Navigating By Heart

A Cave In The Heart 10"x10" mixed media

The other day while exploring the second hand store of my inner landscape I discovered the vast navigational powers of the heart. But perhaps you are more sailor-like than I, and already knew about this awesome device?  I  was combing the cluttered inner shelves of stories and regrets, moments of delight and longing, rubbing off dust and cobwebs, when I came across this valuable but rusty bit. I mean I have bumbled around with this navigational heart-tool, using it  haphazardly, perhaps even recklessly at times. And there have been stormy situations where I suspect this knowing tool steered the course while I choked and sputtered below deck.

But as I painted the other day, the words "navigating by heart" bubbled to the surface of my little mind pond and I realized that for once this is what I was doing. The imposing navigational device of my mind had dropped off the charts (perhaps for scheduled maintenance?).

Continental Heart Drift mixed media 8"x10"

I am not negating the awesome powers of the mind but sometimes reason and logic are not the best tools in the chest.  Perhaps they are best called into service as gathering tools?  The mind can collect and process vast quantities of information, bringing home jewels and treasures. And maybe then the navigational tool of the heart is called into service, working its magic, making  choices, charting the way through narrow or difficult creative channels where the course is best steered with the heart.  Sometimes you prepare a checklist for what you want in a new home or what elements should go into a story you are writing but in the final cut, you buy that home with your heart or the story veers deliciously off course to become something you hardly recognize.   When we trust our hearts we may find that the heart can know what you need when the head doesn't have a clue.

Rounding The Cape of Good Hope mixed media 12"x12"

And so it is with the process of creating as you stand before your project. The head is limited to what it can conceive of but the heart is open to unknown possibilities, its maps and charts are less well defined, more amorphous.  Because of this the heart has a reach that is greater than the head's and that's why it's navigational powers hold such strength.  The heart is charting the course by a map that the eyes cannot see, traveling in terrain where the mind doesn't go.  There are stars shining in the darkness that the heart navigates by.  There are tangles in the bushes that the heart somehow eerily anticipates, if you let it.

I recommend heartily (pun intended) that you get yourself over to the hardware store of your inner knowing, close your eyes and pick out a heart compass that is vibrating at just the right frequency for you.  Pick up a few and hold them.  You will know the right one by how it feels in the palm of your hand. There are wonderful topographical maps and charts of vast inner oceans waiting for your heart compass to navigate. I wish you wonderful travels.

Plowing The Neural Pathways and Opening The Heart

Continents of the Heart 24"x 24" oil, cold wax, earth pigments

I don't really have much to add to the general conversation out there so I've been tending the fire and making cookies and being quiet. There's lots to make our heads spin these days, lots to sink our worrying minds and sharp teeth into: abuses of power in places we think it shouldn't exist, guns, apocalypses of one sort or another, holiday madness or gladness, depending on how you slice it.  Lots to leave us wracked and soaked and bitter and curdled (hm sounding a bit like my Christmas pudding)

In the end, for me, it's all about how it settles in the heart.  What trails and paths are etched there in the neural backroads of my brain? What journey do I choose wittingly or out of habit? Do I retrace the slippery old paths of anger and disgust, contempt and self righteousness? Or do I slip of down a green trail into the forest to nurture my heart, wondering what I can add to the world?

A quote by Ethan Nichtern reminds me of which trail to take when I come to a fork in the road: "Setting clear intentions is so important. Most of the time, we get stuck, not because we have bad intentions, but because we just have no idea what our intentions actually are."

I've been liking this "shift thing" that's going on out there. I'm liking the picture of indigenous people showing the "civilized world" how to save the planet and regain a sane relationship to it. Don't laugh, stranger things have happened and you've been watching them courtesy of the media.  I've been watching some of the goings on down in South America and listening to people like Bruce Lipton and Tom Campbell who make the scientific leap that it's all about love, that the mind is a powerful tool for healing, that energy is real and this world is a place of great beauty and mystery.  Yeah, you might think it sounds like I've fallen on my head, but sometimes that's what it takes to knock out the old to make room for the new.

The Heart of Winter 12"x12" oil, cold wax, earth pigments

And seeing as it's gift giving time here in the western world, here's a quote from Dzigar Kongtrul Rinpoche that seems like it would be a great gift to ourselves, our loved ones, and the planet.  New world, new gifts, right?  Take back that toaster, return that  fuzzy sweater.  Instead how about this, no wrapping required, satisfaction guaranteed?  "Imagine craving absolutely nothing from the world. Imagine cutting the invisible strings that so painfully bind us: what would that be like? Imagine the freedoms that come from the ability to enjoy things without having to acquire them, own them, possess them. Try to envision a relationship based on acceptance and genuine care rather than expectation. Imagine feeling completely satisfied and content with your life just as it is. Who wouldn’t want this? This is the enjoyment of non-attachment."

Sheesh, that's a lot of words for a person that had nothing to say, don't you think?

Mapping The Heart

Heartwood 24"x12"

I am mapping something these days. Every painting that emerges resembles a map of sorts. There is a strangeness to it all as if I have become a cartographer, an explorer recording and etching out the roads and river of some landscape that seems important to me. But perhaps every true creative experience feels like this?

I have come following an unknown river with a paintbrush and some pencils. Little continents and landforms appear, rising and sinking into oceans of grey and white, and taupe. Perhaps I have taken up membership in some strange society of cartographers of the heart. Surely my fees in this club are overdue?

The rivers and roads arise from the wandering of sharp tools across the painted surface, small, fierce nomadic creatures, exploring the terrain. The scraping nomads need to be held loosely, with love and trust, so they can trace out their own trail because they know best. The marks that emerge have their own lives. I must let go to bring them into being. These lines remind me that we are never in control anyway. It is merely our human delusion.

And the landforms that emerge are pleasingly irregular, tracing coastlines of the wandering mind, lakes of deep thought, rivers of delight, oceans of sadness.

Geography of the Heart 16"x16"

The webs of crevices and cracks tell stories about the beauty of imperfection. Tracing tiny lines I am reminded that the richness of the world is revealed to me when I attend to the details of life. The crows feet of the land spread out to show it's smiling face.

And while some of the work is done by attending to detail. I need to move outward and view the work from my space capsule. I am reminded that everything is composed of both attention to detail and an ability to stand back and see the big picture.

Road Trip 16"x16"

My map making project went on retreat this past weekend, spending time with master cartographer of the heart and mind, James Baraz. We spent the weekend practicing paying kind attention to being present. I learned that breaths are like snowflakes, no two are the same. I will offer you two tiny pearls from my expedition. If Joseph Conrad wrote "Heart of Darkness", I think James Baraz wrote "Heart of Lightness".

 Ram Dass said: The secret of contentment is to plumb the depths of the moment.

James told of some insights he had reciting the following phrase while on retreat. He said it to himself but then also envisioned other people. He said the really tough one was thinking of his son and saying this: "You are the heir to your karma. My happiness depends on my actions not on my wishes.

Islands of the Heart 8"x10"

Pointing Toward Harmony

I love setting up house, it's kind of like creating a collage. You work with colour and texture and form, moving pieces around until they work together in some harmonious way. You work with couches and chairs and tables and Buddhas and bowls instead of paint and paper and canvas.

I don't even mind unpacking boxes. It's the preparatory work, like cutting the bits of paper or painting the ground. It doesn't seem like work to me, it's energizing, creating this sense of home; a place for spirit to live. And so that's what this week has held. A week of settling in, enjoying some sunshine, helping the Buddhas find their proper homes, finding the right wall for each painting.

And then there was the joy of hanging clothes outside on the clothes line attached to a giant fir tree. I swear clothes get brighter and cleaner just from hanging out in this lovely clean air (this is a paid advert brought to you by a bit of rope and some sunshine). And there was the sheer delight of digging in the dirt and planting lettuce and radishes, some parsley and spinach and radicchio and taking the kilometer walk down the gravel road to the mailbox. I can feel my spirit breathe a sigh as it settles into this sheltered, rural spot with forest on one side, orchard trees and straw covered garden beds on another, and a stretch of panoramic ocean view in front. It recognizes home.

And where is the Dharma in all of this? I think it is about the many steps it can take to get closer to some goal that's in your heart. I can look back and see the many mundane steps it took to get here, the painting and cleaning and the ups and downs of house selling and packing. But mostly it's about honouring the call of the heart, doing what may not always seem logical or safe but doing it anyway. And somehow as you take the mundane, daily steps, you move closer to the heart's calling. Sometimes it's clear what the next step is and some days clouds cover the horizon. Some days you need to adjust your course around fallen trees and downed power lines and sometimes you just need to sit still and wait for the direction to make itself clear.

And so gradually it becomes clear at the gut level that we can never really know what's around the next corner but we have faith and trust that life is unfolding as it should. And there is always that sign in our heart pointing us toward harmony.

The Mad Witch of Zen

There are many things I know in my head that I don't know yet in my heart. What I need to understand hasn't made the long journey, as the quote credited to Chief Seattle goes ("The longest journey we'll ever take is from the head to the heart.") Today I woke up with a sore throat.  For most people this isn't a welcome thing but you get up, get on with your day.  Maybe grumble a bit.  Today I did get up and get on with my day but for me being sick is a serious bummer.  You think I'd be used to it by now.  You think I'd accept it.  But I can't quite do this.  I don't want it.  I don't like it and I push it away.  For me a sore throat is not just a sore throat.  For some time I have realized that I have built a story around illness.  No, that's not quite it. .... I have built a giant arm wrenching novel around it.  It's set somewhere dark and nasty, filled with lots of sinister and sad characters where I imagine (unlike Hemingway) that the sun never rises.

We all tell ourselves stories.  What else is the ego but an amassing of stories really, about how we are, why we are that way, and how things should really be.  We create ourselves with our stories.  We are walking illusions.  Some of the stories we tell ourselves are helpful.  Things like "I'm good at this" or "I always bounce back".  Mostly if we look carefully we  have some good stories.  On the good days they're easier to find in the mental library.  

But today I pulled out the well worn volume called "oh no, I'm sick again.  I'm always sick.  Every time I turn around I'm sick.  Will I ever be well?"  Sounds like a bad, cry in your beer, country and western sound track.  And  logically I know this is a most unhelpful story, and yet....  I have told it to myself off and on since I had chronic fatigue syndrome 2o years ago so it is a comfortable old story with a leather cover and a silk tassel book mark.  It is not an enjoyable story but easy reading, second nature.

So what does it take to redraft that story? There are a variety of skills that go into this I think, applied at various times, in various combinations, in a kind of trial and error, let's experiment kind of way.  Ah, let's get out the Bunson Burner, remember that cute little accessory from high school chemistry.  We know the object of this little experiment. It would be "Drop the story. " ... And the apparatus, well I guess that would be me and mind and my heart and my blood and bones. 

 And then there's the method.  (Remember the layout of that little science report?)  So first I am aware that I am telling a story.  Or am I?  Well,truthfully sometimes I am past the first chapter, well into the moping, before I even realize I am telling the story.  So I need to be vigilant and pay attention to the oncoming story .... so I can be prepared when it's sitting at the check-out desk waiting for me.  Then I need to "grasp the will" as my Zen teacher calls it, which I find pretty hard when I feel crummy.  The draw to feel sad and bad and wallow is pretty strong.  The inclination to wrong view "everyone else is healthy and out there having a wonderful time." is pretty enticing.  That's how it seems but in addition to being untrue it feeds the wallow mentality.  

And then there is patience, ah good ol' grounded, steady patience.  Long standing, karmic patterns need time.  The work needs to be done over and over.  Change doesn't  happen NOW, just because I want it to.  Ah, big lesson. Patience, patience and more patience.  And how about some compassion for the confused little self.  The self that blames itself for being sick, feels a failure for being sick.  And then how about letting go, that famous Zen ingredient, so rarified and special, invisible and ethereal. ...... so simple and direct, the knife to slice through it all. ....Just let go of the story.  If only for a moment.  And then another.  .... And then one day ....poof, inexplicably it's gone for good.

So while I take my vitamin C and do my qi gong  I will also put all the above ingredients in a little flask on the Bunson Burner and patiently await the alchemical reaction, all the while stirring like a mad witch.  I will ask for help and say a little prayer and try not to remember that my chemistry teacher told me that "three moons were going to rise in the sky if I passed chemistry."  I still fondly remember Mr Martin.  He sounded a lot like WC Fields.