Ecstasies Of Heavenly Union

“True loss is for him whose days have been spent in utter ignorance of his self.” —Baha’u’llah

I am at the midway point of the Baha’i nineteen day fast I observe each year. I began in 1971 and will continue, God willing, until 2022. The dates of fasting are March 2-20. The way it works is if you are healthy, between the ages of 15 - 70, not pregnant or breast feeding, then you give up food and water between sunrise and sunset. It is difficult to practice faithfully, but each year about a week before the start I have deep yearning for it. Like no other discipline, it affirms that I am a spiritual being, far beyond the material elements that compose my body. Sometimes I think that if a Divine command were to arrive that I must not ever again pass anything beyond my lips, I would be obedient until death were to release me from the physical bonds entirely. Then like a bird escaping its cage, I would wing my way into grand celestial spheres and sing the ecstasies of heavenly union with Divine Spirit in limitless freedom.

It seems just about every religion has a fasting period. The prophets, who are like Divine Doctors, prescribe it for us for our own good.

Divided

The marriage of Heidi of the Mountains and Steven the Artist is ending. It is agreed that love exists, yet various problems plagued the relationship from the beginning. The two never lived together full time, since Heidi owns a home in another town forty minutes away, where her teen-aged son lives with her half time. Steven resides in the city of his work and where he feels he belongs—Santa Fe, the art capital of the United States. The town where Heidi lives is a suburb of Los Alamos, the birthplace of the atomic bomb—all the homes are the same and the brainy-headed science people are more or less the same too. Of all the places on earth, it is on the list of impossible places for Steven to live. But he tried for awhile. He always anticipated the day her boy would graduate and Heidi and Steven could buy a home together.

Before Steven met Heidi, he had spent over a year living abroad without home or car—like the wind that is free, full and strong, blowing over mountain and ocean, through metropolis and village. He was as comfortable on a camel as he was in a limousine. Happy in a tent amidst lions and water buffalo in the Serengeti or in a marbled palace in Bangkok, Thailand. When he arrived back to Santa Fe, his life had broadened from so many profound experiences gained living in a multitude of cities and traveling over all the continents.

When the two first met, Heidi was modeling nude and Steven was drawing her. The two struck up a business relationship with Heidi acting as an art broker, and affection developed then marriage. The two shared wonderful intimacies and especially love of nature—relishing places such as the sandy beaches of Hawaii, the vastness of the Grand Canyon, the mountains of New Mexico and Colorado, and the excitement of Paris and London and Marrakesh. During this time, Heidi had quit a job she did not like and went to work for Steven in a gallery he opened. Steven had thought initially to work alone in his gallery, painting and selling. Heidi at first said, “maybe we should not work together.” But Steven naturally trusted, and so they became a team. The costs were extraordinarily high, since the rent alone was $5,500.00 per month, and then there was Heidi's salary and other expenses. Steven struggled and Heidi became unhappy to see that the business took all the resources. The gallery closed, Heidi took her former job, and Steven found another gallery to show his paintings.

From the beginning, Heidi insisted that Steven draw inward with her into a very private world. She always suspected that he wanted to go off without her and resume his travels. Steven could not understand why Heidi insisted that he must cut off the loving thread that went from his life out into relations he had with the world at large. He remained by her side, anticipating an eventual fuller life together when they lived as one. Yet, eventually, the two felt unhappiness intruding into their love. It became apparent the marriage—meant to be a fortress of well being for the two to enjoy, had indeed become divided. Heidi built an emotional wall that was more distant than the miles between their homes and said, “I am more comfortable this way.” Steven said, but we can't live like this, you must be hot or cold or it is nothing at all. Heidi shrugged and said she could not change. The two separated on a trial basis—not sharing nights or fond times. Heidi felt more peace; but not Steven. He pleaded that the issues were not insurmountable because love is stronger than mountains. Changes were near, opportunities abounded, happiness just a heart beat away. Heidi admitted as much but said, “I am too weak, and it is unfair to you.” Then she said, "Maybe someday we will get back together, who knows?"

And this is what it has come to. She is keeping my artwork and I am planning to sell off all my possessions and follow spirit where ever it takes me. Probably Europe first. And Heidi, she is planning to sell her home and buy one where I always had hoped that we would live together—in Santa Fe. She will have my art to remind her of me.

Lovebirds

This afternoon I finished an oil painting on panel, and stood back to see if I liked it. The subject appealed to me—two cockatoo birds, sharing a nut between their beaks. The painting came out well enough and I considered it a success. I measure my portraits a success if in the end, the subject seems to speak in some way . . . as if imparting a message. The birds seem alive, and joyful in their camaraderie.
Often when I finish a painting I photograph it and post it to my Facebook page. I posted this picture, and right away, Colleen, my cousin's wife in Atlanta messaged me asking the price. We chatted this way, and she bought the artwork immediately. So, between the time I posted the picture and the time it sold, maybe five minutes elapsed. Colleen said the work had special meaning for her because she had been a zoo docent for 4 years and knew the birds.
My cousin Greg died a few years ago and left Colleen bereft. I call the painting “Lovebirds.” That is what Greg and Colleen were . . . and now, when Colleen sees the painting in her home, she can be reminded of her eternal union with Greg.