The Unseen Hand

An unseen hand is holding my fragile life. I can feel it. A little more than a year ago my beloved father passed away, and then my wife decided to leave too. Before she left, something was prompting me to pray each day, “Oh God, satisfy my needs, redeem my debts, protect me from deceit, and help me to see the truth.” Pretty soon, all my debts had cleared away, and it became apparent that my wife was not devoted to marriage. OK, that hurt and still does, but almost immediately after our separation, abundance began increasing for me in many ways. Despite my heartbreak that re-opened the wound I have of my daughter's death in 1999 at the age of nineteen, and perhaps my father's death too, I could see good happening and it was as if I was attracting it. As if a tender gardener were lovingly revivifying a crushed flower whose stem was broken. I have been aware and thankful of this and been praying at least an hour a day . . . as well as reflecting and writing.

"The Last Drama", oil on linen, 48 x 60 inches

An example of grace relates to something I wrote about last week (See: Rain On The Parade). I am an artist and have no certain income. It fluctuates depending on if my artwork sells. At this time, I do not have a gallery representing me, but sales have been occurring anyway. I had been accepted to participate in an outdoor art festival in Denver, Colorado, and decided to go all out and have two booths rather than one. There were numerous exhibition fees involved, and travel costs including a downtown hotel, etc. but I had a feeling I might do well.

From the start the weather was bad. I mean by the middle of the second day I knew I was finished. My booth was flooded and people were barely coming to the event. The first evening had been clear for a brief period and there had been promise because I had made good contacts but it was all downhill afterward and I considered the whole affair a loss by Saturday evening. I left early Sunday, despite the sky being clear, because the forecast was for more storms and I did not want to be trapped trying to take down my art in the rain. None of the artists were happy about the show, and a few were leaving early like me. I drove one day and arrived back home in Santa Fe, calculating my loss.

But grace had something in store for me, because from a contact the first night, my biggest painting sold through email conversations! I am shipping it back to Denver to a happy couple who will hang it over their fireplace. Grace and the unseen hand.

Rain On The Parade

Hare Krishna people, chanting in downtown Denver, Colorado

Life is seldom what we expect. For instance, I packed my artwork in my van and drove for one day to arrive in Denver, Colorado for an art festival. Typically, I make good money selling paintings. This time, the morning of setup it was raining, and although it stopped by the time the festival began at 4 PM Friday, it was drizzling on and off. This is an outdoor event and I had two tents. The first evening I made good contacts for possible large sales. The next day was miserable with cool air and torrential rain that became hail. Parts of the field became flooded, and my booth as well. More bad weather is forecast and the art buyers are absent. I am leaving at day break to pack up and depart early Sunday. My hopes and expectations were rained upon, and I lost money not to mention my time invested.

After I shut my booth mid-afternoon Saturday, I went back to the hotel, and then the sun came out for  a little while. A big rock music festival raged downtown, and I mingled in the crowds, people watching, taking photos, and feeling joy while realizing how easy it is to be happy when I lose barriers and become one with the world. I love the streets of the planet, where I witness and record the parade of humanity.

I pay my dues being an artist, but I am addicted to the life.

Élan

Venice Reflections, oil on board, 20 x 16 inches

I love the word élan. When I make private affirmations of inner qualities I like to think I have, I include it. The dictionary describes élan as: energy, style, and enthusiasm. The thesaurus gives synonyms such as, flair, style, panache, confidence, dash, éclat; energy, vigor, vitality, liveliness, brio, esprit, animation, vivacity, zest, verve, spirit, pep, sparkle, enthusiasm, gusto, eagerness, feeling, fire. I love all those words too!

And this is how I want to live the rest of my days . . . with élan.

Although it is a bit unpredictable and maybe not following precaution, I am planning to sell off possessions and leave the United States in September, not knowing when I might return. I know that I will begin in Venice, Italy for a month. I have Venetian friends that look forward to my arrival and they are helping to find an apartment. After that, I don't know. Spirit will take me.

The Gondoleer, digital photo

Once, when I was living in Venice, I was walking with my friend Lycia. We were heading toward a canal to cross a small stone ponti (bridge). Two men were by the canal, arguing heatedly and pointing fingers. In that moment, my élan emerged and without thought, I grasped both of their hands in mine and held them together. They looked up at me in shock. I let go, smiled and walked on with Lycia. She asked me if I understood them. I answered no, not really. She said, “That was a Jew, arguing with an Arab man!”

It was élan that allowed and propelled me to enter the space of the two arguing men and act as I did. I hope to always have this quality . . . if only for surprise.

Night In Venice, digital photo

A Higher Level

Nepal Earthquake

Last night I went with a friend to a benefit that she organized to raise money for the victims of the earthquake in Nepal. Over 7000 have been counted dead, and many are injured and homeless. My friend had just returned from living there, and has been actively raising funds to assist the Nepalese.

The reason for such calamities is mostly inscrutable to our minds. Is it just chance and chaos in nature? In the annals of recorded human history, there have been many such disasters, some taking not just thousands of lives, but millions, i.e. the bubonic plague in the middle ages in Europe, famines in India, disease that came with European settlers to America that wiped out millions of native Americans who had no resistance. The deadliest earthquake in history hit the eastern Mediterranean in July 1201. Approximately 1.1 million people were killed, mostly in Egypt and Syria.

"Slave" by Michaelangelo

If we look at the world as a big object of art . . . it is constantly being made. From an artists perspective, I can say this, that often in the best artwork, flaws and shortcomings are discovered as the piece takes shape. For unskilled people, this is unsurmountable and brings the project to a halt or inconclusive ending. But for the more advanced creator, it just propels the process into a loftier, more exalted state.

Often, so called accidents are used by the skilled artisan to get to a higher level than if these accidents had not occurred, because an opening is seen that was not there before.

Is the disaster in Nepal a blessing in disguise? This is from an article that appeared in todays New York Times:
“More than 80 charities and government agencies have poured into Nepal since the quake to work on its well-documented water and sanitation problems. Nepal’s water ministry has held routine meetings with them in its biggest conference room, which is still not large enough to accommodate the scores of people who show up in T-shirts and vests emblazoned with the bright-colored logos of their organizations.

They are coming to a country that was already among the world’s most unsanitary, with a 2011 government survey finding that 45 percent of Nepalis did not use toilets, one reason 82 percent of drinking water supplies are contaminated with fecal bacteria. A study found that about 11 percent of Nepali children have diarrhea at any given moment, which contributes to the stunting that affects more than a third of the nation’s children, according to government figures.

'The risk is that an already bad situation gets much worse,' said Mr. Rautavaara of Unicef. 'But at the same time, this is a massive opportunity for the sanitation movement.' ”

Click for the full article

Embracing With Love

Every woman has masculinity and every man has femininity. This is how the sexes relate—otherwise, there could be no understanding. At this time in my life, I do not have a woman partner and it is occasion for me to come into my independent understanding of the yin-yang balance within myself. I made a list of the characteristics of my inner woman and inner man. I picture them meeting and embracing with love, breathing deeply of each other, replenished as if drinking from the same crystal spring, dazzled by the same over-arching heaven.

My inner female:

Beautiful, kind, healthy, radiant, one with nature, honest, faithful, speaks to plants and animals, sexually attractive, laughs and is playful, wealthy, honors the sacred and gives abundantly.

My inner male:

Strong, resilient, healthy, caring, handsome, adventuresome, bold, has elan, a knight, virile, unhindered, creative, capable, rich, abundant, attractive, truthful, has integrity.

Heal Into Love

During the present time of intense personal transition, soul searching often brings me to sudden flashes of thought that I want to keep for further processing. My mind is like a pond full of colorful fish, and I grab the brightest ones to keep. At any moment, I am in the habit of tearing up bits of paper and writing the words out, then leaving the scraps around in obvious sight. Good thing I am single now, this might drive a companion crazy. 

But it is because of suddenly being single that so much thinking is occurring. It feels good, coming into complete ownership of my life and understanding my path. Here are some thoughts I have collected on my scraps of notes:

Life experience = body. Bless this body, amen.

The universe is shifting everything in my favor.

He carried His cross to His own martyrdom.

All the weak and diseased leaves and branches are falling off the strong tree.

Does my ego identify with sufferer? (Poor me!) Let that go and become properly identified.

What is my experience? How is it accessed? Do I attach emotions? Keep everything blessed in the present. Do not imagine, just keep blessing from present time. Awake sleeper!

HEAL INTO LOVE. Be bound to nothing else.

Bless my entire life . . . I hold it, honor all experience and go forward with joy.

Consciously call Higher Powers—Spirit to enter memories and records of life—to heal loss through generations—especially mother.

Be one with the essence of life. Bring awareness and thought there—not elsewhere.

Go out in the world—homeless and free. Meet someone each day who is worth telling about—share, make a book, YouTube etc.

My life is not separate events but a fabric woven of Spirit.

Pull together. Constrain. Pull stomach in and hold power. Tighten buns. Hold power.

Weak souls are aware of emptiness that they seek to fill with material things and satisfactions. This is short term relief. More intense craving follows.

Desire is self-flagellation.

Witnessing

Kapaa Rooster, oil on linen, 24 x 20 inches

“I know that thoughts are not always 100 percent good, but I sure do hate it when they are negative.” My daughter Naomi wrote these words in her journal as she struggled to survive the cancer that eventually killed her while still a teenager. During my recent difficulties—finding myself single and bereft, I have often taken inspiration from Naomi's example of making effort to replace bad circumstances with something good instead. Her task was monumental and she achieved remarkable victory over negativity. She shaped her mind to be her ally. She also wrote, “Hardships can make us stronger . . . every situation has some good in it.”

My circumstances and efforts to shape my mind have brought me to remember a notable dream I had many years ago. Dreams are mostly fluff and reworking of days events, but sometimes a dream will act as a sign to higher levels of consciousness. This was such a dream: I was buried in the earth, upright with arms and legs spread, but only my head above ground. I felt fine, even happy and content. At the same time, I could also see myself from outside, as if witnessing. I was in a clearing in some woods, the sun was shining, air balmy. Two people arrived to stand in front of me. They were spiritual beings and stood in front of my head as if the situation were completely normal. They even chatted together. Just then, from behind a nearby bush, a chicken came running to peck at my face. He would peck, run back behind the bush, and come running to peck at my head again. I was completely defenseless except to wiggle my face side to side and try and close my eyes tight to protect them against the bird's beak. The two onlookers watched calmly as if nothing were out of the ordinary. I awoke.

Now upon reflection, I see that I am at one with the earth, and all is well. But thoughts coming from the ego or false imaginations can be like the pesky chicken upsetting the peace. My spirit guides are with me, bearing witness, but also informing me that in reality, I am in a safe embrace of essential elements and in oneness that is expansive. Not to worry about the pecking, which will pass.

DREAM Perception

I called it THE DREAM; a year of astonishing travel around the world. The DREAM perception began in Belize, when I arrived to live among black folk in the town of Dangriga, on the Caribbean Sea. (Entering THE DREAM) Each day, I painted, wrote, and made photos, venturing forth into the unknown. My mind shifted from analysis and planning to complete acceptance of the moment. I began having total trust in what was being presented to me, seeing the gift of life everywhere and in everything. Opportunities arose and I had no fear because I did not live with feelings of opposition or separateness. My surroundings and I were one, and as events unfolded and I met people, the experiences were more profound because I was open to them—even expecting them. Events and consciousness seemed continuous and woven together, full of wonder and surprise—as if in a dream. I was the dreamer bearing witness. 

With Windell, in Belize

 When I wrote my blogs from nineteen countries, I often described living in THE DREAM. It took care of me and informed my life.

Now I am newly single again. Once, during a therapy session while I was married, I was told “You may never be able to travel like that again Steven.” But I think I might.

Erg Chebbi, Morocco

Lately, during the pain of losing my mate and the aftermath, I have wondered about the random thoughts that effect my thinking and emotions. Thoughts and emotions are not permanent. I have been looking to a higher reality to gain perspective—to find immutable truth. Everything depends on it or else falls apart. My life has come undone so I have been ardently going to the place of truth, longing only to stay in that sacred temple. The more I am there, the more I see that THE DREAM is not only the fleeting occurrences all around me, but the terrain of my mind as well. Truth is independent of mind, beyond time and space. I am not talking about relative truth but rather the absolute: God, the uncreated Creator Who dwells in all, and is first recognized by our souls. 

Temple, Danang, Vietnam

A Metaphor

Shadowman amid ruins, Andalucia, Spain

A metaphor of my life of the last few months might be a traveler who is on a journey with a close

partner and along the way, the partner decides to permanently go in a different direction alone. Suddenly the journeyman feels abandoned in a foreign land, and laments his separation. The landscape becomes tangled and even threatening. He is in a jungle of snares and brambles that cut his flesh and at night he is assailed by ghosts and mosquitos. He does not fear death, but is perplexed at being so anxious of his predicament. Meanwhile, his partner is completely vanished.

The difficulties usurp his appetite so that he does not eat. He wonders at his plight and how his life has changed so drastically. Occasionally sunlight filters through the dense coverage of brambles and vines, and he hears bird songs, but it all seems abstract and without meaning because he is ensnared by sorrow. He notices that his cuts heal, so his body is working . . .

He finds an abandoned house—the occupants left it long ago and it is in shambles. He takes shelter, but it reminds him of loss—the walls are crumbling, the roof caved in, furniture broken.

Abandoned home, Andalucia, Spain

The outer world has no charm. He turns inward to find inspiration when Spirit comes to take his hand and sit with him. He receives grace, and sees everything that has happened is really a gift to bring him to the sacred place of his true self that is beyond time and space. The terrain was all meant for him, the journey ordained to make him master of his destiny. He is shown his inner compass to his destination in the higher realm. The spirits rejoice that the soul, fearful of being lost without help, is knowing his true path and can call on higher power anytime. His troubles have led him to greater freedom and made him more powerful.

The wanderer sets out from the broken home, compass firmly in hand, and listening to spirit, feels jubilant and knows he is well with good fortune ahead. He begins receiving gifts from strangers . . . the terrain becomes unencumbered and beautiful. He finds palaces that are welcoming, and hosts who are happy to greet him. He has many tales to tell of life. A physician examines him thoroughly and announces that he is as fit as a man twenty years younger. 

The traveler is thankful and gives praise to the Creator and spirit for always being with him. He knows he would still be lost if not for the compass and power that comes from invisible guides and allies. He prays never to forget his true life and destiny in Spirit.

My living room. (The big painting sold recently.)

Gardens, Kashmir, India

Suddenly Vanished

The most difficult experience in life is separation. At birth, it is the baby being forced apart from the mother, coming from the womb and the umbilical cord being cut. Then the weaning from the breast, and if it is too sudden there is much crying. Later, the first steps away from mother and father, going off to school for the first time. As the child grows, new bonds of affection form with friends, and eventually, another separation unfolds with the leaving of home and family to start a new life of independence.

All the while, special care is taken to maintain the all-important bond of spirit. This way, a certain safety and security is assured. Even when there is great distance, the bond of spirit is beyond time and space doing its work.
That bond depends on trust. If trust is broken, then the bond breaks. This is worse than physical separation.

When my teen-aged daughter died at the age of nineteen, it felt as though my best partner in life had suddenly vanished. As if we had been hiking together on a wondrous and difficult mountain, helping each other along, crying and laughing together, in awe and also some fear, holding to one another and absolutely bonded, when of a sudden, she vanished—as if from a ledge she leapt into thin air, leaving me alone on the mountainside . . . taking some of my joy with her. We both knew in advance the perils, and she spoke of her uncertainty that she would remain by my side; not that she did not want to, but the hand of fate had written to her. If she spoke of this, I would respond that we could overcome even the hand of fate. But the higher powers wanted her and my love could not keep her from going to a realm even more high and mighty than the feeble mountain I clung to. Now, I found myself on the same wonderful and difficult mountain, but without my dearest friend, and nothing looked the same.

And so here I am fifteen years later in the same situation. Through a physical, mental and

emotional bond, in marriage to Heidi of the Mountains, we had been exploring the heights of our existence, gaining perspective from our vantage on a mountainside, seeing the low places below us, and dreaming of higher places, when the journey became more strenuous and suddenly tiresome. She doubted, and began longing to go back down. I held her hand to convince her of the most beautiful places we had been and just ahead, more sublimity and our lofty goal within reach. We must be loyal, and patient, to give each other strength to get there. I worried she was abandoning me, reminded of my experience with my daughter. I pleaded, but she turned away . . . I could not go with her, and though heartbroken, kept to the mountain.

It has secrets and charms that speak to me every day—bringing healing. The angelic winds play all around, with lofty, wondrous songs, the air is clear and bright, the path strewn with wildflowers. I will travel on, and deal with my loneliness. I trust that the longer I stay on course, the stronger I will become and more wise. The mountain will offer up its joy to me because I do not leave it, but remain faithful.

Imagine Love

Imagine love between a man and a woman in the strongest terms. William Shakespeare (26 April 1564 – 23 April 1616), regarded as the greatest writer in the English language wrote of such love in his plays. The Merchant Of Venice, written between 1596 and 1598, includes a subplot where a beautiful young woman of noble heritage, Portia, is to be wed, but her wealthy father sets a test to determine who will win his prized daughter. A handsome noble Venetian, Bassanio, wishes her hand and makes considerable effort to arrive at her side.
“Her father left a will stipulating each of her suitors must choose correctly from one of three caskets – one each of gold, silver and lead. If he picks the right casket, he gets Portia. The first suitor, the Prince of Morocco, chooses the gold casket, interpreting its slogan, "Who chooseth me shall gain what many men desire," as referring to Portia. The second suitor, the conceited Prince of Arragon, chooses the silver casket, which proclaims, "Who chooseth me shall get as much as he deserves", as he believes he is full of merit. Both suitors leave empty-handed, having rejected the lead casket because of the baseness of its material and the uninviting nature of its slogan, "Who chooseth me must give and hazard all he hath." The last suitor is Bassanio, whom Portia wishes to succeed, having met him before. Bassanio chooses the lead casket and wins Portia's hand.” (From Wikipedia: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Merchant_of_Venice}

When Bassiano wins her, Portia almost swoons with delight since he is her true love, and here are her words of devotion:

    “You see me, Lord Bassanio, where I stand,

    Such as I am. Though for myself alone

    I would not be ambitious in my wish

    To wish myself much better, yet for you

    I would be trebled twenty times myself,

    A thousand times more fair, ten thousand times more rich,

    That only to stand high in your account

    I might in virtues, beauties, livings, friends,

    Exceed account. But the full sum of me

    Is sum of something which, to term in gross,

    Is an unlesson'd girl, unschool'd, unpractis'd;

    Happy in this, she is not yet so old

    But she may learn; happier than this,

    She is not bred so dull but she can learn;

    Happiest of all is that her gentle spirit

    Commits itself to yours to be directed,

    As from her lord, her governor, her king.

    Myself and what is mine to you and yours

    Is now converted. But now I was the lord

    Of this fair mansion, master of my servants,

    Queen o'er myself; and even now, but now,

    This house, these servants, and this same myself,

    Are yours- my lord's. I give them with this ring,

    Which when you part from, lose, or give away,

    Let it presage the ruin of your love,

    And be my vantage to exclaim on you.

Then replies Bassiano: 

    Madam, you have bereft me of all words;

    Only my blood speaks to you in my veins;

    And there is such confusion in my powers

    As, after some oration fairly spoke

    By a beloved prince, there doth appear

    Among the buzzing pleased multitude,

    Where every something, being blent together,

    Turns to a wild of nothing, save of joy

    Express'd and not express'd. But when this ring

    Parts from this finger, then parts life from hence;

    O, then be bold to say Bassanio's dead!”

If one can delve into the early English language and get the import of these sweet words, Portia is opening her full heart to her love Bassiano, and telling him she feels unworthy, (though she is beautiful and with great riches), and that she gives to him her all, and if she could, would give herself a thousand times more. Though of higher rank than him, she bows and asserts that he is her lord, her governor, her king. That she is now happily converted to him. Then she gives him the ring that won her hand and exclaims that if he ever loses it that he must also lose his life.
Bassiano replies that she has left him speechless—so full of love and joy, and that if the ring were to ever leave his finger than may his life depart as well.
Such prose!