I have been pretty quiet for awhile. The onset of the pandemic and the learning curve that came with it has been all consuming. Lives upended en masse. A new vocabulary and lifestyle changes that shocked all of us to the core. Restless in spirit but no where to go but inward.
I found myself trying to put words to all of these feelings but I was at a loss. So, I borrow a phrase from well known artists and photographers….Artist in Residence. I have always wondered, with some envy, what it would be like to be chosen to live as as Artist in Residence. A gift of time with no distractions but the task of creating. Dream, Envision, Wander.
Suddenly, I realize, I am an Artist in my Residence. I certainly have my responsibilities but I also have the luxury of some extra time. What to do with the time? I decided to listen instead of act. I have been listening to others talk about their work. I have been listening to others teach their techniques. I have been listening to myself. I made a conscious decision to just let it all wash through me rather than react or act. This new norm is quite different then the life I was accustomed to.
The Art of Listening is quite powerful. The act of reflecting on what I was listening to rather than reacting to it is liberating. I am finding my meuse coming back a little at a time. I am remembering things I loved to do as a child. Those memories were buried in the nowness of a busy world. It is quite wonderful.
I will share one memory with you. It was the summer after my 14th birthday and we lived in Garapata Canyon. Housing was a bit rustic but we were young and adventurous. My 4 siblings and I had a children’s paradise to explore far and wide. Garapata Creek at the time meandered through the canyon, in and out of micro climates. We would spend our days exploring, swimming in the deepest part of the creek, and picking water cress for lunchtime sandwiches.
One day we got the bright idea to round up the donkey who lived with us in the canyon. We packed a lunch and loaded the younger ones on the donkey with our provisions. We headed out up the canyon into the wilder, as yet unknown territory we had our sites set on. We walked for what seemed like hours and it was getting pretty hot. We came across wonders. An old abandoned cabin with a decaying upright piano in it. Wild bees we had to run from after one of the kids decided a stick was the best way to examine the nest.
We had our lunch in a clearing full of ferns and flowers. You could imagine the fairies and wood nymphs hiding from us in this magical place. We pressed on after our meal. Soon after we heard a sort of low, muffling sound and out of the woods emerged a wild boar. Well, we had been warned by our parents not to fool with them. The donkey took off and left us standing there. . You never saw a group of children climb up a tree faster then we did in that moment. The younger ones were crying and my brother and I were trying not to panic. We had to wait until the beast moved on and lost interest in us. It was almost dark. We got down from the tree and set a record getting back home. We never spoke of it to our parents or ourselves again. So, I have my Beauty and the Beast story imbedded in my memories waiting to be reflected upon.
So, despite current challenges, I find the opportunity to reflect and listen a gift that feeds something within that has real value. Time. What a gift.