Rowdy Abundance

new abstract "If Trees Were Mountains" 11"x14"

I am still gulping in this season of rowdy abundance that has thrown itself at my doorstep. The sun gets up early and stays up late and somehow I try to keep up.  The settling darkness laughs at my foolish tag along attempts as I fall into bed exhausted. I don't want to miss a minute.  I am full of energy for all that needs to be done, for sipping in the deliciousness of the greenness and the savouring the occasional tepid breeze. The grass is waist high in parts of the meadow. The tent caterpillars have consumed the leaves from entire trees giving them an eerie silvery glow. They are cocooned in in a tangle of emptiness. Soon their little moth selves will bump against my windows at night like little winged zombies.

The birds dart about in frenzied feeding. Even the tiny woodpecker comes to tap at the plastic feeder hoping to find something to his liking. The quail keep look out for each other as they eat, this seems so endearingly sweet, but of course it is merely a survival behaviour. The hot pink hawthorne tree who showed no sign of blooming last week is tosses it hot pinkness into the sky, even in the distance. In my human way I am constantly reading meaning into the natural world where there is none, or at least not my imagined stories of sweetness or worry or delight. They have their stories but not the ones I stitch together for them, charged with my own hope and fear.

And I  have been plunged into this radical abundance, feeling the energetic pull to be part of it. The lazy slow days of hibernation have disappeared into the drawer with the wool socks. The stack of books I am reading is as tall as the grass. There is "In Buddha's Kitchen" and "Gardening At Dragons Gate", both written by women Dharma practitioners.  Wendy Johnson gardens at Green Gulch Zen Centre in California, Kimberley Snow cooks at a Tibetan Centre in Northern California.  As I read these books at different times over the days the stories seem to merge together and I weave one book out of two. But as I travel deeper into the books  their roads of similarity diverge with the writing and story of the gardening book emerging stronger and more vivid. And so the stories separate and the reading of one increases and the other falls quietly into the background.

New Buddha 16"x20"  heading off to Norway this week

Also traveling  from bedside to coffee table are: "Long Life" and "Why I Wake Early" by Mary Oliver, "Pilgrim" by David Whyte, "Broken Open" by Elizabeth Lesser, "Journey In Ladakh" by Andrew Harvey, and "Collage Discovery Workshop" by Claudine Hellmuth. I am living in the waist tall grass of my reading list, sometimes feeling overwhelmed and sometimes simply picking up what I fancy and reading a bit. I imagine the birds and dear (ha, ha, good typo, deer), must feel this sense of lush madness each day as they make their way through the world.

And between reading list and my infatuation with the outdoor world there seems little time left for virtual living. I read the odd blog. I watch Jeane broadcast from the shed, check a few emails but this is the stuff of colder seasons or rainy days. I suspect many of us have the same inclination, torn from our screens by the the energy of growing things, of warm breezes, a world that offers us so much for so little.

How about you? How has the energy of the season tangled and mixed with your life creating a new you? I am reminded of a quote attributed to the Buddha that I have used on a painting: "Each day we are born again. What we do today is what matters most."

A Can Of Pain

Can of Pain Can Be Bought At The Pharmasave Price

Don't you love it?  A can of pain!  A large can of pain at that...  Tea and sugar and coffee come in small cans, but pain, it's always the giant sized one.  Why is that?  This photo opp was too good to pass by, honestly.  And you know how I love a cheap joke.  Loaf of pain, anyone?  White, whole wheat, gluten free perhaps?  How do you like your pain?  With butter, goat cheese? It has such a lovely rich feel then.   Sometimes we just slather it on.  Or perhaps sweetened with a little jam.   There are some of us who like our pain dry and crusty.  Is that our Puritan heritage peeking out?  We like to choke on it a little as it goes down.  But I digress foolishly.  What other way is there to digress, really?

I have had a number of occasions lately to ponder suffering, which in some sense is different from pain.  Pain is inevitable in this human life, suffering is optional, right?  Suffering, it's what we add on to the pain.  Do we all agree on that?  Twisted ankle = pain.  Ain't it awful = suffering.

And so it was suffering I pondered the other day as I brushed on my favourite chartreuse paint, rubbing it deep into the textured crannies of the canvas.  I was worrying about something, the usual.  We have our go-to's of suffering, don't you think?

Over and over this little nub, I went in my mind, rubbing and scratching at it.  I was so tired of myself and my way of chewing on this little bristle of fear by mid morning, that I knew I needed to do something different before my head exploded.  I was tired of being both victim and perpetrator.  A Dharma teacher had told me to comfort my fear, to befriend to it like I might a small child.  I was having a hard time doing this.  This child and I were just not feeling the love.

I thought, "so if I can't be friends with this furry little beast, maybe I could just spend a little time with it, quality time.  I had observed that what I do with my fear on a regular basis, is that I push it away.  I want to fix it, I want to banish it from the planet.  I want it to eat my dust.  Then everything will be okay, right?

But there it is running behind me.  Always this is the scene, me running, fear in hot pursuit.  We are both so friggin tired, I thought.  I've had enough.  Fear, how about you?  I have worn out so many pairs of fear drenched sneakers, it's ridiculous.  So I just stayed still.  Fear got up close and personal.  It had fangs and whiskers.  It was smelly.  And there I was feeling it's qualities, noticing it's ripples and roughness, it's warts and bad breath.  And I didn't self destruct.  I felt squirmy at first.  And then the longer I stayed, the quieter I got.  I got to feel my own strength for the staying.  It felt strangely good, like muscles waking up, flexing, seeing it was possible to just be still with fear.  Ha, fear I can be with your bad breath.  And then after a bit, it moved on without me.  No sneakers required.

Another visitation of "pain" came one day in the weekly qi gong class I take.  I realized at one point what a "struggler" I am, how this is a mode I go into when I am learning something new, doing something unknown.  Assumption number one of the struggler is: "this is going to be hard".  This thought is followed by physical tensing and tightening and the holding of breath.  "Remember to breathe" our qi gong teacher reminds us regularly.  (Apparently I am not the only struggler in the building.)  So first there is the thought,  followed by a body state that supports a depletion of energy and potential failure.  And off goes the little line of dominoes....  A way of being that makes new things seem daunting and unwelcome, a way of being that encourages a retreat, a shrinking from life.  Could this be anything but painful?  Could this be suffering come to life?

And that lovely little book "The Buddha's Brain" reminds us that the neuroplasticity of the brain allows us to change our response when we become aware of it's unhelpful nature.  We can choose to do things differently.  Sometimes we need to look those little demons in the eye a whole bunch of times before it occurs to us that we have a choice.  Sometimes we need to get so tired of ourselves that we are motivated to  get out there on the neural pathways with a big shovel and do a little path realignment .

So I ask you, how big is your can of pain?  And how do you usually serve it up?  And have you found any ways to take the lid off this can?  A bientot, mon ami.

Letting Go

I have sand in my hair. It is true I was down to the beach. But that's not how sand came to be in my hair. It was dusted on the top of my head by a Lama, right from the green sandiness of Tara at the centre of her sand mandala. And if that wasn't enough we again received a slurp of blessings in the form of a dark sweet water, the origins of which had been prayed upon by the Dalai Lama and other auspicious monks. Today was the final day for the Green Tara sand mandala that Lama Tenzin Tsundun began on Monday.

Today was the day of letting go and a fine array of Salt Spring folks crowded into the gallery for the prayers and blessings. Together we watched flower petals from our gardens tossed in the air and finally a dorje drawn through a weeks worth of careful work to create a slightly grey pile of sand. There were babies breastfeeding and toddlers sitting in laps eating juicy plums and Dorje the dog sniffing the wonderful assortment of shoes mixed with the aroma of incense.

There was chanting and a Dharma talk and five lovely Dakinis singing in Tibetan while one played the guitar, a tune composed in a day by a young woman who disappeared after the song as quickly as she'd arrived Wednesday morning. The altar overflowed with lush collections of summer flowers, fat yellow plums, cherries, tofu, gummy bears and chocolate dipped cookies. The day was mixed with a little morning fog and some afternoon sunshine.

For the grand finale we followed Lama down to the beach, a rag tag bunch; baby strollers, a blue glass vase of sand and a prayer flag string of coloured outfits trailing down the road, surprising cars rushing to the ferry. A young man in a straw cowboy hat volunteered to row Lama out into the bay to release the sand. Later someone pointed out that in a very Salt Spring sort of way the boat was named "Clara T".

Today was all about letting go. There are so many things we can let go of on so many levels. Lama talked about letting go of fear, that not only is this is a gift to our bodies but fear holds us back from experiencing life as it is. We can let go of our busyness and just be. He reminded us in a very concrete way how to go about this. "Sit in the morning," he said after you brush your teeth. Maybe just for 5 or 10 minutes and think what am I doing with this life?" He reminded us to go out into the day with a positive attitude and a compassionate heart.

At the end of the day he suggested, "look at how the day went, some things were good, maybe some things not so good." Perhaps recite a little prayer or mantra for the things that you did that were not so good, a purification, and then let them go."

And so the painting above reminds us in words attributed to the Buddha, "Each day we are born again. What we do today is what matters most." This little painting uses an old wooden stamp from Nepal to create the shape of the Buddha's head. I was enamored with the shape of it when I found it at Kebe & Fast's traveling sale last month. May you let go of what troubles you and may you let go of something you love. One day we will be called upon to let go of it all. May you savour your precious human life while you have it.

Dial 1-800 Simplicity

Gradually the tasks of moving and setting up house are getting taken care of. The list of things to do gets shorter and there is studio time. But if I am not vigilant I do what a lot of artists do: wash the dishes, water the garden, make a phone call. It is easy for time to get sucked up into the vacuum cleaner of the mundane.

But I notice there is a choice in all of this time sucking.. The dust bunny of stalling floats freely here. If I am truthful I am avoiding the uncomfortable encounter with the blank canvas. The ansty, discomfort of the unknown. What will I do? How will it turn out? There is a discomfort in beginnings, along with the possibility. And yet when I get there hours can pass bearly noticed. Still I sense the resistance.

This little 6x6" piece "Buddha's Call" held both fun and frustration, not an uncommon mix for me. When I'd finally completed the painting part, it was time to have a little fun with the old sewing patterns that I picked up the other day. I love to play with the words. So this little Buddha sports "Dial 1-800 Simplicity". And isn't that the easiest way to get our simplicity. Just call and have it sent to the house. Or maybe we could just buy a magazine with ads full of things to make our lives simpler. Easier than buying less, doing less, easier than just sitting.

A few more sewing words found their playful way onto the canvas. The Buddha sports inter and facing on where else but his face? The enso implores us to imagine, create and learn in tiny letters. And the lower left corner reminds us that things are "subject to change". And of course being a fan of the Buddha I have given him "View 1".

Dart To The Heart

This piece was almost finished before I packed it away several months ago. There was something not quite finished about the face. And so yesterday I took it out of its paper and got out the eye shadow & the blush (just kidding), added a little more blue to the sky, green to the ground. It's called "Dart To The Heart" and it's a sister painting to "What The Buddha Sewed". Adding finishing touches was a nice way to ease back into work instead of having to stare down a blank canvas as the first act.

I am learning to be kinder to myself, to pay more attention to inner inclinations. What better time to shed the old snakeskin of habitual behaviour? What better time to disconnect service to the little voice that tells me I should be doing this or that, in this way or that way? It's true I didn't need to move house to leave behind old habits but why not use this occasion intentionally? I think that concrete physical acts can offer an opportunity if we employ them. In a way it's not that different from ritual. We light some incense at the beginning of meditation. An outward physical act connects to the inner act.

It's about the mind, really and how we use it. The mind is a little power substation that can offer light if we use it wisely. And I am well aware from experience that it can do some high voltage damage if we let it course through the lines unchecked. But enough of this high wire stuff, soon I'll be joining the circus.

And so when I think about "Dart To The Heart" I think about the Buddhist idea that the first dart is some pain we might experience, but we add the second dart by thinking about it in an unhelpful way, by obsessing or focusing on it. It reminds me of something RM Jiyu Kennet said, "The mind makes a good servant but not a very good master." I wonder if the mind does room service and laundry?

Buddha's Auction

Just a little reminder that The Shambhala Sun On-line Auction officially kicks off today with lots of great goodies. Proceeds go to supporting a worthwhile spiritual publication. Check it out at http://www.cmarket.com/auction/item/Item.action?id=99536033

Well we can think of desire and attachment to stuff or we can think of generosity and the spirit of giving. Or maybe we can be like a juggler and hold all of these in our mind at the same time. Or maybe we can just be in the present moment with the colour and words and the clicking of the keyboard, perhaps the fragrance of the cup of tea that is keeping us company. As my Zen teacher always says, "We have more options than we think."

Thinking Mind, Grumbling Mind, Embrace Them All

Here is another refining. I have touched up Buddha, adding some more subtle detail, somewhat in the same way that by doing my practice I am refining myself. It is true that we all have Buddha nature and depending on how you like to look at it we can see ourselves as scraping the "gunk" of our karma off our lovely personal self portraits to reveal the our true nature. Here we are energy, having a human experience. And the teaching reminds us that this is a rare and precious occasion. But how often do we (I) really remember that my human life is a rare and precious treat to be savoured and held with reverence?

I have been watching my grumbling mind again (still?). So what else is new? The little faults I find in daily things and people. I see the grumbling and my first inclination is "I don't like it". I resist this aspect of my humaness, my karma. I have a difficult time making friends with it, seeing it as just thoughts. I go immediately to the place of feeling "bad" that I am petty. I heard a talk in an online course called "Awakening Joy", I believe the woman's name was Catherine Ingram, where she talked about standing on the tube platform in London's underground and thinking: "I could just push that person over there onto the rail line." She said that doesn't make me a bad person. It is just a thought.

And my Zen teacher has pointed out, it is what we do with that thought that is important. If we have an angry thought, do we act on it? Or do we simply feel the internal power of that anger, its energy and watch it pass (however long that takes). It is our response that we are working with. Thoughts and emotions arise. Do we react (without care) or respond (by considering the bigger picture)?

Our future karma depends on this. Do we strengthen those inclinations of anger and me, me, me? Do we build the neural pathways that lead to similar future reactions? Or do we work to resist and restrain ourselves from following "unwholesome" paths of action? These are the questions of the day, of the weekend for me? This is the cutting edge of practice.

So if I am mindful I remember to be compassionate toward myself, instead of judgmental. I can look at the suffering that this little scenario has caused for me and see that it is the suffering that leads to the end of suffering. If I had acted on every little negative thought, this would be the suffering that leads to more suffering! And experience tells me that this is not the way to go. So here I am finding polishing the family heirlooms (the human family!).

Refining Our Lives

I have reinvented "Bubblegum Buddha". In her first incarnation she had no face or detailing. She was simply an ethereal emanation of a Buddha. I liked her then and I like her now. She has been a resident in my studio for a while and lately I have been reinventing, retouching, adding to some older paintings.

Isn't this a lot like what we do to ourselves? Isn't that the refining our practice, taking the base metal of ourselves and turning it to something precious that shines? As time goes on things call out for attention and/or change and we attend to them as seems appropriate. Not that we are always wiser, but if we pay attention and do the best we can, that's all life really asks for I think. The older faceless Buddha seemed clumsier, this one more delicate and detailed.

So it feels like some stage of life, some point on the path where I am pausing to look back and adjust the work I had previously done. I feel a little more skillful in adding the detail to my paintings. And this seems to be the result that "confidence comes with doing, with practice." The more I paint, the clearer it becomes what needs some tweeking in previous work. So in life. Perhaps the eye becomes clearer, the hand more skillful?

I think I can carry over this lesson into other parts of my life. It reminds me that in Malcolm Gladwell's most recent book, "Outliers" he talks about the 10,000 hour rule. Basically that's how long it takes to develop competency at any craft or activity.

The Dharma lesson that has been arriving at my doorstep recently has to do with my relation to others, mainly friends and neighbours. I have noticed myself becoming irritated in several instances lately and wondering "why can't I be more understanding, more compassionate". As we get ready to put our house on the market I feel irritated at the new tenant next door who has filled the front yard with large plastic toys and hangs towels and mats up and down the stair railing close to our windows. A friend tells me a story that's troubling her over and over again, in great detail. In my mind I know it is my self centred view that makes me feel irritated in these situations. I am thinking about me and mine. I am not thinking about them. I see myself as the centre of the universe and it causes me to suffer.

I am clear that it is not helpful for me or my friend to hear the same story of her problem over and over. I recognize her agitated telling of her story as a fine example of what our minds do. I listen and empathize for a bit and offer the suggestions that most of where we go is speculation and not so helpful. We move on to other subjects. I also realize that I need to hold the neighbours in some space in my heart other than "annoyance" and so I work with this. Only then will I be open to a possible solution to the problem.

So while these things may seem small and petty they are the heart of the Dharma practice for me. ....Working with what comes to you. Working with these small things I chip away at my habitual tendencies and work to free myself from another layer of greed, hate and delusion. The following quote by Chogyam Trungpa seems particularly apt for me this week: "Compassion automatically invites you to relate with people because you no longer regard people as a drain on your energy."

nger regard people as a drain on your energy.”

Love Your Little Paint & Word Kids

Night Sky

Mixed Media on Paper & Matte Board

8" x 8" matte, image size 3.75" x 4.5"

$25 including shipping in North America

This little piece pleases me.  Is that a shocking thing to say?  In our Western world it is regarded as prideful or worse to say you like something that is yours, perhaps especially something that you've created.  When you stop and think about that, it is somewhat weird.  You are permitted to sing the praises of anyone else but yourself.  Now I'm not talking about boasting or feeling superior, but just the simple expression of "liking" something that is yours, in a down to earth matter of fact way.  In a way it is acknowledging our own "Buddha nature", it is a point of honesty and a mature position of self respect.  We should be able to say yes, these are my strengths without puffing our chests out or inciting gasps of surprise from others.  Yet this seems very difficult for most  of us Westerners.  We stutter and stumble and do the "oh gosh" thing.

The Dalai Lama couldn't understand the concept of "self loathing" that exists in almost every Westerner.  It had to be explained to him and it saddened him to tears if I remember correctly.  It is important I think, to extend credit and kindness toward ourselves.  As with so many things we must start in our own little patch of self.  Can we really love anyone else well if we don't love ourselves?   And when I think about what is helpful and encouraging for others, I know that it is love and encouragement and respect, helping them see where they shine and building on that.  So why would that be any different when I interact with myself?   When I think about it, being kind to myself and acknowledging when I feel I have done something well or worthwhile or kind, makes me feel strong and energetic and positive.  I then have  energy to do and be more and radiate it out into the world.

So those were my thoughts as I wrote the first line that said "this little piece pleases me".  It seemed like something worth talking about.  And why do I like this little piece?  I like it because it is simple and sometimes I can get too complex and overwork things.  Sometimes I think more is more and often more just means a fast track to the garbage can!  With this piece I stopped.  It feels vaguely like a brush painting and I like that.  It is abstract and beyond the thinking mind and I like that.  It has circles that please me.  And most of all it has weird ethereal words from an old poetry book.  They hint at things, but what things.  "The sky crawled into me."  Don't you love that line?  and then there is "I made a choice"  And being an existentialist from way back, it is my belief that even the non-choice is a choice.  We have no choice but to choose.  Man I'm getting twisted.  Someone hit me with the shut-up stick.  Good.  Thank-you.  I needed that.  End of story.  Go out there and like yourself and your creations.

Who Is Thinking These Thoughts Anyway?

Moon Buddha - Original Mixed Media On Matte Board 

 8"x 8" Matte  3.75"x4.5" Inside Dimensions 

$25   includes  free shipping in North America

I have learned something today.  You can blog late into the night and that works just fine.  You can even paint ( a bit trickier because of lighting) or do design work late into the night but it is next to impossible to take a good photo of your work after the day has morphed into evening.  You see where I'm going with this....  So I am keeping honest.  I did create a new piece of art today but alas by the time I was done it was too late to capture with the magic box, so you are seeing a brother to the Brush Buddha of Day 1.  I was having so much fun I did several of these.  Just goes to show that it never hurts to have a spare Buddha in the freezer.  You never know when someone is going to drop by.

The fun part about today's piece of art is that it is very different from the two days that went before.  I have my own little surprise factory.  I never know what is going to come out of the studio's easy bake oven (remember those?)  It reminds me that we don't really know our own minds.  They are a mystery to us in so many amazing ways.  I can create something and be as surprised as if I am a stranger at what has appeared on the page.  It's kind of delightful.  It makes me wonder, who am I anyway?  And where do my thoughts and inspirations come from?  In a way these surprises that appear are like little road signs pointing toward the illusory nature of the self, the fact that no solid, substantial self exists.  It is always moving and changing and becoming something else.  It is not that solid, pinchable me that I normally take myself to be.

The little buddha in today's post is done on a page from a small chapter book I purchased at my door about 12 years ago.  A young man was selling two little books he had written, door to door.  I don't remember how much they were or if he left it up to the purchaser to decide but I was so taken with his bravery in doing this that I had to buy them.  If I remember correctly his name was Stephen Parks.  Sometimes I wonder where he is now and what he's doing. I liked his writing but over the years I have used his art to make mine.  One thing is always becoming another.  Impermanence, yes?

And so that is my story for today.  I have learned about shadows and the mysterious nature of the self, the odd things the mind remembers and how it is all part of the ever changing landscape.  

Pink Buddha Peels An Onion

I was thinking that the lattice grid in this mixed media piece I recently finished was bamboo fencing.  It was pointed out to me that in fact it looks more like the Buddha in jail.  I agreed and symbolically and metaphorically it is kind of appropriate.  Really we are all Buddhas imprisoned by our attachments, our habitual tendencies and whatever else obscures our Buddha nature.  So maybe this image came from somewhere deeper than my conscious awareness.

In Buddhism they often use the analogy of peeling the layers of an onion for the work we do in practice.  And I am working away at another layer, tugging way at it like some little sharp toothed creature in the compost bin.  It looks a lot like some previous layers (onions are like that).  (They also make you cry sometimes.)  I am seeing how deeply my "wanting" of things colours my vision.  I am seeing it in an "Oh yeah, I'm getting that now," bang-yourself-on-the side- of the- head kind of way.  

In this specific instance (booking back to back weekends with art shows)  (and my Zen teacher always says it's individual situations that count, generalizations just don't work for practice)  I came to see the domino effect of "wanting": wanting to generate some activity, wanting to make something happen, wanting to sell some art, wanting to take control.  Was I trying to escape boredom?  Was I trying to create the life I imagined others to be living?  Did I belief that some success or outcome in the world would make me happy?  Yes, yes, and yes.  Also let me qualify here that this action that was not right for me might be fine for someone else.  For me it fed into an deeply ingrained habitual tendency.

This wanting tipped a domino that rippled perfectly down the line, as dominoes do, and caused some suffering(ouch those dominoes are harder than you think!).  As I looked back at what I'd done (hindsight can be a wonderful teacher when we're willing to sit in his class) I could see not only what I'd done on this occasion (not choose carefully, not think about timing, imagine how things should go) but see the pattern stretching back in other situations in my life.  It was sobering and instructive.  

What I was really reminded of was the best way to live my life.  It seems a little clearer, a little less confusing from this side of the domino pile.  It consists of living from my true self, my inner knowing.  How do I do this?  Well it requires some patience which is not always a strong point of mine.  It requires me to really contemplate the question "what is it good to do?"  and then not act until I feel clear about it.  As I thought about the whole process what life was really asking of me was that I go into my studio and paint, not worry so much about results and sales, just trust a little.  

In a way it is about being true to who you are, instead of listening to all the clamouring that goes on out in the world.  A phrase that has often come to me is "what is yours will come to you."  I hope that doesn't sound like magical thinking or new agey or "secretey" because it isn't meant to.  It's about letting go.  And ultimately letting go is about faith and trust.  It's about doing what needs to be done.  It's about acknowledging that ultimately this little me is not in control.  I've probably said all this before.  So if it seems like I'm repeating myself it's because I need to hear it again.  And of course it never stands against appropriate action.  It doesn't mean we should hide ourselves away in our studios and never do any marketing and promotion.  It means we should contemplate these activities as deeply as we would other aspects of our lives.  And here I use the word contemplate as opposed to "think" because it implies that deep inner knowing, the "sitting with" the question until it becomes clear.  It is not something generated by pure logic but comes from a deeper place and is a deeper way of knowing.  When we can truly connect with this place then we don't act out of desperation or wanting or fear.

I will end with a quote from John Daido Loori that appeared in the most recent issue of Shambhala Sun:  "None of the antidotes to stress -- numbing ourselves, running away, the various therapies -- will ever really get to the root of it.  We actually hold on to our stress.  It is a way of holding on to our positons, our beliefs, our sense of being right -- our self.    In that tightness and rigidity, the body cannot deal with it and the mind cannot deal with it.  We suffer because we will not let go."

Painting The Buddha

This Buddha is part of a large piece (30x40") which has 3 Buddhas in it and is probably the largest piece I've done.  The piece starts with squares of colour and pattern, an abstract painting really, and then the outline of three Buddhas rest on the background.  It took a long time to complete with lots of staring at it and reworking and leaving it rest for periods of time.  At one point the colour was completely different and the Buddhas were simple coloured silhouettes.  It was in fact a totally different painting.  But it wasn't quite right.  It was flat and tentative.  In the end I am happy with the piece.  It is alway a feeling rather than any sense of logic that dictates what it is good to do next and when a piece is actually done.   My work in the studio teaches me a lot about how to live the rest of my life.  I learn about patience and perseverance and riding out difficult emotions. 

It's a bit of a puzzle sometimes in deciding what to do with a piece, like the experiment of life.  I often know something doesn't work but can't quite figure out then and there how to make it work.  It can feel frustrating, accompanied by the sense that maybe this time I might just have to chuck it in the end.  But somehow, if I pay attention and keep going  it always seems to come out the other end.  I like some end results better than others, but mostly  things are reworked until I have that sense of completion and a sense that they are as they should be.  It makes for a long process sometimes.  There are days when I am on a roll and things go well and there are days when nothing seems to work, things get glued on upside down and all the paint needs to be wiped off and reworked the following day!  I have learned to just be with the days that don't work, for the most part.  There are days when things move so slowly that my feet seem stuck in molasses.  I have learned that I am mostly slow and meticulous and my process is long and windy for the most part.  

Today it was dark and rainy and I wasn't feeling very motivated.  There was an unidentified darkness hanging around.  I didn't like the look of what I was working on and really didn't want to get started.  But I finally did anyway.  I suspended judgement and just worked, quietly and attentively.  And surprisingly by the end of the painting day I was pleased with what had emerged.  It was so interesting to watch the resistance.  Lunch took a long time, then I looked at a magazine.  I knew I was working in an "uninspired" sort of space but still I persevered and as the Dharma would have it, this feeling, this state passed and I felt the strength and energy of not giving in to my old friends "sloth and torpor"  

There is so much Dharma in anything we do, in the process, how we work, how we approach our work, how we use our minds, and the emotions that rise and fall, like tiny gusts of wind or huge tropical storms of angst and pain.  Just energy passing through really.  But there we are liking the energy that feels "good" and labeling as "undesirable" the darker energy.  In the end if we can suspend judgement it is all just energy.  From my painting I learn to just stick with it and not judge.  I get to see how I never really know where I'm going or how things will turn out.  It is not necessarily dependent on my state of mind or feelings at the beginning of the task.  I may start out feeling a little low and have a great studio day and vice versa.  It reminds me that my job is just to do what has to be done,  and not trouble myself with the rest, with thinking about or anticipating the results.

I am reminded of my friends comment, that as she looks for a job and a place to live, she moves between hope and fear, back and forth.  But it doesn't really matter.  If we can manage to stay detached from these states and not believe the little stories that swirl in our hearts and minds then it is all okay.  If we can remember not to prefer hope over fear, we are truly enlightened.  That is our work really.  And as my teacher would say, it is all good.

With A Little Help From My Friends

This little 6x6 is hot off the easel and just in time as I'm running out of art to post.  I am a slow creator and labour over things until I like them.  There is a matching half (another little 6x6) which I will post tomorrow that shows the other side of the Buddha!  Imagine that cutting the Buddha in half, eek!  The words on the painting (that look like they need a little touch up!) are attributed to the Buddha, via the Dhamapada, according to my google search!  It is a much longer poem (maybe I have to do a whole series of little paintings called the Dhamapada? to hold the entire piece because it is quite lovely)

I have to offer many bows to those who shared their personal wisdom with me after yesterday's writing about my mother.  I realize in many ways this is such an opportunity for both my mother and I to be differently in the world.  Today as impermanence would have it my mother actually sounded cheerful when I spoke with her on the phone.  Perhaps there is some relief in her deciding what she wants to do.

 She wanted to talk quite reasonably about her will.  And because my practice has shown me the value of contemplation (and I had engaged in some last night and this morning)  I could, without malice or judgement talk to her about some things she wanted to put in the will that were clearly aimed at people or that might create disharmony after her death.  I could ask her if that was what she wanted to leave behind (and given the opportunity to consider, she said no) and agreed that the bits of "stuff" were not important enough to leave behind hard feelings.

I could tell her that she needed to tell my brother and sister about her choice to discontinue meds.  She wasn't sure that she wanted to do that.  But I felt clear, given her normal modus operandi that this was important for her to do.  Not only would it be about her being clear with people, it would open up a window for heart to heart communication if my brother or sister wanted to go there.  I reminded her that they were her children and should be informed by her, just as I was.  She agreed to my surprise.  In the past my mother has used me (and I have allowed this) as a buffer between her and the world.  I am clear that I no longer wish to assume this role.  It creates hard feelings in the family, denies my mother the opportunity to connect with others, and places undue responsibility on me (which creates resentment in me).  I feel clear that my refusal to assume this long standing role helps both me and my mother.  If I make mistakes (life is always an ongoing experiment) I can adjust my course from my new vista in the landscape.  But a considered response from a non-reactive place is a good starting point.

So this is the Dharma of everyday life.  There it is all laid out before me: impermanence, contemplation, a little right understanding and right action, the fact that life is an experiment and that we are always adjusting our course.  And the fact that the joy and the suffering are always right there, intertwined in their yin & yang kind of way.  And the miracle is  that all this makes life rich and full, chunky and savoury, like some lovely hearty stew, instead of that thin watery broth that the TV and magazine adverts try to sell us.