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Same Old Lesson

Once again I learned that same old lesson. The day that looks gloomy from inside can be glorious when you’re out in it.

A couple of weeks ago we had a cold, wet, cloudy Sunday, the sky packed full of clouds. I was not eager to go out again into the dreary weather after my two short dog walks. I had a couple of big computer projects to work on. Well, the first was my MerryThoughts letter, which I almost always write on Sunday morning. Then another bigger task took a few hours. Well, my body was crying out for a walk by the time I was close to finishing. Back, neck, shoulder all so sick and tired of sitting at my desk.

Despite the look of the day, I bundled up, put on my waterproof boots, and went out, with an especially lovely walking meditation to listen to.

So you already know, then, that the walk was absolutely glorious. I went over to a little neighborhood park where a friend has carved a narrow path through the tiny woods. There’s a stream running through, too. Charming. Lovely. Soul satisfying. The wet only accentuated the fall colors against the black bark and branches, just as it does. Remember? Remember? Just as it always does. I did not need sun to jazz up the color or open my eyes wider. It was all there, all the beauty, the glory of nature, just as it always is, at the ready, no matter what the bigger elements decide to do. Always.

The chill on my face was enlivening, as the rest of me was bundled up. My feet were dry. (You know what they say–there’s no bad weather; only bad clothes. Remember?) I had some beautiful words to listen to. I felt refreshed, rejuvenated, reborn, both during and after that absolutely glorious walk. I felt bouncy and boundless, full of life, renewed and wanting to tell everyone this thing that I had (once again) discovered.

And I felt chastened, as well. How many times have I learned that lesson? So many! I once had a card and still have a print that reads, “Be patient. Sometimes you have to learn the same thing over and over again.” Boy oh boy. I will probably learn this again, too, since I am a human being. But as with meditation, I don’t have to learn it. I get to. Yeah, I get to.

“You are the one who declared a gloomy day as gloomy! In fact, there is neither a joyful nor a gloomy day, only a mind that evaluates what that day is!”― Mehmet Murat ildan

“And from the midst of cheerless gloom/I passed to bright unclouded day.” ― Emily Bronte

“When a bad thing happens a pessimist thinks, ‘just my luck’, an optimist thinks, ‘this will pass’, and a teacher thinks, ‘what’s the lesson here?’.” ― Garry Fitchett

If you’re looking for my cards or art, you’ll find all of that on my website. If you enjoy these letters, feel free to forward this one to anyone you think might like it. And if someone forwarded this one to you, you can sign up here to receive the letters right in your Inbox. Finally, you’ll find past letters and poems here.

Thanks for listening,
Kay

P.S. MerryThoughts is the name of my first book, out of print at the moment. The word is a British one, referring both to a wishbone and to the ritual of breaking the wishbone with the intention of either having a wish granted or being the one who marries first, thus the “merry thoughts.”

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Creative Block

“I don’t know how to paint,” I recently told both my son and a good friend. The friend responded, “No painter ever in the history of art has ever thought that, right?” That’s right. Not Van Gogh or any of those others. No one.

So I’ve been struggling with three paintings I’m been working on. Each new thing I try seems to go badly. Or I’ll be happy with one and a few hours later, I think it’s absolutely terrible. A dog’s breakfast, I’d say if I was British. Rubbish. Deserves to be thrown into the bin. Or tossed on the fire. I don’t even have a fire. What then?

And then there are other things. The heat and other things. It’s been a general miasma over here the last little while.

As a result, I’ve been pulling out the old standbys I use to lift my mood. Went to the gym, finally. On the track, I listened to a Gratitude Walk, which turned out to be more like Interval Training with just a hint of gratitude. Kicked my butt but I liked it. Slipped back into the funk after a couple of hours, though. Later concluded I do not know how to paint. Went to the gym the following day, with music on the iPod. Nice but then I required an Epsom salts bath, a nap, and chocolate. Gave my paintings the stink eye.

This is the painting my son wants for Christmas.

Today, however, we had a lovely, breezy, cool morning. I took Miles to Stephens Park and we walked around the lake, which was absolutely lovely. And then I went back out on my own, through the neighborhood, with Ceasar Happily aka Ceasar F. Barajas, a meditation/yoga teacher, narrating “Walk and Chill” on my phone. Oh my Lord! Lovely. Wonderful voice, amazing energy, beautifully encouraging words. And then it started raining. I love being out in the rain and so this was an added bonus. And then Ceasar says, “Now imagine the miracle that is currently happening. You are a walking universe, filled with energetic channels of light and love and electricity, currently walking on an earth that is in the midst of an even bigger universe.” Whoa. And more where that came from.

Okay, you tell me how a person can remain in a funk while hearing those and many other words during a walk in the rain at the end of a very hot week during which that person mistakenly concluded that she does not know how to paint. At all. Pish-posh. I am a walking universe! And I think painting is included in my universe. Funk lifted.

And then my son calls and says he wants for Christmas TWO of my recent paintings. This makes me very, very happy.

“When I have a creative block, I take walks. I like to see what shapes stick out – so many legs rushing by at once, it can seem abstract. I don’t need to see great art to get stirred up. Music does that for me more easily.” — Caio Fonseca

“If you hear a voice within you saying, ‘You are not a painter,’ then by all means paint, boy, and that voice will be silenced.” — Vincent van Gogh

“You can’t use up creativity. The more you use, the more you have.” — Maya Angelou

If you’re looking for my cards or art, you’ll find all of that on my website. If you enjoy these letters, feel free to forward this one to anyone you think might like it. And if someone forwarded this one to you, you can sign up here to receive the letters right in your Inbox. Finally, you’ll find past letters and poems here.

Thanks for listening,
Kay

P.S. MerryThoughts is the name of my first book, out of print at the moment. The word is a British one, referring both to a wishbone and to the ritual of breaking the wishbone with the intention of either having a wish granted or being the one who marries first, thus the “merry thoughts.”

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Blooming

Rain.  So now all the wildflowers that haven’t had the heart

to bloom are popping out, the many sizes and shapes of

yellow that look like daisies but of course are not,

bright cheerful big and little faces dotting the trailsides and meadows.

I would like the rain to work such a magic on me myself

and all of us, bringing out the airy, blithe, beaming blooms

lying dormant within us but I for one am far too

complicated for such a quick fix (or so I tell myself).

In my next life I’ll be a simple, small flower, happy to

bounce into bloom with the slightest provocation.

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Thoughts on Cicadas

No cicadas singing this wet morning and I am learning

some things about them possibly two of which are that

a) cicadas unlike Gene Kelly do not sing in the rain and

b) perhaps even when wet cicadas are simply not in the mood

for mating unlike beautiful young people in films who

find themselves overtaken by romantic urges after skipping

and laughing through a drenching rain and therefore

I feel that cicadas must not be very much like us after all.

 

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Triple Luck

A smidgen of rain and the cicadas

have fallen silent.  In their stead I heard

a pileated woodpecker, followed its call

and caught a glimpse after all these months

considered myself once again quite lucky

only to then spy a pair of indigo buntings

as we came out of the woods.

Double luck on this day oh triple luck

as we must oh we so must count the rain!

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Acts of God

This dry heat is killing the redbud trees.

You see them around town patched yellow

or completely brown, bewildered, I imagine.

I heard about the 7-year drought of Texas

in the fifties, rivers dried up, grass-fed cattle

dying, ranchers giving up and moving

to town to take up other trades.

When the rain finally came it would not stop.

Floods tore through the state wreaking

more havoc and another kind of destruction.

Some would call these things acts of God.

On today’s radio there are stories about the

failing corn crop, the soybeans that might

not make it, a crusty farmer’s voice saying

Now we’re just waiting on the good Lord.

But I like to imagine a God who neither acts

out of spite nor deals out cards good or bad,

but one who hopes for the best

wishes we could bloody well get it right

and whose patience far outlasts our own.

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Rain in the Night

Lovely rain arrived in the night

bringing gifts for the birds

surprises me waking to wet leaves

shiny streets a cloud-laden sky one

red cardinal perched on the top of

the Queen of Hearts’ head singing

no doubt about the greatness of rain

of Life as he knows it

of True Love babies and hope

of the particularities of this day.

And as the sun peers out from

its cloudy home the trees’ dripping

leaves flash all glitzed up as if for

a gala event the name of which

I cannot know but to which I

most fervently wish to be invited.