But I’ll tell you what hermits realize. If you go off into a far, far forest and get very quiet, you’ll come to understand that you’re connected with everything. ~ Alan Watts
A few weeks ago I went to an art supply store to pick up more sketchbooks that work well with fountain pens to journal in.
Near the entrance there was a large painting with a black canvas as background. It caught my eye and I stood before it awhile, soaking in stark imagery. It wasn’t anything beautiful yet it stuck out with deep contrasts and colors.
The shop guy strolls next to me, says it’s a form of “reverse art” he’s framing for the artist.
Something inside me creaked a tiny bit.
A few nights later I had a very lucid, vivid dream:
I was in a darkened room, an informal art gallery or an artist’s living studio. There were various objects of art throughout.
An old fashioned slideshow apparatus started slowly flashing images of art on a wall. I realized the show was for me.
The art was stunning — beauty of a kind that goes so deep it hurts.
It was in the style of abstracts with dark backgrounds and profound imagery. Art I’d never seen anywhere. Surreal colors off the charts, patterns which bled into one another. Out of this world art that struck deep chords.
Each image did a slow burn into my soul and DNA, leaving an indelible imprint.
All the while it felt as if a silent message was being drilled into me through each painting. Quietly calling to me to open my heart to it and bring those visions into reality.
I’m not sure what to make of it.
I’ve always had some kind of desire to paint and it would pass, lost to the detritus of life.
I’ve also always thought if I was super motivated to make something happen that I would do it. But it hasn’t materialized when it comes to art.
My imagination is an eternal artist, creating beautiful images in my head but my hands and fingers are controlled by my mind. They don’t have the desire or will to deliver what the imagination wants.
It’s a constant struggle.
Often where there is struggle I move onto other things because maybe to struggle means I’m just not ready?
Or is the dream telling me to push through this inertia and make it happen somehow?
I recently bought a handmade portable pochade box just in case the fire to create comes back to life — and stays lit.
So we’ll see.
Not mine but very similar by same craftswoman
Let’s try something new — come join me along a short hike on Moonshine Creek trail. It’s in the San Felasco Hammock Preserve near Gainesville, Florida.
This a favorite quick hike of mine that meanders a couple miles in a hardwood forest for total (and blissful) immersion with nature.
Got yer water and a cap? Away we go!
Edible American Beautyberries greet me on the way in (supposedly crushing their leaves creates a natural mosquito repellant)
A trail blaze marking the way - what a glorious sight!
That feeling standing naked in the rain in the woods? Primal. (Crazy too but you only live once!)
I find myself still rattled about my daughter’s situation. I hope she finds some kind of resolution. She’s far too young to be in that kind of place so soon us older people tend to experience.
I feel her pain in my heart still and as her Dad I wish I could just make it go away and all be well.
It’s her path to walk and her choices. As always I honor that because by doing so I honor her. It’s why our bond is so strong — we have an infallible trust and love in each other shaped in part by respecting her agency even as a child. She also knows I’ll be there in a drop of a hat whenever she needs no matter how far away I am.
In the beginning of my wanderings I used to feel guilty for straying so far away from her even as she lives her own life. However, I’ve come to see how much she loves that I’m doing what I love and it inspires her to do what she loves.
As a result she clearly enjoys her life, her work and the things she does. Her life’s truth clearly radiates from her because she lights up with joy talking about these things.
So she inspires me, too.
And the cycle repeats.
Halfway through this weird life on earth, I’ve noticed the older I get the more unseen I become. 1
Elders used to warn me that day would come when we’d become invisible to most of society and I’m finding they’re right (as usual).
It’s so interesting how we start fade in the eyes of others when hitting the mid-century mark. It’s also a natural occurrence so it’s not something I resist. Go with the flow, as they say, and enjoy because your best years are ahead.
Again they’re right. The wisdom that comes with age is life’s reverse-kryptonite. It’s why when I look back I often wish I had that wisdom with me back then because life would be so much easier, right?
But then I wouldn’t have experienced life in the first place. It’s not just about the learning, it’s the journey to that wisdom that makes all the difference.
Being invisible? I don’t mind it.
In fact, I like it very much because all these years growing up deaf in a hearing world I always stuck out like a sore thumb.
Now I don’t.
I’m loving my invisibility coat of aging.
Astute readers might have noticed I’ve written about aging a few times but it’s not something I’m fixated on - it’s something that fascinates because it is a new experience and with it comes new observations and findings.↩︎
I need space. I need air. I need the empty fields round me; and my legs pounding along roads; and sleep; and animal existence. ~ Virginia Woolf
Ray
An alien from a different plane wandering the universe in a tiny camper
Along the Ray
Somewhere on a river...
North American continent usually
