Mystery

Honestly. I paint but often I really do not know until later what it all means.

Beginnings

"Whatever you can do or dream you can, begin it. Boldness has genius, power & magic in it. - Goethe

This furry chicken egg is from my neighbor's chickens here on the island. He and his wife are one of several friends I know with thriving organic gardens, one of several people on the island who have inspired my start at a more sustainable lifestyle.

What a project this dream is! My summer has been completely consumed with the infant baby I call my garden! 37 by 16 ft of blossoming food, which cries like a baby, for picking, feeding and loving! But like the children, what joy amidst all this work. The day I discovered that the exotic leafy bush was OKRA was big. My neighbor gave me handfuls of seeds and in my rush I just got them in the ground without labels. It made for lots of excitement though next garden I will plant considering not only sunshine how enormous some of this has become. Gotta run. Tomatoes to blanch. :)

Brave New World

"Parzival's Quest is not one of perfection but rather to forming a right relationship to our imperfections." - Linda Sussman, from Speech of the Grail

Beginnings are out of our hands, poet John O'Donohue writes. They decide themselves, like our heartbeat and our breathing. It precedes us, creates us, and constantly takes us to new levels and places and people. There can be no growth unless we remain open and vulnerable to what is new and different. Martha Beck says, "everything is changing and that's ok" quite simply.

And the universe opens up to us concepts that seem to be coming from everywhere sometimes all at once. This is one I keep bumping into. In my books, in my 12 step meetings, online. Having the right relationship to my imperfections. All of my painting for years was about relationship. Carl Jung believed that spiritual growth was essentially tied to relationship. Joseph Campbell taught that where we stumble there will be our treasure.

The tale of the search for the Grail in Parzival and the amazing book by Sussman that I have studied over the winter, is a blueprint for the ages, particularly for we Westerners, whose task now in our age, is to discern what real truth is within ourselves. We cannot really rely on the church or the President for our truth. Our task, like the one we humans have been assigned from the beginning, is to grasp wisdom.

Here is to brave new beginnings.

Duende

To log on to your own blog to find comfort is serendipidous and as crazy as it gets. Reading Mary Oliver's poem Love Sorrow was a soothing surprise.

For two days I have been experiencing waves of the deepest kind of oxygen sucking pain, deep in my chest where my breath starts. My world of photographs and music and letters and writing got lost this week, in a freak wipe out by the gods at Apple. I had no idea I would fall so hard and feel so powerfully shaken.

The power has visited me before: duende is the word that comes to mind. The Spanish say tener duende, having duende - the emotion associated with "irrationality and earthiness, one which includes a heightened awareness of death, and a dash of the diabolical".

According to Wikipedia:

"The duende is a demonic earth spirit who helps the artist see the limitations of intelligence, reminding him that "ants could eat him or that a great arsenic lobster could fall suddenly on his head"; who brings the artist face-to-face with death, and who helps him create and communicate memorable, spine-chilling art.

The duende is seen, according to Federico Garcia Lorca, as an alternative to style, to mere virtuosity, to God-given grace and charm (what Spaniards call "angel"), and to the classical, artistic norms dictated by the muse. Not that the artist simply surrenders to the duende; he or she has to battle it skillfully, "on the rim of the well", in "hand-to-hand combat".

In some strange way, writing this, re-writing what some good writer posted for me on Wikipedia, helps me see a little, feel a little, like this visitor will leave. And perhaps will leave me richer, stronger and maybe, just maybe, on the sunny side of death.

Wakefulness

"Your task is not to seek for love, but merely to seek and find all the barriers within yourself that you have built against it." - Rumi

This sun is out, shining her warm growing heat on the earth this morning, and luckily, on me. I am in North Carolina, in Charlotte, the city of my name, and the blossoms are everywhere: redbuds, daffodils, cherry trees! The pale pink snow all over the streets wafting like waves on the streets, in the air.

Ah, spring, your newness is such a gift to me this year. I am so awake to see and ever grateful. I decided a little over two weeks ago to quit drinking red wine. Being really aware is the only way to get the lessons life is trying to teach me right now. Emotions rolling in like waves, and I am not running away. This feels like such an enormous step. How grateful I am for the strength at this very moment to have the courage to stand still and let the waves hit. Sweet center, thank you. Sweet rhythms of earth, thank you.

Solitude

Rosy the RV, where I live, is within hearing distance of this ocean. But this post is about silence. Rosy has become my cave. But a cave of delight now rather than dread. It was here that I grappled with loneliness in a very cold, wet February - when I realized I was completely mateless and alone, for the first time in eight years.

Maybe it is that spring is beginning and the sun is coming out. Or just grace. But I am honestly relishing this completely private space. I am not only learning to truly value my own voice, to love her, to cherish her. I feel the inner peace creeping in, growing strong and proud, like a scar over the wound of this winter. My heart is dancing freer with every day. I hung blue bottles, wrapped with silver wire, in my still naked crepe myrtle tree yesterday. They will move a little in the wind. The Gullah people taught that the evil spirits would be caught in the bottle trees, that the even the color blue protects us.

The German mystic Meister Eckhart, believed that nothing resembles God like silence. John O'Donohue, poet, priest and writer of Anam Cara, a book I am reading now (and quite seduced by) suggested that "the highly strung character of western life was explained by the absence of silence. "When you acknowledge the integrity of your solitude, and settle into its mystery, your relationships with others take on a new warmth, adventure and wonder."

I am called to more integrity. "The duty of priviledge", he said, "is absolute integrity." Wow.

Love Sorrow

Love sorrow. She is yours now, and you must
take care of what has been
given. Brush her hair, help her
into her little coat, hold her hand,
especially when crossing a street. For, think,

what if you should lose her? Then you would be
sorrow yourself; her drawn face, her sleeplessness
would be yours. Take care, touch
her forehead that she feel herself not so

utterly alone. And smile, that she does not
altogether forget the world before the lesson.
Have patience in abundance. And do not
ever lie or ever leave her even for a moment

by herself, which is to say, possibly, again,
abandoned. She is strange, mute, difficult,
sometimes unmanageable but, remember, she is a child.
And amazing things can happen. And you may see,

as the two of you go
walking together in the morning light, how
little by little she relaxes; she looks about her;
she begins to grow.

"Love Sorrow" is a poem by Mary Oliver, from the book, Red Bird, that was given to me last summer by my long time sweetheart, just as our love got lost. Funny. He is a poet, and learned to love her poems because I began to love them. Part of kissing an old love goodbye is welcoming sorrow and grief and that wounded child, too, that shows up all pouty out of the blue. Mary Oliver, whose work sustains me over and over, describes just what I have been trying to do.

What a surprise to find this poem only tonight, seven months later, in the book he gave me. Maybe that is love after all. The gift of these healing words is just that.

Rubies, Rubies, everywhere.

Solvitur Ambulando . It is solved by walking. That's what the saint named Augustine said, so that's what I did.

Today the sun came out. Blue blue blue of sky. Yellow cups of jonquils peeking from every clump of green. I am in Raleigh staying at my daughter's, in the intimate neighborhood called Five Points. I am holed up in my own oh so sweet suite - complete with a view of the garden and my own 1920's bathtub. This is a healing place for me, and I am grateful about everything right this minute.

So, in keeping with the admonition, and as the sun began to wane, I went for a walk in the neighborhood with the two beautiful dogs, my Italian Greyhound, Beau, and Hadley's tiny Yorkie, Nutkin. The area is a delightful one, with an old pharmacy, The Hayes-Barton Grill, decorated with posters of Hollywood stars of the 1940's,serving desserts like "Ava Gardner's Delight." There is an art movie house, with one enormous screen showing Crazy Heart tonight. Since I have been that lately, I am walking back down there right now, to see it.

Oh, the ruby slippers! So on the return home, down and around lanes of old bungalows, my feet stumbled upon a lost ruby, a necklace, fallen from grace, that somehow found itself tangled in my toes. A shining red ruby-like jewel suddenly stared up at me from the sidewalk. Like the story of the Arabian Knights tripping on the handle that held the lid that covered the jewels. Or like Dorothy's ruby slippers. In my hands, I now held a shining red jewel, a gift from the universe.

It said, yes, click those heels girl. Get on with it.

Dreams and Visions

"(Wo)man forgets that God reveals himself to us in dreams and visions. - Carl Jung

My delightful daughter, Hadley, is now all into Martha Beck, the writer and life coach. She is learning life lesson tools, and I, lucky Mama, am getting free coaching lessons, as a practice perk. All those years of teenage angst seem centuries ago, for this winter, this amazing woman, flesh of my flesh, has given me back some priceless gifts during one of the wintry-est winters of my life.

One of them is Martha Beck's quite simple dream analysis, one based on the work of Carl Jung. The cool thing about this funny and brilliant woman, is that she breaks down complex ideas into usable chunks. Lists. And I thought I knew all this. Nah.

This is my dream: I am sleeping in a bed with my former lover. We broke up over the summer after seven years and a half years, and it just ain't as easy as it sounds, even for a grandmother. Especially for a romance addict drugged by a poet. We get up to go, but I am all into this lovely dream meditation about Juliana of Norwich, who wrote these amazing words: " All shall be well, All shall be well, and All manner of things shall be well." Hmmm. Simple. Well, I had been reading all about her, and her writing, and really loving all this talk about love. She had 16 visions in about 1360 AD in England, and spent the rest of her life writing about what she learned. Love love love. Not bad. For me, that talk was like water to a thirsty heart.

Anyway, in the dream, I can't find my shoes to go, and I am not in a hurry, because this pleasure of being with Juliana's words is too wonderful. It feels so peaceful, and soothing: all this talk about love, with my 'missing lover' out there toward the car, about to leave. There is a rope or a tool somewhere I am looking for. So in the meantime, in my dream, I look out and the car is gone. My old love has left.

In my old way of looking at this dream, it was telling me the old lover has left. Duh. He has a new girlfriend he seems smitten by, who he found within days of my breaking it off. So much for seven years, even though I created this, and for reasons that incubated for years. That felt so, well, yucky. But that is not it! The Martha Beck scenario has you give each object in your dream a role and YOU are it. I am the old lover now.

Each object, sequence, person, was me. As me, I must give each object, action or person three adjectives. The adjectives I had written down were gone, elusive, and invisible. Then, describe how each part comes to my aid, how each part of the dream wants to help me.

Wow. Instead of the old love not even liking me anymore - how sad, for anyone, the story I now get to tell myself, is that he is leaving so I can have more of this sweet, sweet time with my meditations about the wonder of a mystic, Juliana of Norwich. Because it is me, giving me, exactly what I wanted!

Sweet Mother God. Give me more dreams and visions.

Jump!

Since July that I posted? I am still in Rosy, warmed now by the small heater, and oh, the lessons I learned over the winter. Joseph Campbell was right when he said, simply, "Jump!" But, oh, be ready.

Trusting oneself

"A sign of God is that we were led to a place we did not intend to go."

I am living out in the country, my Gullah neighbor Fred reminds me. On a wide, soft dirt road, surrounded by more trees and birds, and deer than people. The rural part is more important I think than the ocean part. But living here is surprising me in ways I did not expect. In six weeks my perspective has shifted.

Yesterday my copy of Living Magazine arrived. I have always admired Martha Stewart's creativity, drive and love of beauty. But the pictures in it, as I sat looking at it yesterday while I waited my turn at the driver's licensing office in the nearby town, is so fancy now, and the images looked a little foreign. My eyes see anew. For real! I have new people in my life bearing gifts of time and talent. I need less than I ever imagined and happiness is noticing that the birds begin singing only as the first light gently begins in the trees, watching frogs, feeling the wind pick up with the tide.

Trusting in the call, I suppose, was the most difficult part of getting here, which took me 18 months. I doubted my commitment to this land when it was a struggle. But being here is one of the most reassuring feelings I can remember. I am simply filled with awe at my good fortune on this summer morning.

Today began rainy. The little shed I am calling RedTop was supposed to get a 'lean-to' but hey, will they come, risk being rained out? The workers drive in from a little town an hour away. Turns out the rain just teased us and tonight my little addition is nearly finished. I will be so happy to have a place for paint cans and bug spray.

Learned two big things in the last two days. The tide ebbs and flows. In and out. When you walk out and the mosquistos are crazy, the tide is sitting....about to change....... so there is no wind.

I have a new riding tractor today. She is cherry red. Got her on Saturday. Tonight at about 7 I cranked her up for the first time, and oh my goodness, how fun and easy and useful this cherry red baby is.

I am blessed and grateful.

Surprised by Joy

"If a man set out from home on a journey and kept on going, he would come back to his own front door." - Sir John Mandeville, 14th century

Feels like home on this little island. I do not have a house but this feels like the years of my early childhood on the rural land outside of Mooresville, North Carolina. Edisto feels like the 50's again. Simple things like needing your neighbors (and trust me, I do), the two lane roads, the garden, the great outdoors, and well, less STUFF. The last few years in the United States were a gilded age I suppose, with mansions and massages and money flowing everywhere. The Great Recession, as I hear them calling it, put some brakes on the love of so much stuff perhaps. It did it for me. Even I got carried away on ebay bargains. (I could curate a show on paint by number paintings of the 50's which charm me and make me smile with their great ironies) My bills are now just for the land and the electricity mainly: my monthly expenses have been reduced by more than half. I have a little savings, thank goodness, but mostly dreams for the future.

I am surprised by the feelings that being on the little island has engendered, however. It feels intimate and interesting, and satisfying. It is life at its basics. The sounds of nature, the amazing painted bunting birds at the feeder, the deer in the yard, the little tree frogs having bug dinner on the window of Rosy over my supper table. Good simple butterbeans and a fresh tomato for dinner. Surprised by Joy was the name of the book by CS Lewis and a poem by Wordsworth. It means new things to me today. In the heat of the summer, I am surprised by such a welcome as this.

Edisto as Eden Isle

The moon is almost full and I awoke last night to see blue light splashed all over the grass outside Rosy's window. The frogs are still croaking from the rainstorm we had last night. I had forgotten to close the doors to the shed, so I had to wrap myself in a towel to run the 10 yards to secure the double door, in the rain. Rainstorms here are no mild thing here on the island, and I returned soaked by the buckets of water dropping from the sky. How grateful Rosy is dry and lit. Beau, the dog, was shaking and diving for cover. During the night the sky cleared, as most storms do, and the stars came out. There is something very powerful about living inside this natural world, about not being so insulated by housing that barricades me from the outside. It feels like something we humans need more of to be content. I cannot remember enjoying my life so much as I am right now. It feels challenging, and this more simple life requires of me. Meeting the challenge is essentially a human need I am coming to believe. The sun is waking the birds now. I understand Mary Oliver's poems in a new way. This is my painting called "Edisto as Eden Isle".

" the moment one definitely commits oneself, then providence moves too. A whole stream of events issue from the decision, raising one's favor all manner of unforseen incidents, mettings and material assistance, which no man could have dreamt would have come his way." - the mountaineer William Hutchinson Murray

This are my first tomatoes. I am so happy the deer have decided to let me keep them (they have eaten the rose blossoms instead). Last night I had a big plate of fresh tomatoes (from the next door neighbors) and my own basil, drizzled with olive oil. I now have fresh frozen corn in the little freezer.

My new friend Ike came yesterday and built the box steps of the the shed I am calling RedTop. They are exactly like the photograph I showed him and I am thrilled. He helped me fix the front door too, which was coming apart. Now the lock works well, and the metal and trim is newly secured. Funny, how wonderful the tiny successes are when all things are essential in your living environment. I like this life and I am as happy as I can remember. It is simple and I am lacking only perhaps in access to my library of books. But having DSL here in Rosy is almost as good. I do not miss the television at all. I feel just full of gratitude and faith today.

It is the 4th of July. The island is sunny and there's a breeze. My neighbor, Fred, brought me a watermelon, and some corn and tomatoes. He picked produce for one of the island growers yesterday. What a terrific day yesterday was!

I have a new friend who came and helped me get the resolve the most pressing need: it seems as the air conditioner on top of my little RV named Rosy is placed in the center of the roof, right over the door. Since the awning was not extended due to some wind damage last summer, water was dripping on my head every time I entered the door. The dog was bringing muddy footprints in, and cleaning the floor every minute was getting old. I met my friend Ike in the building supply about a month ago. He is a renovation contractor and works on the old Plantation houses on the island. I went in to ask around to see if they could help me discover how to secure my soon to arrive 8ft x 14ft shed, just in case high winds came this season. He happened to be there buying something, and the saleswoman pointed to him. I call it serenidity.

He graciously drove by and called me in Charlotte in early June to confirm the news when I heard that my little red tinned house was indeed there already. (I had not paid the kind gentleman I contracted with to build it, so I was surprised. I like this on trust way of doing business. How refreshing!) Yesterday afternoon, Ike had some free time in the afternoon and stopped and carefully examined my problem. Slowly, and step by step, he figured out each piece of the puzzle, and we succeeded in unrolling the awning and after a trip to the hardware store, we created an in ground securing system and even a new direction for any future water. I am thrilled. Today I sit inside in the shade with only my fans on - it is only 88 degrees today, hurray. People are like this out here. Is it a country thing? Or a southern kindness. For whatever reason, I feel quite blessed by grace.

Grateful

It's a great day. The sky is blue; we had a hearty thunderstorm last night which my tomato plants loved, and a young family of deer crossed the newly mowed meadow when I awoke and first looked out this morning. Yesterday, the electrician arrived, as promised (THAT now is terrific on this island, where everyone is on EdiSLOW time)...so now little Rosy has instant hot water from the Marey tankless hot water heater, which is an amazing little gadget. Hot water! How we take things for granted. This is part of the great lessons of living really simply right now. This experiment is about lightening my energy use, about getting back to a more basic was of looking at the world.

I met a woman, over the next door neighbor's fence, yesterday, too. She is from the Black community and her name was well known, but I had never met her. She is interested in preserving the culture of this island and participates in many of the community forums dedicated to that end. I love the neighborhood of cousins here. There is so much to learn about community.

And, sweet Charlie from the hardware store arrived under darkening skies, on his way home from work, to put together my large black rolling 'cart' for the new mower. What a sweet guy. The thunderstorm proceeded to completely soak us both even under my covered little awning storage 'carport', but after an hour my new cart is ready to roll today. We talked about his new chickens (they arrived he said one day old by mail order) and his children and wife, who also works at the hardware store. What a treat to meet someone smart, reliable and good natured, even as the skies thundered and the lightening flashed.

So this is a great day. Think I will pull the food processor from the shed and make some pimento cheese. To be at the place for creating (food comes just before art, yay) is a good sign. Perhaps the issues of basic survival are nearly complete. To get the washing machine into the shed (the plumber comes next) will make life lots easier (than hooking up the machine each time I need to run it now in the yard!) Besides the visual assault of having the blue tarp covered washer in the yard.... for someone who thrives on beauty, my own little space is yet to be landscaped. That will make me happier yet.

I feel blessed and challenged and grateful. Oh, and the dog's mosquito repellent arrived in the mail yesterday, too. Clean dishes, a hot bath and a happy pup. All is well.

Tic Tac Toe (you win!)

I arrived to stay on June 19th, so I have been on the island for 10 days. Moving is stressful for anyone I suppose in any form and this is a really new adventure. My shelter is the inherited RV that was on the property when I bought it. I have named her Rosy - to keep my spirits high I think. I made a collage of flowers and glitter and it hangs on the wall. It's title is TicTacToe (you win)...it is a feng shui good luck token, and yes, it feels happy and winning looking at it hanging on the brown plastic wall of my bedroom. I am realizing how everything is about attitude. Someone once said that in life, we will have pain, but the suffering is optional. In so many ways this is just the perfect dream. I left behind the water bill, the gas bill, and that big mortgage payment. I have no tv bill for now - internet high speed streams any tv I wish to watch through my little MacBook as of Saturday, and being online that helps me feel connected to the world.

My new neighborhood is on the island, not the beach (the 'town' of Edisto Beach is five miles down the road), which is a whole different world. The island is a mix of Black Americans who are the descendants of the slaves who worked the Sea Island Cotton Plantations before the Civil War, and a few weekender whites, who have waterfront deep water property and docks across the street. Fred, who works for the local shrimper some days and lives in a tiny un-airconditioned house two doors down, walked up the drive the minute my trailer and I arrived and helped me unload the entire thing, washer and all. On the other side is a retired man who has two deep water docks and simply an enormous green 'barn' workshop with every imaginable tool and machine and mower you can dream of. Last night before dark he just drove the big tractor and bush hog over and began to help whittle down the tall grass on the back of my two acre parcel. He has mowed this grass for me while I was away for months as a gift of kindness. I now have my own new Craftsman 42" riding mower, which arrived last week. It has been a wonder and it is really fun to drive - and sure beats the push mower I left at Belle Rive. But last night I could not get it to start. Please sweet God, let her start this morning. I try to mow only inches of the tall grass at a time, but I know it is a challenge for this steel grey shiny machine, who needs a name.

Today the electrician is coming to wire the new little shed for the washing machine which I have been using in the yard (it works!) - the drain is gravity driven - just hold the hose UP while the tank fills! And he will hook up, I hope the tankless water heater I just purchased online. It seems amazing if it will work. Right now little Rosy has no hot water ( a winter breakdown last year of the old hot water heater which flooded little Rose while I was gone - the effects of which are still somewhat of a challenge). Today I am focused on TicTacToe, my blooming rose bush, my four green tomatoes and multiple blooms. I will make a tomato sandwich from the tomatoes Mr. Morrison brought me from his garden Friday night. Sweet God, thank you. I am blessed.

Homecoming, my painting and my life

It is mid June and today, part of this dream of living on my beloved island of Edisto is coming true. It is just after dawn and the days are luckily long. Today my little trailer, carrying my grill and my washing machine, is following me to the island. I have a tiny red roofed house waiting for me to serve as a closet, a wash room, and to hold my tools. The little garden was planted 10 days ago, and I pray my barricades and the rosemary will have held my deer at bay. How I dream for summer tomatoes. A new family will live in my house in Charlotte for a year, taking care of my cedar sided Belle Rive. Last night as I sat in exhaustion from days of packing, I thanked her for her care and asked her to surround this new young family with good, sweet days and nights of shelter.

This will be quite the adventure, these next months. This blog will document what it is like to live the slow life, without clothes dryer, without an oven. Right now, I do not even have hot water! My tankless hot water heater new fangled gadget is in the trailer. Son, E, magical man of skills, is traveling with me to 'hook us up'. Oh God, be on this journey with me. Tonight's moon should be bright. I am so deeply grateful for this journey.

Spring

It is going down to freezing tonight. The dogwoods and azaleas will be tested by this cold wind. But it is Spring for me in spirit. I began a new blog about history and art in Charleston, and I think it is time for me to be physically in the Lowcountry. The old midwife said it best, " When the good Lord has something for you to do, you won't have no good luck until you do it." For four years I have been trying to get to the Lowcountry. So many doors have closed in Charlotte.Tested by cold winds here lately. Wisdom is all I ask today. Thank you sweet winds of change.