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| Orbital Dance |
We in the Pacific NW are metaphorically perched on the very edge of the skinniest branches of our patience with this cool, long, rainy winter. In just a few short hours we will be looking into the longest daylight of the year knowing that from that moment on, the light declines with every day. Feels upside down to me--we haven’t gotten started yet. With nothing more than pure hope I pulled out my shorts . . . Will I wear them soon? The meteorologists predicted warm temps in the 70’s today. Are they smoking crack?
It’s a day for reflecting, looking back over 61 years. I’m going out on another limb here . . . I find aging a welcome experience and I think it has to do with expectations. Just yesterday while taking our daily 3 mile walk at sunset with our two fantastic dogs I was remarking to my husband that I no longer walk expecting to feel the way I felt years ago. My knees complain and I sense muscles getting tired where they never did before. I figure that’s just part of having traveled so many miles on these two legs. I’ve walked as a practice for mental and physical health most of my life. . . including many years up and down a steep logging road. I’ve known what it is to have unrestricted flexibility and almost unlimited energy and I am beginning to know what it is to have knees that pinch and muscles that feel sore . . . aches and pains!
I think it would be utterly foolish not to expect to feel some achey muscles at 61 no matter how fit you are . . . after all, the body isn’t made to last indefinitely. I do my best to stay as fit as I can and no matter how much I do, I’m declining. I’m just like the part of the yearly cycle that loses a little light with every passing day. Somewhere years ago I was in my Summer Solstice, and now I’m heading toward my Winter Solstice . . . that day, that moment when I will let go of this earthly experience. Letting go is natural, it’s right and really should not cause pain, unless I allow fallacious expectations to infect my thinking. Then I might attempt to hang on to something as elusive as yesterday.
We could take a lesson from animal life regarding our eventual passing. As far as I can tell, an animal, let’s say a dog, lives in the present. The affable, loyal pooch experiences each and every moment fully. He or she does not appear to be concerned with time past or time future, only the smells and sounds in the experience of the moment . . . especially when the food bowl is making a landing on the kitchen floor or that enticing squirrel is prancing around in the front yard. When dogs are frisky and want to play they jump up, run in circles, and pounce on any living thing around to engage them in the game. When they are tired, they rest without resistance. When they are used up they lay down and breath their last. I’m certain they experience unpleasant sensations that we call pain. Maybe they simply know it as another part of the moment . . . If too intense they go off alone to a ‘cave’ until it passes or we intervene. At some point they go off and never come back. They live and die in harmony with they way it is.
Sounds so simple, to live in harmony with the way it is, yet it appears to be challenging for most of us to co-exist with the finite realities of our lives. Why are we so enamored with youth? Those of us who are past the statistically average middle of our lives can look back at the days of youth and question if we would really want to live that again . . . actually want the power to somehow keep the dynamic movement of life in stasis. That might sound seductively appealing at first glance, however, I think the ineluctable movement of change is necessary to a certain quality of experience. The universe is in continual motion, a very basic component of life and one which houses the catalytic joy possible in every moment of every day. If you’re not convinced of this on a more personal level, try watching the movie, “Groundhog Day.”
I have full, rich memories of my yesterdays. Even so, I would find it distasteful to toy with the idea of somehow bargaining with my thoughts to attempt a manipulation that would have me hang on to something that is gone. I find that sort of bargaining dishonors what was, and defiles reality. For me, the beauty is in the dynamic nature of life, the very fact that nothing, no one, no time or space ever stays the same. Life can only truly be experienced in the moment. Why try to hang on and create stagnation when life is all about change and transformation?
I believe the process of creating art is steeped in the unavoidable foundational principle of life as a dynamic momentary experience. A work of art is a living thing while in progress and long after the paint cures. In a work of art the life remains for it is the material evolution of the ethereal connection of the artist and the calling. Every brush stroke, charcoal line, chiseled impression, touch of glaze and melted wax emanates from a living moment connecting sweat and soul to form. The work lives and breaths during formation and continues to draw a pulse from caring and observant living people in its presence. Even as the parchment crumbles, the frescos lose their luster and slowly fall away and painted canvasses crack, the art never dies. It carries a signature of a moment in life. Even in disintegration it is still becoming, still carrying intention . . .
What of us . . . What of our lives when our bodies let go? I have loved and been loved. I have laughed and cried, hated and feared, given and been given to. I have bled. I have cried tears of joy, felt despair and sensed complete freedom. I’ve had broken bones and a broken heart, so much wonder I felt I would burst and a potent radiance shining from deep inside. At times I have felt so connected to the universe I was sure that if I peeled away my skin light would pour out. I have felt lost and lonely. I have been present to the moment, feeling as much appreciation of the possibilities available as I could.
When I was a young girl I used to stretch out on the floor in my parent’s living room listening to The Beatles. The vinyl lp’s would go around and around on the turntable of the household stereo set that was the size of a small elephant. As the records played, the music & lyrics cycled in my head creating it’s own grooves in my cerebrum. This morning, so many years later I can recall almost every one of their songs verbatim. I was young, fresh, pliable and completely in the moment . . . And, the moment was completely in me. Go back? No need, I’m there. I’m there as much as I’m here, as much as I’m just beginning and on the verge of ending. It’s all in the moment--all time, all experience, all life . . . all in the moment. Every dog knows this. Why wouldn’t we, seemingly more intelligent creatures know the very same truth?
All of this, every moment of every day of my life is right here, right now. Every moment of all that I will ever be is right here, right now, in this moment . . . in every brush stroke lies the whole painting . . . in every color is the entire rainbow. The only thing that might be missing are the open eyes and a spirit available to see.
That what this artist is thinking about today . . .