Arranging To Be Free

Me, in Venice, 2007

Time sometimes flies like a bird, sometimes crawls like a snail; but a man is happiest when he does not even notice whether it passes swiftly or slowly.

-Ivan Turgenev

 I have two months to set my affairs in order before leaving on prolonged travel. In July, I travel to Michigan and Wisconsin for art shows and will probably spend three weeks on the road. Then in August, I will be busy consolidating my life so that beginning September, I will be free to live in Venice, Italy. From there who knows? 

Consolidating means selling off possessions and arranging to be free. I have done this before and so know what to expect.

 

Venice, just before sunset . . .

It is strange that the years teach us patience; that the shorter our time, the greater our capacity for waiting.

-Elizabeth Taylor

Minimalism

If there is any doubt that art shapes our way of seeing the world, a recent experience of mine will shed light. Yesterday, my home and studio were open for the Artists Studio Tour, an annual event where artists open there studio to the public for one weekend. This year, the studios are open for two weekends consecutively.

A woman came by and liked my art, but she focused on only a section of a couple paintings. She wanted a vertical piece of art for a particular place in her home and she already had in mind a concept. My landscape paintings attracted her for the colors and nuance of tones, but in a limited way. And this is what she wanted—an abstract painting with only a few colors. This is called minimalism. I told her I could do what she envisions, and have sent her samples.

Before the twentieth century, nobody would dare imagine such paintings. It would have seemed insane to consider it art. But modern art changed all that.

A patron viewing a large color field abstract painting by Mark Rothko, (September 25, 1903 – February 25, 1970),

Adventures Are Myriad

Some people thrive on surprise and are more willing to take risks, other folks are the opposite—more comfortable with predictability, structure and what is familiar. Psychologists offer their own explanations based on the type of person and their traits. Temperament is another explanation of how people learn and behave.

One my favorite books is Narcissus and Goldman, by Hermann Hesse (German: 2 July 1877 – 9 August 1962). He describes the lives of two friends who are similar and very different. They meet in a monastery. Narcissus is older and preparing to be a monk, while young Goldmund is brought by his father to live at the monastery and be trained.

The two bond in friendship and Goldmund comes to revere Narcissus and tries to emulate him. The two share in the practice of prayer and austerity. They have deep conversations, and Narcissus soon observes that Goldmund might not be cut out for a monastic life. Goldmund is handsome and has an earthiness not easily given over to the cerebral disciplines. Narcissus intimates this to Goldmund but it hurts the young devotee.

Before long, Goldmund leaves the safety of the monastery to explore and discover life in all its aspects. His adventures are myriad and he throws himself with abandon into every experience, tasting life and death, becoming an acclaimed artist, knowing many loves, accumulating vast experience and growing wise while he finds his true nature being one with the world. He never forgets Narcissus, but is following his own course which pulls him inexorably forward.

Narcissus remains austere and in sacred study. His life is strictly disciplined and he becomes an initiate of the inner verities of the spiritual realm. He knows his loneliness and accepts it. He gains peace through rational thought and surrender to the divine.

Through plot twists and turns, Narcissus enters Goldmunds life at the end and saves him from execution.

I identify strongly with both of the characters and it is why I have read and re-read this masterpiece.

Some of my other favorite books are by Russians: Anna Karenina, and War and Peace by Leo Tolstoy (28 August 1828 – 20 November 1910), and The Idiot, and The Brothers Karamazov, by Fyodor Dostoyevsky (11 November 1821 – 9 February 1881).

This Dream

On occasion, I have been able to see into another dimension—a spiritual realm of greater reality. It is a place that transcends the material world and goes beyond time and space. I had such an experience just today, but first I will describe a couple other episodes from when I was in my twenties. I was traveling with a few friends to visit a Native American man on the Navajo reservation. We had stopped outside Gallup, New Mexico to visit someone who could tell us the way. I was in a chair, not paying attention to the conversation and instead half dreaming. A vision came to me of driving on a dirt road, and arriving at a place where an Indian fellow was building a house, laying cement blocks by hand. Suddenly it was time to go, so we headed out and in about ½ hour, we were on a dirt road and then came upon the man, building his house exactly as I had seen earlier—including the wall, and him with his trowel in hand laying the blocks.

In my book, A Heart Traced In Sand, I recount another spiritual experience:
For years I had felt the presence of angels that reside in God’s other realms. When I was twenty-two, during a summer break at the Maryland Institute, College of Art, in Baltimore, I moved to a small town in Maryland and rented a room in a YMCA. One evening while ending my prayers, I felt a change occur around me. I seemed to be wrapped in a hazy, otherworldly light, and suddenly the perfumed scent of a thousand roses filled my nostrils. Turning toward the one window in my little cubicle, I saw a shimmering light come down, pass through the wall, and then hover above me in the approximate shape of a person’s aura. Immediately I knew I was in the presence of a spirit and was frightened. The light shimmered in place, waiting for some acknowledgment, until with trepidation I said, “I am afraid. But come into me.” Then it descended into my soul and for a few dazzling moments bestirred my whole being before vanishing.

Every now an then, my third eye glimpses into the spiritual world of light. But I can't predict when the door will open or what I will see. Several times I have been praying from the depths of my soul over some important matter that is weighing heavy on me, such as when my daughter was dying and I could not bear to see it and needed help. I cried out in anguish. And then I got a glimpse of angels who were smiling and  calm as could be. This sort of infuriated me at the time—that I was so anguished and they were absolutely calm in the midst of my storm. I did not understand what help this was to me, but accepted that I was the one whose vision was limited. This happened again today, but it has come to my awareness that in fact, despite appearances here, all is well in heaven. All of us have one foot there already.

Here is a poem by Hafiz:

Forgive The Dream
All your images of winter
I see against your sky.
I understand the wounds
That have not healed in you.
They exist
Because God and Love
Have yet to become real enough
To allow you to forgive
The dream.
You still listen to an old alley song
That brings your body pain;
Now chain your ears
To His pacing drum and flute.
Fix your eyes upon
The magnificent arch of His brow
That supports
And allows this universe to expand.
Your hands, feet, and heart are wise
And want to know the warmth
Of a Perfect One’s circle.
A true saint
Is an earth in eternal spring.
Inside the veins of a petal
On a blooming redbud tree
Are hidden worlds
Where Hafiz sometimes
Resides.
I will spread
A Persian carpet there
Woven with light.
We can drink wine
From a gourd I hollowed
And dried on the roof of my house.
I will bring bread I have kneaded
That contains my own
Divine genes
And cheese from a calf I raised.
My love for your Master is such
You can just lean back
And I will feed you
This truth:
Your wounds of love can only heal
When you can forgive
This dream.

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.