I combed through my strange dream about a client who tried to seduce me in the healing space, I tried not to appear uncomfortable and declined as compassionately as I could. In the dream she ran out screaming at herself. Eek. For whatever reason that kept me up and waking brought a Pandora's box of other thoughts about some of the things that have really gotten under my fur lately. Thoughts like bur's.
I knew I was in for a long morning so I took to meditation with my favorite piece of Selenite on my heart center, a center that's been the cloudiest for me lately. Yes and, so... meditation not working out so well, and 3 hours of Tumblr, facebook, and staring at the glow of lights on the wall as the sun rose, I got up but not before friend Megan Braley posted this article to her wall:
"To live creatively is a choice. You must make a commitment to your own mind and the possibility that you will not be accepted. You have to let go of satisfying people, often even yourself." From We Say We Like Creativity, But We Really Don't. - Slate.com
Reading the article, and having my sidebar with myself, I realized I was either rather poetic, or I fell one to many times and injured something in the thought process. I'm not sliding off the mark here. What I was thinking centered around creative people and the absolute mess they make of their lives, take part in, or otherwise enjoy, even tho they really don't... but they do. What I'm saying is creative types, and I'm one so I'll generalize (you know, because "I'm one," I can do that), need the fractured, collapsing, breaking apart, teetering, asymmetric, atrophic forces in their life to create the painting, sculpture, ironwork or whatever ingenious or bone-headed thing that they ended up giving birth to.
Yes I had an Light Bulb moment, Oprah.
The "result" is our art, a shadow, an avatar, a child, but it is only the end point of a process of experience that is often unseen by the rest of the world. However... In that fracturing process, looking for that crack in reality to understand our place, or story, or express more ruthless, raw, or real that "thing," I as an artist have tried to encapsulate those trembling moments of anger, or the lines of insecurity, not to make something pretty, which is a valid focus, but to create a vital vein of that experience so deep and powerful within myself, for you, to see. Hopefully one to take away and put on your wall because you connected with the force of that feeling.
Okay so hold that thought because we're following a timeline of my morning here and at this point I DO finally get up out of bed, pull on some flannel pajamas and flip-flops, pop a beanie on my head and take wonderful doggie, Miss Trixie, for a walk and contemplate today's Tarot while simultaneously awaiting a small turd from loving dog.
Naturally I think about dying. I mean we all do right? But this is a feeling of sudden clarity that the reason we make the world pretty and loving for children is because they have no idea what's ahead. This is where the saying comes in, "Youth is wasted on the young." Rarely do we, and I'm probably speaking about Westerner's in an industrialized society, under lights of illusory health and riches for all with no consequence, or broken back workers in far away lands making pennies for the glamorous.
Stumping. Sorry, slap me.
What I meant to write was about me, I had no idea what I was missing out on when I was young, or what the silent company of adults and ancestors around me all knew, maybe even feared, that this body is finite in this form, and that one day I would look up from contemplating the Six of Cups on a cool morning with a little black dog who was finally taking her poop and think, "This is it. It is pointless to fear myself, it is essential to do, be, what I love because I'll not be here forever."
I mean so much flashed through my head in this oculus of searing clarity. The problems of the moment fade. I am thinking about the Slate article and I see myself as if in a dream, naked on a stage, and everyone staring at me but instead of the usual adolescent dream of sudden public nudity, I am not hiding. In this strange vision I see myself arms wide open staring back at me in this moment, each of us, the Duality of "me," looking deeply at one another. My eyes in the vision were deep, sharp, kind, unafraid and alive.
It, I, Came In Like a Wrecking Ball... And I can't think for a better description in the moment, for the process. First, as noted, I had you hold a thought: the creative, fractured, drama of the artist's life as a necessity for the creative process. However I think that is only one kind of process that I, and many, have used to create. There is another. I saw it in my own eyes today. Death as Deity in understanding that life and it's pleasures are transient, and all things we think stable and certain are certainly unstable and uncertain. It is up to us to waken to the reality, take it to the bosom and hold it close, death is immanent -never should it be intentionally inflicted- and it is a part of living. This is where the "Wrecking Ball" (with our without Miley Cyrus, up to you) plays in my head, lyric and all. I'm seeing her on Barbara Walters, and Miss Walters illustrating the new Miley as that wrecking ball to her Disney persona, Hanna Montana.
Poetry or crazy. You decide. This, though. This is what brings me to the Tarot Daily and possibly explains some of those days you were waiting for a post that didn't come until the evening. Like any reading I allow for the entire process to come through this, me, your medium. This is not a production line. I don't get paid to do this. Occasionally I get a few readings online but for the most part The Sacred Other is all me, paid and produced, as a way of expressing to share and in sharing so mirror, creating a hopeful mirror of understanding and learning. At the very least I hope it's entertaining.
Ack! Digressing again. These are things that I usually keep to myself and after this morning, and two hours of busy fingers clacking away at thoughts, what you usually get on the web is the following:
Year of the Lovers - December 19, 2013 - The Six of Cups
"Lord of Pleasure. Six flowers rise up in the center of the card and each flower bends over a different cup. Water flows, yet cups are never full. Sun and Scorpio. Contention. Pleasure. Past memories. Nostalgia. Steady gain. Alternatively, Strive arising from unwarranted self-assertion and vanity. Presumptuousness. Thanklessness" - Hermetic Tarot
Cards: Six of Cups.
- Friend Review: Todd Atwood - Akashic Journey Meditation (thesacredother.com)
- Expanded Daily Tarot: Dec. 6, 2013 - Six of Swords - Clarity and Light (thesacredother.com)
- What are the Suits of the Tarot? (llewellyn.com)
- Expanded Daily Tarot: "I guess I'm frisky to blog" (thesacredother.com)
- Creative Rebirth - Friday's New Moon in Libra (virgomagic.com)
- My Holiday Gift to You (cancershift.com)
- Steps for Abundant Good Now and Beyond (toddatwood.com)