overwhelming smells, heart breaking stories. A Soul of life altering visions and mysterious wisdoms. A depth so vast and so energetic that with one touch she can heal or destroy. One word slashes or rebuilds. This, this is an artist’s existence. This is all we have ever known. This is what we long to abandon ourselves to. This is ecstasy. All of it. All of it. All of it. 

Sigh

You may never understand me…but today in that wave of energy that moves me ever forward, angry and taking me to task that I would ever want or entertain the idea of remaining still...

today I am free from that …

as I re connect in an amazing moment of understanding…

to
my
Mother.

Happy Mothers Day, Dorothy L. ( Skelton ) Schmidt, I think I am finally getting to know you. 

As We Grow: Opening To The Wisdom In All

Last year at about this time I took a retreat…all alone. Many wonderful things were shown to me and I received many magical gifts and lived many magical moments.

On my first day, a Grandfather Native American Spirit Guide came to me. I saw him standing, looking out over the red rocks as I drove around a corner. He introduced himself as “Big Paw”

There is much to tell around His presence with me, but yesterday one beautiful incident happened that I want to share here today.

When Big Paw accompanied me home, last April, 2013, he came as a Great Protector of my small child within, my innocence that deserves to live on. My innocence, my “little One” = “Desert Flower” appeared with a Grandmother shortly after my return home. In my minds eye I see them out in my yard where my fire pit is, in a small “house” of oak trees. Grandmother always sitting next to Desert Flower.. At first I really did not understand Grandmother and Dessert Flowers presence. I would “look out” to the fire pit (East) and there they would be…silent…not talking with me as Big Paw would. Just…allowing me to see them.

Then one day I looked out and not only were they a smidge closer to me but, Dessert Flower looked a bit older. I thought it odd. When I finally asked Big Paw about it, he brought me to the realization that Desert Flower was me. Thats all the information I got.

Then about 8 months ago I realized that Desert Flower had grown to adolescence and was closer still. So again I asked Big Paw what was happening and it came to me that every time I had allowed healing and integration for my wee self, my “Little One” ( as I like to call her ) she “grew” and she was getting closer to me. At that time I was also given to understand that when all was finally well for Little One she would stand in front of me, turn around to face the same direction as me, and step into me again…becoming more wholly me.

It has been so beautiful to watch. I have not done a thing to MAKE her grow, but have become aware of the healing taking place and how that is happening in all its, seemingly, little bits.

Not long ago she turned and we united again…she slipped beautifully into place and is so happy within as am I, her loving sister, her adoring mother….Her.

When on solo retreat this last two weeks, I again had an accelerated, beautiful time and many beautiful things happened…some easy, some very, very hard to look upon and go through.

One of the easier and most magical moments came in the plane while flying home. I was reading a beautiful and simple book called “ The Spirit of Indian Women” edited by Judith Fitzgerald and Michael O. Fitzgerald. As I turned to page 41 this is what I read ( keeping in mind i am 55 and am considered now a “Changing Woman”…and the exclamation mark is mine)

“When a Changing Woman gets to be a certain old age, she goes walking towards the east (!). After a while she sees herself in the distance looking like a young girl walking toward her. They both walk until they come together and after there is only one. She is like a young girl again” ( Apache Wisdom)

I bow with deep gratitude and respect To Divine Creator. I am Grateful for the strength to walk my path, even when others may not understand it, ridicule it and even fear it, thinking I am the one who is "lost"....for those who do, I gently invite you to Trust Divine One, Great Spirit, God...and let go. Shanti, Shanti, Shanti...Om, Peace and Amen.