A Reborn Creation

Heart rending apathy struck me during the week after the memorial for my mother, when I slept in my parents home in Santa Barbara. Apathy is such a strange word to associate with my life. It strikes me as not hot and not cold, in which case, as the Bible has said, God will spew the person out of His mouth as tasteless. "So then because you are lukewarm, and neither cold nor hot, I will spew you out of my mouth.” -Revelation 3:16

I remember sitting in the comfortable living room, amid all the familiar furnishings and feeling no creative passion or eagerness—just a dull pain. This, after I had just circled the globe on a remarkable journey full of creativity. To invent passion seemed pointless, so I made an analogy that I was a sailor who found himself unexpectedly in the doldrums: no wind to fill his sails. The only thing to do was wait.

Now that I am back in Santa Fe, the feelings continue, but I am getting perspective and it is positive. An estate has been given to me in exchange for watching a cat. It is spacious, very private, full of character and history. The furnishings are artful, well made, and wonderful books fill shelves to overflowing. A perfect place to do nothing. Especially as winter draws to an end.

I am now of the opinion that I am like a field that after many seasons of productivity has become tired and depleted and needs rest. A wise farmer plows a crop back into the soil, and leaves it fallow for a season. It is dormant.

Another biblical metaphor: “Verily, verily, I say unto you, except a grain of wheat falls into the ground and dies, it abides alone: but if it dies, it brings forth much fruit.” John 12:24

I am not to be the same person. I have felt a dying, and and it is as a husk that must be broken for the heart of a regenerated creation to break free and emerge from ground. In time, my paintings will come forth with new vision and vigor, writings will arrive with fresh voice, photographs will be fine tuned and shared. Spirit will have fashioned a reborn creation.

Disappearance Is Illusion

I visited my daughter's grave today. Yesterday was her birthday—she would have turned 34 years of age. Nobody else was around as I stood on the grass where she is buried. A cold winter wind made me pull my coat tight to my chest and I stood briefly, praying for her soul and remembering the day she was born. I was with my first wife at home, with a nurse and doctor when Naomi was delivered around 11 AM. I never would have thought that she would die in 1999, before reaching twenty.

A few days ago, I was in California, visiting with my parents who are close to death. This all makes me think of my own dying. I do not know when it will be, but death is certain for every created thing. As I think of creation, I realize it is always renewing itself—almost like a wave that arrives at a shore and at last culminates in a surge upon land and then disappears. The disappearance is illusion, for the ocean remains and gathers itself together continually to transform and surge again, over and over.