I awoke to the morning’s glow filtering through the blinds of my window. The suns lights, filtered and glistening upon the surface of the unfinished self-portrait sitting on the easel. Believe it or not, this was my first attempt. A dear & beloved artist companion stated something that pierced the veil of my inner world. He offered a spiral glance connecting spirit and self through reflective painting. If we are brave to paint person, then the journey will be profound. The process is to see through self-created facade & come face to face with clarity, the truth of our existence, taking great courage to see self so clearly & even more strength to paint it. As I gazed at the reflection on the canvas of somewhat similarity, I realized that I only painted a sense of awe and subtle confidence in expression. The rest, well, I don’t know whom I was painting. I put the painting away.
That afternoon I walked down to the County parade with the kids. We moved back to my hometown a few months prior, and I wanted my children to enjoy this annual community event. I haven’t been to one since I was in High School & was one of the cheerleaders dancing with pompoms down the street to the pounding drum line of the Warriors Marching Band. Tractors were pulling floats & children scrambling around the curb waiting for parade participants to throw candy. As parade participants walk by, a young gal with bright pink hair and a tiara handed me a newspaper. In huge letters on the front-page “BRIDGE COLLAPSE A MYSTERY.”
How ironic it seems that the timing of events impact others more or less on a variety of levels as it serves to reason to the majority no connection as at all. Alternatively, is there?
The 1st thought to arise from the swirl of emotion within “ Returning Home.” I posted a blog a while back that mentioned that I was homeless for a short period in 1989 between leaving Minneapolis College of Art & Design and returning to Nebraska. Well, it was under that bridge in Minneapolis that I sought shelter.
As I sat on the curb that parade day, my spirit and mind submerged in memories forgotten those many years ago. I thought, as most do, that I had already let it go. However, apparently, my Spirit wasn’t finished with this experience. A profound sense of returning home swelled within me. A surreal moment unfolded while watching the small town parade gliding down the main street. Images moving in slow motion as my mind, heart, body & spirit aligned as I realized that I was supposed to remember not for me, but for a kind soul who texted me a few moments later, that he who had found himself homeless in a strange place miles from home, would be coming back to Nebraska.
My heart reached out, through the ethereal time & space. The beautiful, creative soul reached out to me, despite his darkest of nights. He extended his hand and afforded me the generosity of his heart, time & wisdom when life offered him only small moments of joy on the streets. After my friend had arrived in Arizona, he arranged for me to receive his easel. This heartfelt gift, initiations spark in the creative processes and picking up my brushes despite the visual deterioration from my MS.
Then on this Parade day, a day of circular healing energy, my dearest of companions was no longer on the streets and would be returning not only to Nebraska but also to himself to continue his healing process. Life has a way of showing us the awe of the journey & provides us with the confidence, stepping forward, and that every journey does indeed return us home. We have to slow our rhythm down, see clearly & accept our existence of being creative spirits in a constant process of growth in our physical forms, or a self-portrait if you’re brave. I am brave.