Sources of Inspiration

There are endless sources of inspiration out there and we don't have to look far and wide to find them.  The above picture is one of Isaiah Zagar's mosaics and living dream. Zagar took dilapidated buildings on South Street in Philadelphia and made them into Philadelphia's Magic Gardens.  What struck me about this artist was this:  you can see and feel the true essence of who this man is, past, present and future when you stand in his sculpture garden, or tour the city to see 40 years of his many creations blossom in the most unexpected spaces.  Although I don't want my walls filled with mosaics (well maybe just one), I truly admire Zagar's courage to create his surroundings and life's work with a genuine heart.  Many of his works incorporate silouettes of his wife Julia, who is obviously a part of his being. And of course, he was influenced by many other artists/people along the way.

This adventure left me wondering if I am living my life according to the essence of who I am..........what is the essence of who I am.........who inspires me and who is a part of my being?.............

 Then I came across this quote in Julia Camerons book The Artist's Way -A Spiritual Path to Higher Creativity 

                         

                               "You are lost the instant you know what the result will be."  Juan Gris.

So having the "answers" to those questions, I gather is pointless.  The essence of who we are is about the journey we chose:   who we allow to influence our journey and what we make of our journey.  Although I am influenced by negative experiences, I cherish those who have touched my heart in large and small ways and poetry allows me to frame this.  I'm guessing Zagar feels a similar satisfaction when viewing his mosaics.  I am lucky to have my mom, who I cherish for teaching me the meaning of love with an inexhaustible list (volumes) of loving deeds, actions and lifestyle.  And I cherish her mom for the quiet love she taught throughout her life.  I wrote this poem in memory of my grandmom's enduring love for my grandpop, even long after he was gone.

Goose Girl

This spoon chases lops of carrots,
potatoes, celery, and beef,
round the copper bottom pot,
and steam billows towards a
single, hollow stratum between
these apartment walls.


Green cold bottles of 7up
are still to the left in the icebox,
salt and pepper
to the right of the stove.


Today I changed the placemats
for fall,
two tan woven squares,
two brown wooden rings surrounding
two fabric napkins,
laden with crimson berries
and the rich ginger tones
of autumn’s grace.


In the evening,
I pop open the tin for a raspberry candy,
and savor and sway
on the wooden rails of my rocker,
which always return my pushback.

Fridays I go on to pin up my hair
and dust the curio.
Goose Girl looks down on her pleading darlings
with compassion.
Singlehandedly
she remains undaunted,
year after year,
clutching her secret bouquet behind
her back.

I am so fortunate to have such monumental influences in my life, but I also try to appreciate someone or something every day, even tiny doses of inspiration.  Cameron's book encourages you to recognize and nuture your creative self, which is present in all of us.  She advises to journal each morning and seek out your creativity by taking yourself on "artist dates".  For me, setting a little time aside each day reflecting, journaling, meditating or writing poetry makes the world stop rushing by so quickly.  I am greatful for others who teach and nuture creativity.

This week I am treading into new "creative territory".  I visited a local art store and brought myself some colored pencils and sketch pads and a "how to draw with colored pencils" book.  I could never really draw, but Cameron advises us to challenge our inner critic... and so I'm trying not to say "never".  Try your hand at something new and creative.  I hope you share your adventure here.

Thanks Denise for sharing the Magic Garden site and thanks Mare for sharing the Artist's Way with me.

  

The Poetry of Rain

Today I felt like I could conquer the world during Mat Pilates,

building core strength and reaching with strong open arms towards the ceiling sky.  Then I went out to my car and saw this view of the real sky from my car window:  threatening, looming over LA Fitness......over my errands......over my daughters birthday barbeque, over my optimistic conquering spirit.  Then the words of Pema Chödrön popped into my head, and I saw the rain as my teacher.

I remember listening to her CD "Getting Unstuck" and feeling relieved to learn that the "negative" things in life make me balanced and without them I would be very arrogant.   Her teachings include having a loving kindness towards ourselves, and therefore are very comforting to me.  Here are a few of Chödrön's quotes:

"To be fully alive, fully human, and completely awake is to be continually thrown out of the nest."
— Pema Chödrön

"Life is glorious, but life is also wretched. It is both. Appreciating the gloriousness inspires us, encourages us, cheers us up, gives us a bigger perspective, energizes us. We feel connected. But if that's all that's happening, we get arrogant and start to look down on others, and there is a sense of making ourselves a big deal and being really serious about it, wanting it to be like that forever. The gloriousness becomes tinged by craving and addiction. On the other hand, wretchedness--life's painful aspect--softens us up considerably. Knowing pain is a very important ingredient of being there for another person. When you are feeling a lot of grief, you can look right into somebody's eyes because you feel you haven't got anything to lose--you're just there. The wretchedness humbles us and softens us, but if we were only wretched, we would all just go down the tubes. We'd be so depressed, discouraged, and hopeless that we wouldn't have enough energy to eat an apple. Gloriousness and wretchedness need each other. One inspires us, the other softens us. They go together."
— Pema Chödrön

"Most of us do not take these situations as teachings. We automatically hate them. We run like crazy. We use all kinds of ways to escape -- all addictions stem from this moment when we meet our edge and we just can't stand it. We feel we have to soften it, pad it with something, and we become addicted to whatever it is that seems to ease the pain."  (my addiction: food)
— Pema Chödrön

"When you open yourself to the continually changing, impermanent, dynamic nature of your own being and of reality, you increase your capacity to love and care about other people and your capacity to not be afraid. You're able to keep your eyes open, your heart open, and your mind open. And you notice when you get caught up in prejudice, bias, and aggression. You develop an enthusiasm for no longer watering those negative seeds, from now until the day you die. And, you begin to think of your life as offering endless opportunities to start to do things differently."
— Pema Chödrön

and one more...........

"As long as our orientation is toward perfection or success, we will never learn about unconditional friendship with ourselves, nor will we find compassion. "

— Pema Chödrön

I took a picture of these beautiful "perfect" flowers on a gloomy evening.  They were behind two of my dead hanging plants that I neglected to water in a heat wave.  I paused in my garden with loving kindness towards myself.  I felt bad about the plants but I did not water any negative seeds.  I did appreciate and delight more in these beautiful brown-eyed susans.

I thought about this again over the weekend after attending two parties with loving family and friends.  It is wonderful to spend time with people who support and care about us.  But life isn't always like this and thats okay.  I wrote this poem Audrey's Gift, and although it reflects a painful time in my life, it has helped to make me the person I am today.  Click on the link, then the "table of contents outline", then the the "Art of Nursing,"  then the PDF file under "Audrey's Gift."
http://journals.lww.com/ajnonline/toc/2009/08000#-237883829

Next time you are going through a difficult time, make sure you treat yourself with loving kindness and know that there are lessons that may help open up your heart if you are willing to stop and listen.

Why Don't We Talk About Death?

Today on my way to yoga class I stopped at a 4-way stop sign where each car stopped a second apart, making who goes first a very smooth process. Sometimes life is this way but many times we all stop at the same time, wave at the same time, proceed at the same time, and end up with a jerky process.  Many of us approach the subject of death with such a process--a quiet agitation or a subtle uneasiness, especially when it is not imminent. We also approach this process as unnatural, even eerie, despite our unquestionable fate. I am not surprised that recent discussions regarding “end of life decisions” in the current political climate has stirred up a host of awkward emotions. How many of us stop at the subject of death and are unsure of how to proceed or take a quick detour in the opposite direction?  I, for one, am not sure or satisfied with my feelings about death.  My thought processes are definitely jerky.  But why?

While practicing nursing on a coronary care unit, I come across living wills in charts of my patients who are intubated, on tube feedings, and on multiple drips, have end-stage chronic disease or are very elderly (I had a 98 year old with dementia yesterday who asked me: “What if I say no?” to a blood transfusion). Sometimes a discomfort pervades me as well as an uncertainty as to whether or not I am honoring what the patient wants. Am I getting them through a critical “hump” in their illness, am I prolonging the inevitable? Is it my place to decide? Is it the government’s place to decide?  The doctor's?

Lets discuss a more tangible subject:   Do you understand living wills and power of attorneys?
To ease the uneasiness, I found this humorous video about Living Wills on the net.  I guarantee it will make you laugh...or at least smile.  Take a look:



Then I surfed the net for "Power of Attorney."  I came across this site http://www.legacywriter.com/ and purchased myself a form for Power of Attorney for $14.95.  It took only a few minutes to fill out and print.  Should I become vegetative......my hubby will now know my wishes.

So who determines if I am vegetative or terminally ill?  A doctor makes that choice, and I would  hope that it would be a doctor who is compassionate and experienced.  I have seen doctors from the same group have extensive experience in the disease process, but one has compassion and the other? none.  Those with compassion go beyond the knowledge of disease processes and care about the whole person.  They become an advocate for the person.  This can be a very complex subject for people and their loved ones and some may need the help of such an advocate.  Check out this site from a compassionate cardio-thoracic surgeon who is now practicing as an end of life advocate.  http://www.karlahlswede.com/.  I sincerely hope the government would not take over these types of decisions.  We need as much information as we can get on our journey at life's end and real compassionate "people" to help us wade through it.  I wrote this poem after resusitating a woman in her 90s.  Lets talk about it now.  Its only natural.


The Predicament of Advancement

Shuffling feet hurry
on the roller coaster
of jolts
and thrusting
hands.
This mechanical,
electrical,
tuned up
machine
is working again.
Sighs are heard
after hands are tied,
but I ponder this phrase,
pushing grey, brittle hair
from her eyes:

Above All, Do No Harm

A Sacred Space

Sacred Space

          

A sacred space can be in a corner of a room, a whole room if you have the space, a chair on the porch, or a bench in the garden....wherever it is....everyone should create or find a quiet space to sit and just breathe.  Just breathing is not easy for many of us because our minds are always racing ahead.  I attended a meditation seminar at Himalayan Institute and found myself experiencing the opposite of relaxation during a seated pose while meditating.  I actually felt the stress response-my heart was racing, I was sweating-- a physiological response elicited by fear or anxiety which activated my "fight or flight response."  Yes, that was me, learning how to relax.    The instructor assured me it was because I had caffeine after several days of abstaining.  But I reflected on what was going through my mind at the time and made my own conclusion.  Meditation is optimal if you are sitting comfortably with a straight spine, breathing by expanding the belly on inhalation, and viewing thoughts as present, but letting them go.  I recall my ego taking over, saying "you're exhaling and contracting.....you're not straight enough.... you cannot let that thought go...there it comes back again....etc., etc." This went on until I had to open my eyes and quietly leave the room.  This it what we often do to ourselves in many situations in life-constantly criticize ourselves and tell ourselves we're not good enough-we're not doing it right.  What I have learned, and am still learning, is to be kind to myself, and relax because no one is perfect.  Just breathing and appreciating the present moment-your sacred space, a starry night, a blue sky is good enough.  Actually, its perfect.  Sometimes I find my sacred space on my yoga mat or in the shower.  Just breathe and appreciate small moments.  A straight spine, abdominal breathing, and letting thoughts go.......icing on the cake.  I wrote this poem about a special time I love-my daily shower.    


  Each Day a Shower

Frosted doors slide side by side
to expose the threshold of daily
sanctuary. Here, I honor all that
I’m not, roles melting towards truth.


From the outside, I am the muse of
van Gogh. Inside, I stand on therapy’s
couch, a canvas unbound. Tepid drizzle
dilates my crown, reigning over idle chatter.
The cold surface of mirror fades in the fog.


My breath is fluent in the haze
of steam and I drink in shades of violet.
Thoughts parade across earthenware tiles,
and dissolve into small golden squares.


I close my eyes and I am the color
of rain. Frosted doors slide side by side
to expose the threshold of daily
sanctuary. Here, I question all that I am,
as naked as the day I was born.

Viewing the Hospital from a Different Perspective

Today I viewed the hospital from a different perspective.......as a patient.  I nearly fainted at home and then vomited and had my husband (my love and deer in headlights) drive me to the ER.  I arrived at the hospital doors frightened, even though I was completely familiar with every instrument, medical jargon and procedure.  I heard the familiar words "big stick", and "ready-I'll pull this tape off quick" and "we are waiting for your results," all coming from Nurse Lindsey--not me.  It seemed a good lesson to know the sensation that comes along with the words-yes it is a big stick, yes the tape being pulled stings, and yes it seemed an eternity lying on the stretcher waiting for results. 

The whole experience made me keenly aware of how kind words and warm blankets can make all the difference in the world.   I felt cared for and about even though Lindsey was busy, because she maintained good eye contact, did not back out of the room while I was speaking, and took the time to frequently ask about my comfort.  My call bell was answered promptly and with a smile.  In fact it was a blessing to view nursing from this perspective and although Lindsey will probably never see this blog, I send thanks to her and all nurses. 

This poem is from the perspective of a stroke patient, Patricia Celley Groth, from her book Wild Apples, Stories From the Motherline.  I was honored when her husband presented me with a complementary copy.

Baby Steps

In the space between one night and another

I am thrust back into my childhood,

my babyhood, even.  I was surprised

this could happen to me; not scared,

surprised--and angry.

At first I could not walk or talk.

Waking up in the hospital like that,

I was embarrassed I was there.

I pretended every thing was just fine,

and I was holding court

from my high bed

just as my mother used to,

nodding my head a little

to say it was all right.

At first I could not swallow

so the food was ground up for me.

I didn't like it, and not being able

to reach for the spoon

with my hand this way,

I spilled most of it on my clothes.

I had to wear a bib

just like my baby granddaughter.

She, the baby, takes great pleasure in walking

with her one hand held tightly in her mother's.

I finally walk too, my hand

grasped around the head of my cane,

or my husband carefully steering

my elbow to places

I would no longer dare to go.

The time is all full of first days:

when I go to the bathroom I forget

the tubes fastened to my arm

and they are firmly shut in the door.

The nurse gasps to see what I have done.

When she straightens me all out

I say, Thank you, like a good girl should

and these are my first words.

I can only imagine the therapeutic value that Pat found in writing her poetry.  I met her for only one day, but I will remember her energy and spirit forever.  I am truly moved by her perspective.