Leaving What Is Familiar

I am on a path of leaving what is familiar. In February the open road will stretch out before me, beckoning to places beyond the horizon. I don’t know where I will begin, but trust the way will be shown. My possessions will be a thing of the past and hopefully, I will only be carrying essentials.
Occasionally now, common places can remind me of goodness that will be left behind. On Thanksgiving day, I joined Sarah and Jean at our house for a relaxed afternoon, then dinner. The winter is coming, and as it became dark outside, while Jean was in the kitchen, she asked me to build a fire in the fireplace. After a little blaze was begun, I made several trips outdoors, gathering more wood. Coming into the warm indoors, seeing dancing flames in the hearth, and recognizing my lovely household of so many years, it suddenly struck me how good a home can be and why people are attached to their dwelling place. Then I thought with a hint of sad nostalgia of my coming homelessness and transition. Then again, it is okay; I am choosing it.
For years I have had a feeling that this world is only a place along the way—somewhere I am passing through. My spirit will always be restless here because as beautiful as it is, it also is the place of death. Beyond this material place, in the spiritual realm clear of space and time, where day never becomes night, deathless, sublime, and indescribable, awaits the true home I am destined for.

Tuned Into Mystery

Recently, when I have mentioned to friends my intention to sell my possessions and become a homeless planetary wanderer, several have suggested that I am having a midlife crisis. Their idea is new to me, but sometimes others see us more objectively than we see ourselves, so I have thought about it. It is true that I will be divorced in a week or two, and I have felt unsettled for a couple years. My teenage daughter, Naomi, died in 1999 and there is no getting over it. What I have asked is, am I having some kind of existential crisis that is triggering tumultuous events around me?
The thing is, I feel I am in a broad spiritual current that is flowing into a fathomless sea. Of course I am going to feel somewhat lost because I realize how little control I have. I am not feeling grounded in answers, but this is okay. As I become more tuned into mystery, I don’t even want to presume to have answers—all I want is discoveries. As an artist, I thrive on surprise and revelation. For someone in need of security, I might not be the best partner. Anyway, I look forward to diving into the deep end. After diving into shallow waters and hurting my neck, I know I must go a different way. At this time, I am letting go of physical attachments. In ways, I am following in Naomi’s footsteps.

Embracing Life

I am in Chicago, the place Carl Sandburg called “Stormy, husky, brawling . . . city of the big shoulders.” November 11 marked my daughter Sarah’s 21st birthday. She is a student of dance at Columbia College here. It is a pleasure to see Sarah so eagerly embracing life, confident and happy in her surroundings. Now that she celebrates another birthday, she admits to being especially happy because she can go to any nightclub she wants. Indeed, she and two friends marked the occasion by making merry until 4 AM, dancing in a downtown club formerly off-limits.
Chicago is the place of my birth, and whenever I arrive, it is as if I hear a familiar echo of a long forgotten song. As I walk the streets, something comes up through the earth, and reminds me of the matrix from where I came into the world. I like the strength of this city. The skyscrapers are enormous; world renowned feats of architecture.
By day the skyscraper looms in the smoke and sun and has a soul. Prairie and valley, streets of the city, pour people into it and they mingle among its twenty floors and are poured out again back to the streets, prairies and valleys. It is the men and women, boys and girls so poured in and out all day that give the building a soul of dreams and thoughts and memories. From Skyscraper, by Carl Sandburg

Sunday Times and Dry Leaves

The morning light pushed through the window blinds next to my bed, gently prodding me to arise. But it was not as if I heard bugles blaring, since the sun was still low on the horizon. I lingered and dozed a few more minutes. The autumn air felt nippy, and my covers warm. These days, my first waking sensation upon leaving the carefree realm of dreams, is feeling slightly oppressed by the burden of waking life. Saying a little prayer for assistance, within four minutes I had jumped up, dressed, combed my hair and shot out the front door. This is the first morning of putting on gloves and a coat. Unlocking my bike from the trashcan on the front porch, I pedaled to a popular local coffee shop, and sat down for my Sunday morning ritual of coffee and reading the New York Times. The Sunday Times is so beefed up, I bring a backpack with me to carry it home. It provides a week of reading.
I must say, the air is wonderful . . . I like the sound of dry leaves crunching underfoot.

Molting

A feeling is growing inside of me to shed what is familiar, and make a major leap into the unknown. It is an anticipation of growth that I liken to the process of molting, which is part of the life cycle of certain species, like snakes. They are amazingly agile creatures that can bend themselves into concentric circles. Their skin is extremely elastic, although covered with protecting scales. As snakes grow, the tough scales become constricting and must be shed to allow supple movement. A new skin grows under the old, and when it is time, the snake scrapes the edges of its mouth against a hard surface, such as a rock, until the outer layer begins to fold back around its head. It continues scraping and crawling until it is completely free of the dead skin. Amazingly, even a snake’s eyes have scales that come off during molting! Did you know that snakes never stop growing until death?
Imagine lifting scales from eyes and seeing afresh.
I can feel my own molting process beginning. An unstoppable yearning is growing within, to move into a free form. I am ready to shake away my past, and begin anew.

Give And Take Of Play

I am in Cincinnati for a funeral. Charles Tobias, my father-in-law for 22 years, died on Thursday. In various ways, he filled voids in my life that I felt from my own father’s immersion in his social work. Charles liked the give and take of play. We went to football and baseball games together in Cincinnati, took family vacations away from the mainland, played golf, enjoyed many fine restaurants and once when he came to Santa Fe, although he was seventy years old we went river rafting down rapids on the Rio Grande river—all fun activities I never shared with my father. A Harvard law school graduate, he enjoyed intellectual discussions that we pursued in politics, philosophy and life in general.
Charles did not talk much about the after life, and Jean said he did not believe in it. So I imagine his joy after he died to discover that he had only been dreaming, and his real life has just begun! Now he is reunited with his wife and ancestors in the eternal.

And now concerning thy question regarding the soul of man and its survival after death. Know thou of a truth that the soul, after its separation from the body, will continue to progress until it attaineth the presence of God, in a state and condition which neither the revolution of ages and centuries, nor the changes and chances of this world, can alter. It will endure as long as the Kingdom of God, His sovereignty, His dominion and power will endure. It will manifest the signs of God and His attributes, and will reveal His loving kindness and bounty. The movement of My Pen is stilled when it attempteth to befittingly describe the loftiness and glory of so exalted a station. The honor with which the Hand of Mercy will invest the soul is such as no tongue can adequately reveal, nor any other earthly agency describe. Bahá’u’lláh

Love

As I pulled into my driveway today, a short segment on the radio about after-life experiences caught my attention so that I sat listening. Many people who have died and then been brought back to life have recounted similar experiences of the next world. When they get to the next side, they do not miss their bodies at all, and feel great joy, peace and love. While basking in the presence of God, sometime soon after arriving, the individual is visited by a holy being, and together they witness the person's entire life on earth. What matters most is how much a person has loved. Even small moments of charitable love can mean more than years of work.
I went to see the movie Across The Universe, by Julie Taymor. As one who had his coming of age in the sixties, I found this movie, laced with Beatles songs and following a twisting romantic plot rooted in the period of hippies, free-love and youthful anti-war uprising, quite fun. As an artist I am visually oriented, and this movie had lots of visual passages; even some psychedelic. Mixed with great music, it made me consider going again, this time with another former flower child to sit next to me.

Honey To The Bees

October always is a major month for the sale of artwork in Santa Fe. My opening at Adieb Khadoure Gallery last Friday attracted scads of people. It was a feel-good affair, with plenty of food, flowers, casual conversation, and of course, my paintings covering the walls of two rooms. That night in Santa Fe, there were at least thirty gallery openings. The Albuquerque International Balloon Fiesta is presently in progress. Each year it attracts enthusiasts from across the globe, and 800,000 visitors attend. Many of them take time to come up to Santa Fe; and they buy art.
The colors are reaching a climax about now. Golden aspen trees, purple asters, ubiquitous chamisa shrubs with their masses of dainty yellow flowers, Mexican sunflowers, and of course all the colorful fruit showing up at the farmers market. Tomorrow I am going up in the mountains to paint the quaking aspen trees with an artist friend. I am sure we will both have to catch our breath at the beauty. For an artist, these sights are like honey to the bees.

Finishing One Part Of Life

Jean and I are moving toward finishing one part of our life together  marriage partners and beginning a new one as strictly friends.
I am feeling inclined to make a radical new start to my life. I want to sell as many of my possessions as possible, including my vehicle, putting away the leftovers in storage. Then I will leave the United States for at least a year on a solitary journey of discovery. Possibly, I will go around the world. I can paint, photograph, and write. I am feeling out my ideas, mulling them over, but certain that I will do this.

See more Steven Boone paintings.

Familiar Haunts

The last time I saw Tanja Mennone was six months ago when I was in Bari, Italy. Now we are together again, in San Francisco. She is visiting the USA with her friend Alessandra and the last few days I have taken them to my familiar haunts in the “city by the bay.” Several times Tanja has remarked how “open” everything feels. I think I know what she means. In this country there is great mobility and it seems whatever you want to do is possible. Italy is more circumscribed and delineated.
This morning we parted ways. They are renting a car and driving to Yosemite, Death Valley, Las Vegas and then to Los Angeles for their flight home. I am flying to Santa Barbara, where I will retrieve my van from my parents home and begin driving back to Santa Fe.

On The Road Again

On the road again. Yesterday I drove eight hours, from Santa Fe to Scottsdale, Arizona. My friend John welcomed me, even though he had arrived home from a month in Europe the evening before. We have known each other since high school. I am looking for a gallery to represent me in Scottsdale, which is a busy art market, especially during winter months. Tomorrow I continue on to Palm Springs, California to visit Adagio Gallery where my paintings are shown, I will give them new work, and take older pieces off their hands. Then I continue to Santa Barbara where my parents, brother and sister live. After a few days there, I will fly to San Francisco to meet a couple Italian friends who will show up at the same time. I can be a good American host, since I know and love 'Frisco. After four days, I return to Santa Barbara to begin my journey back to Santa Fe. The round trip drive is 1872 miles.
Scottsdale is hot! Recently they had ten days in row of temperatures over 110 degrees.