September 15, 2015 – I am a journalist!

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I have a recurring waking dream, a fantasy, I guess. It came to me in a contemplative moment, something like 10 or 15 years ago. It downloaded as a fully formed experience in my mind and even in my body. In my “dream”, I wake to the sunlight coming through soft, gauzy curtains covering the windows in my room. I’m in fresh, white sheets and am wearing a simple white cotton short, sleeveless nightie. I get out of bed, onto the tile floor and go through French doors, outside to a large patio. The patio has terra cotta pavers and a wrought iron railing. On the patio are big terra cotta and glazed blue pots of lemon and orange trees, and orange and pink bougainvillea and – of course – climbing roses in bloom. The house, this place I’m in, is up on a hillside above the blue sea – somehow I know it’s the Mediterranean, though I don’t know if it’s France or Italy or Spain, or Greece even. The air is scented with the orange and lemon blossoms, and the roses and the fresh sea air. I can hear birds fluttering around and birdsong; other than that, it’s very quiet and the air is still. I’m fit and tan and comfortable in my own skin. I’m alone and completely content.

The experience of this waking dream has been so compelling to me, that I’ve attempted to find movies that evoke this sense of place and mood. “Enchanted April” for a long time, was closer than anything else I’d seen, but it’s not quite right. I came across the description of a film online years ago, about a woman who returns to Greece after a divorce to find herself. I think it had “Mediterranean” in the title and was filmed on an island, and I had hopes that it might be like my waking dream. I was never able to find out how to get a hold of this film to watch it, and have even lost touch with what it’s called at this point.

The more recent movie, “Mamma Mia,” the Meryl Streep adaptation of the stage musical, comes closer – it has the colors, the Mediterranean setting with the views of the sea and the light spirit. The year it came out, Joe gave the DVD to me for Christmas. One morning, in that special time out-of-time between Christmas and New Year’s, I watched it in my PJ’s, wrapped in a blanket, with my morning tea. Watching a movie in the morning before even getting dressed, is just the most decadent thing for me to do! I remember actually having tears at the sweetness of both the movie, and the experience of watching it in my pajamas.

I’ve described my dream to a few people, some of whom have suggested I paint it. The idea of this completely stymies me. I have no idea where to even start. It doesn’t occur for me to make paintings out of my imagination. There has been a part of me that has felt not like a “real” artist because of this. If I were, I’d know how to paint from my mind’s eye. I was relieved of this when I heard an interview on the radio of two writers. They were brother and sister – he a poet and short story writer, and she a journalist. They spoke of their process. For him, it had to come from within him. She said that she must witness, that she couldn’t make it up for the life of her. Hearing this I had a forehead slapping moment: “Oh, I get it. I am a journalist!” I must witness what it is I paint! I can’t make it up for the life of me, either! It has been incredibly freeing to know this about myself. Just as journalists are business writers, political writers, food writers, sports writers, I have a “beat” too. Mine is beauty – in the form of flowers, fruit, food (mostly sweets) and a few dogs. At least, so far.

I’m convinced we are born with our art in us. I’ve been taking photos of flowers, since I was in college in San Diego. In my old photo albums, there are pictures of orchids I took in Balboa Park, when I was still a teenager! I continue to be compelled to capture flowers, but my vision has evolved. As I’ve become more enlightened, my journalist filter has too. These orchid photos and even some of the early references for my paintings, lacked the light that so compels me now.

I was lying in bed this morning, before even opening my eyes, thinking about all of this. I was categorizing (another of my compulsions) my paintings, according to how I witnessed their subjects.

• There are those that absolutely struck me – that stopped me in my tracks to get a camera and capture them – Fauchon Eclairs, Honey Bee and Rugosa Roses, Family of Lemons, Jubilee.
• There are those I set up and played around with – what we’d call floral “still life” paintings – Full Circle, Grace, Blush, Summertime, Lustina and my new one, Douce.
• There are those where I went in search of one thing and found another – Blossoming Hope and A Celebration of Pink.
• Some I had to climb up a ladder to get into a tree to witness more closely – Tropical Peaches, Apricots in the Sun, Queen Anne Cherries. For Manualoha I risked life and limb by putting a patio chair on a outdoor table to get close enough to the plumeria flowers – I was determined!
• And, some came from images I took even before I was really painting, and had no inkling when I captured them they’d become a painting – Blue Door, Reach, Twin Dahlias, Lunch on the Terrace.

However they come to me, I witnessed. The thing that captured me was outside of me. And my camera is an integral part of my process. It records the visual part of the moment I experienced. This is why it’s really important to me to paint only from my own images. I’ve been tempted a few times by other’s images, but so far, I’ve not. I have this sense that my having been there, my having had the lived experience, really does translate to the “realness” of my paintings. This may be something that I’m making up, but it’s something that I feel pretty strongly about.

So, as much as I have this desire to see – in photos, in film, in some form – my waking dream, maybe that’s not the point of it. Maybe whether or not I ever paint it isn’t important. Maybe it’s meant to be a sensual experience, that I can conjure for myself to take me to that special place, where I am peaceful and safe and content – and immersed in loveliness. Maybe it’s a mythical, mystical place in my imagination that is just for me.

And maybe I’m only meant to paint what I witness. I paint to convey how I see this world, our world. I can’t tell you how many people share with me their photos of beautiful flowers. They say that when they saw this flower, they thought of me. Me. They see beautiful flowers and I come to mind. Hearing this breaks me open. It’s a remarkable experience to know that my witnessing and sharing the beauty I see in the world, has brought some amongst you to do that too. This affirms that I’m doing what I’m meant to – that how I witness and paint is actually my mission.

Something about this makes me think of the end of Desiderata, Max Ehrmann’s poem that so inspires me: “With all its sham, drudgery and broken dreams, it is still a beautiful world. Be cheerful. Strive to be happy.”

With my love and gratitude,

Cara

September 8, 2015 – Scattering seeds

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I have just spent three days at the Sausalito Art Festival, showing and selling my artwork. This is the eighth year in a row that I’ve been invited to show at this festival – one of the top outdoor art shows in west, if not in the whole country. Thousands of people see my artwork over the three days. Because of the caliber of the event, there is the expectation that I would sell lots of art. And the booth fee is commensurate with that expectation! Aye yai yai!

Yesterday was hot, which generally makes for slow sales. We all spend energy coping with the heat, that would otherwise be available to paying attention to the festival go-ers and they to the artwork. Yesterday I had just one sale all day. “Still”- the original painting – sold. It’s always exciting to sell an original and doing so, planted in me magical-thinking, “maybe today will be a banner day” kind of expectation. But…and…that’s not the way it went. Please don’t read me wrong – I’m very grateful for that one sale and that it was a good sized one! But, my expectation of land office business didn’t pan out.

I had several print sales over the previous two days and in the end, I did just fine this weekend. The bills will be paid plus some. But I remind myself, that filling the financial coffers is so not the only reason I do these events. The Sausalito Art Festival offers me the opportunity to share my work in all its forms, with more new people than in anything else I do. My weekend was filled with one encounter after the next, that made the weekend an incredible success, whether art and money changed hands or not.

Here are a few that stand out to me:

• A young woman (seemed she was in her 20’s, but I could be way off!) came into my booth and her eyes spontaneously brimmed with tears – she didn’t exactly know why, but she just couldn’t keep them from coming. She kept saying “I’m sorry” as she wiped her eyes. As I handed her a tissue, I gently said that she so did not need to apologize. I told her she made my day. Who doesn’t want to have someone moved to tears when just looking at her art?
• Two women who live in Austin, Texas, took the time to read every one of my story cards and my artist statement. They told me how my writing impressed – and moved – them. I told them how grateful I was to be so received and gotten by them. Who doesn’t want to have strangers be able to see into her soul and see beauty there?
• A young woman read the story I wrote, about why I gave the name “Blush” to the painting of the peonies in the cut glass vase – it’s related to my history with stage fright. She shared with me that she suffers terribly with it as I have. We swapped stories of the agony we’ve experienced, because of our minds’ and bodies’ reaction to speaking in front of a group of people. I told her that it’s absolutely possible to heal it – that I am completely on the other side of it and so can she be. I passed along to her information about Lee Glickstein and www.speakingcircles.com. Who doesn’t want to be able to offer real hope to someone whose suffering she knows intimately?
• I spent a long time talking to a guy a little older than I, who had recently lost his wife and is now making a new life for himself. He was really taken by “Pomegranates, Jacinta’s Garden” and was blown away by the fact that that tree was growing on an island in Croatia – a place he has a strong pull for and is headed to visit soon. We talked about the places he was going and where I’d been there. He’s considering how he can swing it to buy the painting. I told I’d work with him. This one has been around since my first year and has been waiting for its home. Who doesn’t want to have the inkling her art may end up in a place, where it’s deeply appreciated and meaningful?
• And, there were too many to count who asked about workshops and classes. After telling them about what my groups are like, they left excited that they were going to come learn with me. Who doesn’t want to know that what she has to offer, is just what someone has been looking for?
• On top of all of this, were the hugs from lots of loved ones, for whom the fullness of our lives, means we don’t meet up any other place but at these shows. I’m so grateful they put in the effort to deal with the parking and crowds to come to the festival – meaning I get to see them. One of them was Lorraine, who I met years ago in Healdsburg. She lives in New Jersey and comes out to this festival every year. She closed down my booth for me so I could make my papa’s birthday dinner. Who doesn’t want to know that people will go out of their way – at least in part – to come see and support her?

 

Doing these events requires energy – physical, mental, and even emotional. I want to be welcoming and engage with anyone who comes through and expresses interest. Encounters like these put the energy back in me, to keep me going hour after hour. In retrospect, I see they also affirm that I’m doing what I’m meant to do – that what I do has impact and resonance with people.

Sometimes I dream of not having to schlep all the stuff, and spend all the hours in the vulnerable place of waiting for the sales to come in – (or not). But when I consider not doing these events, I realize that I’d terribly miss being there with people, who are encountering my art. If I were just represented by galleries and in other shows where I wasn’t present, I’d miss out on these experiences – which fuel me to keep going. As artists we each have our path, we each have our way. This way fits for me – at least for now. It is in line with the emotional quality of my artwork and who I am as a person. I’m all about intimacy – it’s all over my art – it’s all over my encounters with people. And this means experiencing it – even in brief moments – is fulfilling to me.

Having a few years in with this festival, I see the overall impact – all the artists who are now in my groups – in my life – every week because of this festival. And I see those who return year after year, who eventually invest in a piece of artwork that inspires them, and those who circle back to connect, and tell me how much they love my art in their home. I’m scattering seeds without knowing how or even if they will germinate. My spiritual director, Sister Mary keeps reminding me that I’m in this for the infinite game. There is calling and mission in why I do this.

I also see all the support that has made my doing this possible – my husband for supporting my life, my incredible mama for always doing all she can to support me. This year my nephew Brad, Tom O’Neil, Carla and Alicia came out to help with the setup. Jeffrey was my support angel on Sunday, and Mama spent the day with me yesterday – beaming her love and pride all over me and my booth. After writing this, I’m headed down with Brad to go take it all down and put it all away until next year. I’m hoping there will be a next year – we never know who the jury will select. And in the meantime, I have faith that the seeds – at least some of them – that were scattered over the past three days, will sprout and flower in ways I cannot know in this moment.

With my love and gratitude,

Cara

September 1, 2015 – My Donna

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When I was 25 and making plans to marry my first husband, my mom asked me to go see a therapist named Donna. She wanted Donna to talk me out of marrying him. I was marrying an alcoholic and my mom was – understandably – pretty much beside herself, that I was choosing to spend the rest of my life like this. I don’t remember anything about that session, except that she ended up connecting me to the musicians, who played at our wedding ceremony and for the dancing later – and she sang a torch song at our reception. So much for changing my mind! I’m forever grateful to my Mama for bringing her into my life. I just talked to Donna on the phone yesterday, which has me reflecting who we are to each other and what she has meant in my life. I can’t imagine how things would have turned out without my Donna.

After the wedding it took me about seven years to circle back. Life had become unbearable and I needed help. It was an hour’s drive to come see Donna, so I thought I’d see if I could find someone close to home down near the San Francisco Airport. I was so alone in my emotional pain living there – and everyone around me was so asleep in their lives, there wasn’t anyone to ask about a therapist, so I got this guy’s name from the phonebook. One session, I did almost all the talking. I paid him $85 – a LOT of money back then – to have him tell me that he’d see me again. Wait, what? No reflection, no encouragement, no nothing. So I made the drive to Marin to see Donna. She helped me find my way through the irrational, but very real fear that if I left my marriage I’d die. It was she who helped me see that my panic attacks had a message for me. It was she who asked that day, 20 years ago in August, if I needed a break – which was the invitation to step through that door to leave. It was she who then told me after I did leave, not to take life one day at a time, but one hour at a time. It was she who helped me see my way through the loneliness, when I was single (I love being married.) Then later, it was she who first said I am a teacher.

It’s impossible to know how many hours I spent, on the salmon-pink velveteen couch in the little partially -underground room behind and beneath a house in Kentfield. I’m so grateful it was that kind of space, rather than a generic office, with a doubled door and a waiting room filled with magazines outside. All those sessions, walking in knowing relief was on its way. All the time I spent in that room – the glimpses out the window through the wooden shutters at the “First Prize” rosebush, and the blue agapanthus, her fluid, lyrical watercolors on the walls, the candle flickering on the corner of the old oak desk. I was safe in that cocoon as I awoke, bit by loving bit, with her guidance and cut-through-the-murk clarity. I learned about the process of transformation in that room, by watching myself, my consciousness, grow and expand. Donna has always seen who I am to become – or who I have always been, but not had access to – before I could. She’s held that vision of me, for me until I grew able to step up to claim and embody it.

This past weekend, I had some emotional turmoil come up – relationship challenges. And my first impulse is still to call Donna. If I call her I know that I’ll be heard and gotten, and will see how the situation ultimately serves me. She’s done her work with me, such that I already know what she’ll say and I can mostly conjure it up for myself. This weekend I was able to sit with the pit in my belly and my tears, witness myself and my pain much in the way she has for me over and over, for 28 years.

Donna and I have spent wonderful times together, apart from that sweet space in Kentfield too: we share the watercolor journey and have taken a class or two together; my parents and I prepared all the food for when she and her sweet, funny Allan got married; she did my makeup and put gardenias in my hair when Joe and I got married. And we’ve been to each other’s milestone birthdays and many other family celebrations.

My family is culturally Catholic and as such, I have Godparents who held me as a baby at my baptism. And I have a Goddaughter. When my brother and sister-in-law, Joe and Vernona, asked me to be their daughter Amanda’s Godmother, I said of course, I’d be honored. But then there was a real church ceremony! At her baptism, I was asked to promise that I’d help them raise her as a Christian. Said like this, it seems like I’m agreeing to make sure she’s indoctrinated with the teachings of the church, which felt inauthentic and incomplete. I’d not choose these words, so I consciously translated this promise for myself, privately, in my heart. In being Amanda’s Godmother, I was agreeing to look after her spiritual well-being. I was going to care for her heart, her spirit, her inner-self. I’d be a receptive place for her questioning and struggling – when she wanted and needed it.

I appreciate this opportunity to re-define for myself, what being a Godmother means to me, because it’s given me a way to hold who Donna is to me. It seems so inadequate to call her my “therapist” after all this time – and for her to call me a “client.” We call each other Spiritual Godmother, Spiritual Goddaughter. Though she didn’t hold me as a baby at my baptism, I have in her what I hold as what a Godmother really is, in the most important and valuable way.

She has two sons, but no daughters, so it’s sweet to think that she holds me in a special way as I do her. I’m certain that she has other long-time clients for whom she is their Donna. Remarkable people like Donna, are gifts to the world, to so many of us. I’d never selfishly claim her as my very own! But I can claim who she is to me, and in my life as special and unique. She’s my teacher and guide, my Spiritual Godmother, my sister Enneagram type-two; she’s bawdy and lusty and girly-girl, just like me!

Getting to mid-life gives us the opportunity to reflect on what has made up our life-so-far. There’s still promise of more to come, but also enough traveled through to have collected treasures. Shining brightly in my collection is my Donna.

My Donna, I thank you, I cherish you, I love you.

Cara

August 25, 2015 – It all works out in the end

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I subscribe to a magazine called “The Intelligent Optimist.” It’s filled with all kinds of good news, that fuels my hope for the future of the planet and humanity. They are not just heartwarming human interest stories, but innovations and shifts in consciousness, that foretell a bright future for us all. Most other “news” is filled with examples of how the shadow is alive and well, and at work in our midst. I’m such a sponge, and susceptible to soaking up all that is around me. Even if I work to avoid it, it’s there anyway – the newspaper shows up every morning and I see headlines. This makes it vital to my life and capacity to do what I do, and even be who I am, that I balance all of that with another point of view.

With my latest renewal came a gift of a skinny little paperback, called “The Intelligent Optimist’s Guide to Life.” It’s been sitting around all summer niggling me to read it. In the past week, I’ve been feeling like my nervous system is hyperventilating with all the – amazingly wonderful – things going on in my life – Paris planning, two group art shows and a reception, the upcoming Sausalito Art Festival, ongoing teaching (the biggest Saturday class yet was this past weekend), working on my own paintings and then the rest of my life! I’ve been having a hard time sleeping deeply, with all the details that have been buzzing in my head, and all the time on the computer doing email. I decided I needed an intervention and picked up the book.

The author (the magazine’s publisher, Jurriaan Kamp) starts by citing the beginning of M. Scott Peck’s book “The Road Less Travelled:” Life is difficult. And only when we fully accept this, such that where we start is from that place of acceptance of life’s difficulty, that life becomes no longer difficult. Optimism starting from this place is another breed – so not Pollyanna. Like what I shared last week, about feeling trivialized by being so “sweet” I’ve felt trivialized by being such an optimist. Like being an optimist means not being a realist. So I fuel myself with the reality as reported in this magazine and this book. I’m compelled to share with you some of what I’m learning. Did you know that…?

• We live in the most peaceful era ever – humans are killing each other, as a percentage of population, in far lower numbers than ever – and are on a downward trend. Really. Human life is becoming more valued.
• Overpopulation is a myth – I was blown away by this: if we lived in families of 4 in a house on a 1/10th of an acre, all 7 billion of us could fit within the state of Texas. We’d need another state of Texas to work and move around, but then the rest of the land on the planet could be used for growing food and wild lands.
• We can feed everyone too – because of better technology, agricultural yields per acre are increasing and we are actually taking land out of farm production because of it. GMO’s are not needed for this to happen either. And we need to stop wasting food. We produce enough food; it needs to be better distributed.
• Natural resources are still abundant – we are getting better at how we use them, and re-use them – and we are constantly innovating. There will be technologies in the future that we can’t even imagine now. In 1973 the Saudi Arabian oil minister said “The Stone Age did not end for lack of stone and The Oil Age will end before we run out of oil.” There’s a hopeful thought from 40 years ago!

We can see all of this only by taking the long, historical view. Yes, there are challenges before us, and still much work to do on each of these fronts. But there have always been challenges – life is difficult! It seems the whole point, in a way. My friend Vicki told me yesterday of someone she knew, who happily went off to work looking for problems to solve.

It’s so often reported, the terrible cost of human impact on the planet – and fears that life could get really hard for people in the future because of it. But what about all the beauty that we’ve created? What about music, and art (!) and all the ways our souls express and touch other souls? And the way we understand the cosmos, and can contemplate things like infinity and eternity? I just refuse to believe that we evolved to have the consciousness we do, to have it all go to hell in a handbasket.

Creativity is spurred by challenge, by restriction and by necessity. My deep belief is that we are headed for a surge of creative innovation and re-invention, because of the coming crisis – or even just the fear of its possibility. And reading this magazine, I see it already happening – all over the place in all kinds of ways.

Being me, I’m always looking at what I learn through the lens of art-making. So then, starting with what M. Scott Peck wrote – making art is difficult. And accepting that it is, beginning from there, it is no longer so hard. It doesn’t go as well if I start from the illusion that I will sit down to paint, and it will all just flow effortlessly out of me. I find myself saying to myself, and those who paint with me, that we call it art work for a reason. I do find myself sometimes getting into “the zone” when I paint. But mostly not. Mostly it’s quite an effort – evaluating shapes and colors, and what is needed for what I’m painting to become more alive – is work.
Just as taking the long view of human history provides another more hopeful point of view, taking the long view of my art keeps me going. Since 2005 or so, I’ve painted over 75 detailed, good-sized paintings. Maybe not as prolific as some artists, but based on the time each one takes and all else I do, this is an impressive body of work – one that amazes me! I put down each one of those brushstrokes!

It’s even helpful to take the long view within the life of a single painting – to step back, away from that little part that was vexing me – to see the whole thing taking shape. It encourages me to keep going. I often paint after dinner until bedtime. Then lean my painting up against the wall next to the bed. I look at it just before turning out the soft light on the nightstand. And just take it in. I’m not so much evaluating it for what’s needed, but just gaze at it. Watching it take shape is always a marvel. As if I am a bystander.
I love the Geoffrey Rush character in the movie “Shakespeare in Love”, who goes around saying to everyone “you know, it all works out in the end.” When asked how that is, he replies “don’t know, it’s a mystery.” I’m all for being an intelligent optimist – and living in that mystery.

With my love,

Cara

August 18, 2015 – Coming home to sweetness

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One of my childhood friends was Jeanine, and her dad played John Denver’s music a lot. I’m remembering being in their high-ceilinged living room hearing all those songs – Sunshine on my Shoulders, Thank God I’m a Country Boy, Rocky Mountain High. My mom and dad weren’t into his music. The popular music they listened to was Simon and Garfunkel, Carly Simon, The Beatles’ Abbey Road – and my dad really liked Donna Summer! Isn’t it remarkable how the music we listen to when we are young, holds a place that new music can’t reach? It’s “our” music. I’m thankful to my friend’s dad for making John Denver part of my music.

There are songs that when I hear them, bring me right back to where I was and what was happening in my life. John Denver’s Take me Home Country Roads is one of them. It brings me to a few places. The earliest is the summer the song came out. I was swimming and jumping off the high-dive – with Jeannine – at the pool at the College of Marin athletic center, where her dad was a teacher. Paul Revere and the Raiders’ Cherokee Nation was also played that summer at the pool. Another time was 1984, I was with my college boyfriend, my brother Joe and his then girlfriend Kim, on a bus on the island of Brac in Croatia. We were going from the village Su Petar (St. Peter), where we got off the ferry, to Selca, the village where our grandparents were born and married. There we were, on this old bus, in our Vuarnet sunglasses and Swatch watches – with many women dressed all in black – and crates of live chickens. The PA on the bus was playing, Take me Home, Country Roads. I’m pretty certain we were the only four on the bus who understood the words!

Then, more than a decade later, in 1996 while I was living my half-year in Paris, I was in the Loire Valley in France. It was mid-August, and I’d taken a solo long-weekend to visit the castles that I did a report on when I was taking French in college. I’d been on a late afternoon hot air balloon ride that ended just at sunset, followed by a dinner with a Belgian/Danish couple, about my age, I’d met on the balloon. As I was driving myself back to the Chambre d’Hote (the French term for B&B) where I was staying, it was dark – no street lights along these tiny roads. I’d had a glass of wine with dinner, and I was all by myself. I would have been anxious and frightened in my recent past – at the end of my first marriage, when panic attacks were the order of the day. Yet, I was not one bit fearful. I knew exactly where I was going. It was a warm evening and I had the sunroof open, and the windows down in my little rental car. Nothing but starlight all around me. I was 5,500 miles away from everyone who loves me, all alone in another country – and I was peaceful and content. I felt completely safe and whole, and was right where I belonged. In that moment, it was just me and God – and it was perfect. If anyone I’d known had been there with me, this experience would not have been possible. I’ll never forget how incredible moment felt in my body. In retrospect, I see that this was why I needed to go to France, at that point in my life. And, as I was driving along, playing on the local radio station was, Take me Home Country Roads. “Almost heaven, West Virginia…”.

When we were just in Tahoe, one morning early in the vacation, I was painting and listening to John Denver in my ear buds. Sweet Surrender was the song. I found myself almost giddy with joy – I was SO happy. Happy for the morning sunlight, happy to be painting these vibrant colors, just happy to be happy. And the song was a big part of my buoyant mood. For whatever reason, this kicked off a curiosity about John Denver and his life. I read some online – there were tabloid-esque references to his troubled personal life, and I read his music being called saccharine. I just finished listening to an abridged version of his autobiography – “Take Me Home” – narrated by him. He wrote and spoke his story, not long before he died (at 53). He did the EST training early on, and worked to understand himself and life. His story revealed that he had a perspective on his shadow side – he even poked a bit of fun at himself. He was human and flawed, and also was immensely talented and creative and deeply thoughtful.  He cared a lot about what I care about – our Earth-home, and that people are touched by what he created. Saccharine or not, his music has touched millions and millions of us.

This has me thinking about sweetness. I’ve been called “sweet” a lot in my life. And I’ve been teased about it. A college roommate called me “Corny Cara.” Sweet, sentimental and sensitive – it’s felt like a bad thing. Then there’s that term saccharine. What makes something good-sweet or overly-sweet-saccharine? For one thing, it’s completely subjective. Some of us naturally live, centered in our hearts, in our emotions. For those of us, sweetness is the water we swim in. But for those who don’t, their tolerance for emotionality is much lower. These are the people we get the eye-rolls from. And besides all of this, if sweetness is expressed through a consciousness, that can also hold and experience suffering, loss and pain, it’s an entirely different sweetness. There is a maturity to it – an expression of joy, without denying that there is bitterness too. Bittersweet – like the best chocolate!

I love the scene at the end of “Steel Magnolias,” after the funeral when M’Lynne (Sally Fields) loses it in her grief that she could “jog all the way to Texas,” but Shelby (Julia Roberts) – her diabetic daughter who just died – never could. And then Claree (Olympia Dukakis) pushes Ouiser (Shirley McLain), offering her for M’Lynne to beat on, to take out her grief and anger. It’s completely heart breaking and then hysterically funny. As much as it’s unthinkable to joke about a mother losing her daughter, the heavy emotion all on its own is too much. Laughing through tears is good medicine.

I cannot imagine a world without sweetness. I’d whither and implode in despair. I keep coming back, over and over to balance, we need it all – us all. What I bring is like Truvvy – the Dolly Parton character in Steel Magnolias, kind-hearted and warm, with my own brand of folksy wisdom. I’m pretty much over feeling the need to apologize for being sweet – in a world that gives a lot of attention to snarkiness and sarcasm. And, like John Denver, it’s good for me to poke fun at my inclination to be so serious and literal at times. The people in my life I most want to be with, are those who are really at home in their own skin, who have come to own and accept their foibles and their gifts. Their genuine self-acceptance brings an ease and – yes, a sweetness – that is the invitation to have more of it myself. Take me home, country roads — to the home that is me.

Love,

Cara

August 11, 2015 – Learning to Receive

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Memory is a funny thing. There are random moments from my life that seem hardly “memorable”, that I will never forget. Like the day so many years ago – I was laying on my belly on the living room carpet, at my dearest friend Brenda’s house. It was before their son Quincy was born, so it must have been more than 20 years ago. There I was with my lower legs kicked up and crossed behind me, propped up on my elbows, reading a book she had by Helen Palmer, on the Enneagram – a system of personality types. In the beginning of the book, there was a section that had a series of one or two sentence descriptions of each of the nine types. Reading through them, I saw myself, clear as can be. I am a Type Two – the Giver, the Helper. Many people I’ve talked about the Enneagram with, have been puzzled as to their type, but not I. The description of the Type Two may have well been written in neon letters, it stood out so obviously to me as me.

If you aren’t familiar with the Enneagram, and what it means to be a Type Two, we are oriented around being helpful to those in our lives. We have a strong need to be needed. We know we are loved, by tending to the needs of other people, and having them tell us how wonderful we are because of it! We are compelled to give. As with all types, there are dark and light aspects. On the one hand, we are really good at tuning in to others and can express great compassion. And then we can be insufferable martyrs, blaming others because our needs are not tended to. Discovering in that moment, and learning over the years since about my Enneagram type, has allowed me to not only understand how it is I operate – the dark and light – but it has been key in my evolution and becoming more free from my compulsions.

What it’s pointing me to now, is how much I have to learn about receiving. Receiving is hard for most of us, I’d venture to say. To really receive means to allow what is being given to enter us, to touch us, which means we need to be open, and thus be vulnerable. We are much more comfortable to be the giver. Think about it, to really let in a genuine compliment can be awkward. It’s much easier to deflect, to explain, to attribute what’s being appreciated to someone else, than to let it in, to move us, and simply offer back a genuine “thank you.” Maybe it’s center-of-the-universe-ness that has me say this, but it seems that receiving is harder for Type Twos – whose personalities are formed around being helpful and giving to others. Then again, maybe making the comparison isn’t relevant – let’s just say receiving is a challenge!

For me, in this moment, receiving is “up.” My recent trip to Santa Fe to share what I know about painting, ended up being an amazing opportunity, to expand my capacity to receive. I went expecting to be the giver – to teach, to coach, to support, to encourage. We did do a little bit of art together, but not nearly as much as I’d expected, which left me feeling like I wasn’t “earning my keep.” And what I encountered, was the most gracious generosity I’d ever been offered. I was cared for exquisitely: I stayed in a gorgeous home surrounded by an Eden of a garden, I ate delicious meals, we walked through fabulous art galleries and went to the movies a couple of times. She even arranged for me to have an hour and a half massage! It seemed like every other phrase out of my mouth was “thank you.”

I got on the plane after our four days together, so far out of my comfort zone. I felt this odd combination of immense gratitude and discomfort, for having been so generously given to, in a way that felt out of balance to me – I’d expected to have provided much more in return. I discovered how vulnerable it feels to really receive. I didn’t rationalize or explain – even to myself. I just received all that she gave to me. In the moment, it felt like I did nothing to deserve it – like the grace I wrote about a few weeks ago. But in order to fully honor her generosity, I needed to let it impact me – to allow all that was given to me, to wash away the armor of “no, no, let me give to you” – which is so how I am wired – and graciously accept her gifts. I’m finding it hard to articulate exactly my experience. I can’t really find the words, but there was a humility that it required, even a “demure-ment.”

PAX teaches women in the “Queen workshop”, that receiving is one of the feminine forms of power. I know this is my edge, as I have a hard time – still – really getting how receiving is a form of power. I get it in my head as an idea, but to feel it in my body is whole other thing. I know I’m on track, though. In my experience, this is how transformation happens. I can understand intellectually first, and then later it lands more deeply.

What I am also seeing, is the possibility that there are qualities in us – in me even – that inspire others to give to us. The giver is admiring something that is being expressed – qualities like beauty, radiance, light, hope, faith, vision, wisdom. The response to being in the presence of these qualities, is generosity. Here it is again – the masculine being inspired by and providing for the feminine.

I wrote at the end of 2014, that this thing called “Life in Full Color” is going to take much more than me, to emerge more fully into the world this year. Though it has a life of its own, there is a part of me that sees it as “my baby” – which means that in order to have others contribute to its evolution, it will take my capacity to receive their contribution. I’m starting to see this happening, and it’s remarkable to find myself in this place. This expanding my capacity to receive, is perfectly timed.

And what just occurred to me as I write this, is that this means I need to have Life in Full Color matter enough to be contributed to – which brings me right back to the matter of my mattering – which is exactly what I understand to be the “theme” of this life I’m living! It is simple – a one-point program – life is set up for me to learn this one thing.

What I also get is the difference it makes to the giver to be received, as I am by you who read what I write each week. And when I sometimes hear how what I’ve written touches and moves you, I am then invited to receive your appreciation in return. It’s a beautiful circle of receiving and giving.

With my love and gratitude,

Cara

August 4, 2015 – Moments of ecstasy

[I’m still on vacation with Joe and Bo in Tahoe. I’ll resume recording next week.]

It’s early morning – a time of day that I’m meant for. We are up in Lake Tahoe for our annual vacation with Anne and Gary, Joe’s sister and brother-in-law, and good friends Dan and Carol. The sun has come up from behind the mountains on the east side of the lake, and is peeking through the trees. I’m surprised I’m so wide awake. I went to bed after midnight last night – really late for me. We had a party last night here, and I stayed up to clean the kitchen. For me it makes such a big difference to wake up to a tidy kitchen, that it’s worth missing out on a little sleep. My friend Sara told me what her mom says: if you say goodnight to your kitchen, it says good morning to you! I so get this!

There were 11 of us – the six of us, and Rosemary and Michael, and their three adult daughters – a family we see at the beach every summer, but with whom we’d never spent an evening. We all gathered at the house we’ve rented for 10 days. It has a big east-facing deck that stretches all the way north and south along the side of the house, and it’s up on the second story, putting the view almost at the top of the surrounding trees. Last night was a clear night, and we had the most incredible view of the night sky. We turned off all the lights in the house to see them even better. There was the Milky Way, clear as could be, and so many stars, it was hard to pick out any constellations except the Big Dipper. To top it off, there were shooting stars for a bit of suspenseful action. When one happened, we all exclaimed “ohhhh!!!”. It was magic.

I had made pizza dough earlier in the day, Danny made sauce, and everyone brought toppings and yummy appetizers – ahi poke and homemade potstickers. Each person made their own pizza that we cooked either out on the deck in the Weber barbeque, or in the oven. A big salad and root beer floats, and it was a really fun dinner for our summer vacation. When we were out on the deck, all gazing up into deep space, I leaned over to Joe and told him I was having one of those “it doesn’t get any better than this” moments: sweet people, yummy and fun food, a warm evening, engulfed in the majesty of the universe.

These are experiences we can’t order up. It could have been cloudy as it was two nights before; we could have been inside doing jigsaw puzzles with baseball on the TV, as we have been most other nights. Nothing wrong with that – we should do what we enjoy while on vacation. But last night just happened. And I had a moment of ecstasy. One of the many things I’ve learned from Alison Armstrong, is to pay attention and really take in these moments. Ecstasy is how the feminine is re-fueled. It’s the expansion in the middle of my chest that comes with experiencing joy, beauty, connection, deep appreciation of someone or something, music that touches me, extra-delicious food and other sensual pleasures. And since the feminine is our life-bringing, life-sourcing energy, it’s really important that it be recharged!

I’ve had other such moments since been here a week ago yesterday:

• Standing at the kitchen counter working on my painting, while listening to John Denver sing Sweet Surrender. (Yes, I know I can be sappy. But it was my moment of ecstasy!)
• Yesterday’s morning swim with Bo in the lake – which has the cleanest, purest water I’ve ever been in – with the sun shining on the surface.
• Two days ago on our morning hike, I was following my hubby and dog on the trail along the ridge, feeling my immense love for these two beings.
• A few nights ago watching the sky get bright with lightening, and then hearing the boom of thunder – I love summer storms in the mountains.
• A conversation with Rosemary at the beach about grace, and President Obama’s eulogy of Clem Pinkney that gave us both goosebumps.

Then there are the “other” moments too. Last night, in the middle of our magic evening, I blurted out about someone dumping food into the recycling bucket – I was critical and crabby. And I felt ugly afterwards. More than a few times, I’ve asked myself why I ate so much. Dan is a chef and we eat SO well up here, that it’s hard not to overeat. But doing so doesn’t give my stomach moments of ecstasy! I’ve also had to talk myself out of being frustrated, that I’m not going to finish the painting I’m working on. I almost always bring home a finished painting from our Tahoe trips. But this one has a lot of detail and, though I am spending time painting, it’s not going very fast. I keep feeling that I’m “behind schedule.”

I woke this morning from a dream, that seems to relate to what’s coming to me today. In my dream someone was talking to a woman who was depressed, unhappy and stuck. What I heard her being told is that life brings pain, suffering and disappointment, but it also brings wonderful things – moments of ecstasy. The counsellor in my dream said what we must strive for, is to have a heart that can hold it all at the same time. I’ve done a bit of “dream work” – seeking to understand messages that may be in my dreams. I’ve heard it said, that all the people in our dreams are aspects of us. So I’m that woman who is struggling, and I am that source of wisdom too.

Summer seems to pass us by faster and faster. The past few years I’ve been on a personal campaign to try to slow it down, by noticing that it is summer and enjoying it! As I finish this, the sun is up, above the trees, and is really warm on my cheek. I’m now really hearing the birds making their sounds. I just looked up and noticed the semolina flour dusted on the deck around the BBQ, and felt again the magic from last night. It is summer. This is our last full day here – we head back home tomorrow. And after sharing this with you, I want to dial up even more acutely my radar for moments of ecstasy. I hope you – at least those of you in this half of the world – are enjoying moments of summertime ecstasy too.

With my love,

Cara

July 28, 2015 – Our coming out party

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[I’m on vacation with Joe and Bo in Tahoe. As I write this, I’m sitting on the deck facing the sunrise and it’s just beautiful! I want to go on our morning hike, so there’s no recording today! I’ll resume when I’m back the second week of August.]

On Saturday morning, many of the artists who come to paint in my regular Thursday, Friday and Saturday groups, gathered in the atrium of the building of the Showcase Theater at the Marin Center, to hang our first collective art show. We arranged, hung and labeled 99 watercolors of flowers, representing the work of 25 of us – counting Mom and me. I had a moment at the end of the day, after everyone had left, to be there alone taking it all in. The vast majority of these paintings, I had witnessed coming into be (a small number of them were painted before we began painting together). Each one started as an inspiration, an idea, an inkling and now is finished and framed – and presented to the world. I took a video – just with my iPhone, so it’s not professional quality – but it gives an idea, and is a record of the work that is there. I’ll get it edited and posted here as soon as I can. I wrote “our story” to hang with the show, which I thought I’d share with you. Some of it may be familiar to you, as our story is also my story. I’ve expanded upon it a bit for you – I wanted to tell you how we’ve all arrived at this moment.

On a Saturday in June 1992 my mom, Niz Brown, and I took a one-day class at Drake High, in San Anselmo – “Paint Flowers in Watercolor.” I only played around with painting for a short time before (temporarily) abandoning my efforts, while she found a teacher – Linda Bacon – and just took off, painting up a storm. I picked up painting again, with a bit more regularity about 2000. In 2007 Eleanor Harvey invited me to show my work for the first time. She collected four of us to participate in Marin Open Studios at our church. It was then that I was first asked if I teach – a question I would hear every time I did a show or festival. I was a deer in the headlights at the thought – just paralyzed. Who, me? Teach? Being self-taught, I had no clue what I knew that would be helpful to others or how to organize a class.

At some point after I started showing my work, Win Normandi was given a greeting card with one of my rose paintings on it. She shared it in her watercolor group, which included Shannon Brown. Shannon was always trying to find new teachers for them, and contacted me in an attempt to have me come share what I knew with their group. My fears kept me resisting her for a full year, before she asked me if she could just come to my house and paint with me. That sounded easy enough! In August 2011, she came over and showed me what she was painting. And what occurred to me to say to her in response to her work: “if this were my painting…” she found useful! In the meantime, I had been warming to the idea that I could teach, and had been collecting names of people who had asked about it. Emboldened by my experience with Shannon, I put the word out to the artists on the list. Six of us met at the Fairfax Community Church, on Tuesday, September 13, 2011: Win, Shannon, Susie Rosenberg, as well as two others – Leslie Johnson and Kelli Whyte – who came only that first day. Very shortly, we moved to my house in Fairfax as the group grew to 8 regulars, including Holly Biedel, Marilee Rogers, Paulette Engler, Robin Bentel, and Libby Lill – the devoted artists who showed me I’m a teacher. We’ve been meeting to paint and support each other, every week I’m in town ever since.

A Friday group started in September 2012. The artists who asked me to start this group, lived in Southern Marin, and didn’t want to drive to Fairfax every week. My mom – Niz – agreed that we could meet at Niz Realty – her office in downtown Larkspur. Adrienne Rogers, Sondra Blake and Heather Hughes, are original members of the Friday group. To save me from schlepping portable tables back and forth every week, the group that had been meeting at my house, moved to Thursdays in Larkspur in the spring of last year. Along the way we’ve been joined by: Sue DeVinny, Betsey Crawford, Alicia Forester, Pamela Marcucci, Mickey Kreitzman, Virginie Kortekaas, Velda Draper, Marva McClusky, Tania Walters, and Karen Burkland.

In 2014, I started a series of “Special Saturdays” for those who live too far away to come weekly, and who work during the week. Lenore Stormes, Sue Rink, and Karen Orton are all regulars of this group.

(Note: the invitation was to put together an all-floral exhibition. Most of us paint flowers – but not all. There are other regulars who are not represented in our show, who are in our community: Mike Shea, Mary Austin, and Gwen Toso on Thursdays and Trisha Garlock, Pat Dicker, and Penny Weiss on Saturdays. I also want to acknowledge that our community includes artists, who have just begun painting with us and/or come sporadically, as well as those who painted with us for a time and have moved on. I appreciate the opportunity to witness, and contribute to each one’s work and process.)

Each of the three groups has formed a close bond of friendship, support, and camaraderie. We meet with a specific purpose, to pursue our creative work, and share our love of watercolor. The outcome is both these paintings, which celebrate the allure of flowers, color and light, as well as a community of artists who share our lives with each other. 537 Magnolia – thanks to Niz’s generosity – has become our art “home.” This is our coming out – our first exhibition – and we are all excited to have the opportunity to show our work all in one place at one time.

I’ve reserved the domain name – 537Magnolia.com – another project to take on! We are now a community, and it’s time for us to be represented as such on the internet. Stay tuned.

The show is up until the morning of September 23rd . You are welcome to go see it Monday-Friday when the Fair Office is open – 9am – 5pm. The entrance is in the back of the Exhibit Hall building. We’ll have a reception on Tuesday, August 25th from 6-8pm. You are invited to come meet the artists and celebrate with us.

Last week I wrote about how I could never have dreamed all that has come to be, with my artwork and its impact in the world. Now we have our first group show – the gathering of the work and artists in all my groups – some of them met for the first time on Saturday. My “I could never have dreamed” experience is even more full this week – sharing with the world what I’ve had the privilege to do – to witness the creation of such beauty, and to share in living a creative life with such remarkable, special people. I am so very blessed.

Love,

Cara

 

July 21, 2015 – I couldn’t have dreamed

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This December it will have been eight years since my spiritual God Mother, Donna and I went to a day-long event at Spirit Rock Meditation Center, being given by the Buddhist meditation teacher Sylvia Boorstein and Sister Mary Neill – two spiritual teachers from different faiths who are great friends. After the event, Donna introduced me to Sister Mary as my spiritual grandmother. After meeting me, Sister Mary told Donna that I needed something from her and to have me come see her. This felt strange and also wondrous. Donna told me that she only sees ministers and therapists and other people who tend to a flock, so to speak. Then why me? What did she see in me, and what would I need from her? At the time I was a real estate agent who had taken some life coach training, and had just that month been asked to show my watercolors for the first time the next spring. I went to see Sister Mary in January 2007 (check registers are great for placing things in time!) And I most recently saw her just last Wednesday. She’s now my beloved teacher and guide. She puts my life, my struggles, challenges and blessings in the context of our faith tradition and helps me see and mark my own evolution.

I could never have dreamed I’d ever have such a deep and sweet relationship with a Catholic nun. But not only is she unlike any other nun I’d imagine knowing, she’s unlike any person I know. She’s spent her life studying and contemplating the psycho-spiritual elements of human life. Her foundation is the Christian path and she’s devoted to Jesus, and she brings in to our conversations Jung, dream work and archetypes, the Enneagram, Byron Katie, the Chakras and Buddhist meditation. She’s wise and whip smart, but also funny, funny and silly and irreverent. She’s always taking my hands in hers and dancing with me as she sings old love songs. She’s fearless (sometimes so much she’s scary) and seems more free than anyone I know. No one on earth affirms me and my journey in the way she does. I just adore her. I pinch myself that I have someone like her who knows and loves me as she does. I cannot imagine the unfolding of my life without her accompanying me.

She went crazy over my painting of Twin Dahlias. She has a large framed print of it over the table where she sees her clients/spiritual directees. In our sessions, she’s always pointing to it and telling me this is God living through me – it’s my expression of God. My time spent with her has helped me come to know this to be true. We used to sing this chant at church: “The eye through which I see God is the same eye through which God sees me.” This is part of a Meister Eckhart quote that continues: “my eye and God’s eye are one eye, one seeing, one knowing, one love.” At first I was puzzled by this. But she’s helped me to understand that what and how I see – how we each see – is unique to us, even as it an expression of the divine, of God. I go about my regular life and I’m captivated by something I see – a delicate flower, a look in my dog Bo’s eyes, the blue-lavender edge on the pinky-orange plums in a photo I took out at my parents’ last Tuesday – all these things are little expressions of God – and, my noticing them is God too.

I have come to see that making art – and now teaching – creating the environment for others to create their art – is my calling. And an important part of this has been to claim it as a real profession – to take the calling seriously enough, and to have the audacity to say that I will make a living at it – make it central to my life, not just a spare-time hobby. And it has been really, really hard. It’s been an on-going negotiation in my marriage to re-arrange our lives so I can answer the call. And it has taken immense energy: the festivals, the emails, schlepping tables back and forth for classes, operating in the face of that critical voice that constantly chatters negative stuff about it all – while continuing to paint and FINISHING these paintings.

I had a very freeing realization a couple of summers ago. I have lots of time to think while sitting in my festival booth. It’s rarely so busy that I’m talking to people all day. I’ve spent hours wondering why my art has not been selling while there are so many people expressing such appreciation for it. Then it sifted in: I’m not in charge. I have no say in who buys my art, when they do, how they will find me or it. If I were, I’d never have any paintings to show! They’d be all gone right away!

While this is being posted, I’m in Santa Fe, New Mexico sharing what I know about painting watercolor with a woman from Texas. In early 2013 she found my art somewhere on line – she can’t remember where – and signed up to be on my email list. Then about six months later, I sent an email update with my latest painting “Summertime” (some of which I painted while on retreat with my Sister Mary that summer). She saw it and knew this was the one. She bought the original painting, after just seeing a picture of it over the Internet. Then she told me learning to paint was on her bucket list and she wanted for me to teach her. There’s no way I could have dreamed this up. If I were in charge, this amazing connection would not have been made and I’d not be here this week.

In the time that I’ve been seeing Sister Mary, my work in the world – my reach – has grown immensely. There is an original painting hanging in Australia and I have a great fan who writes me regularly from, as she calls where she lives, the desolate mountains of Scotland. There are dozens of people who have come to paint with me and find inspiration from the environment I’ve been called to create. And even with all the successes, we are still a ways away from my making a real living at it. I still need support from my husband. But I do know that I will continue to be supported to paint and to teach. This support is part of the deal. I don’t think we are given a call without it.

I have no idea what else is in store. Just as I couldn’t have dreamed up all that has happened; I cannot dream what is to come – or when. It never feels right to take full credit for the art I make and how I help artists with their paintings. My experience is that all this comes from the source of all that is, from God – and that all that comes through us has some divine purpose. Our part – my part – is to listen for the call – and then answer it: Hello, is that you, God?

Love,

Cara

 

July 14, 2015 – Starting with Surrender

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Making a commitment to write every week has taken a leap of faith. I so feared that I’d peter out, leaving my abandoned online journal as evidence for all the world to see that I’m not able to stick with things. And, I keep worrying I’ll run out of things to write about. This week my faith is being tested – no clear ideas were coming to me. Yesterday morning in a conversation with my dear friend Vicki the word “surrender” came up and then it echoed in me throughout the day. But what to say about it eluded me. This morning I woke with a memory of being in an African American church in San Francisco a few years ago and experiencing surrender in a way that I’d hadn’t ever before. From there, thoughts threaded through about my spiritual evolution, including how I have come to see myself as thoroughly Christian. And then the thought: are you really going to go there?

It’s so loaded, that word Christian. The word Christianity seems less so – within it is tradition and history and ideology – more heady words. But to call myself Christian has me need to explain to you what being Christian means to me – which is very particular – in case reading this has you make things up about me. Because I would have made all kinds of things up about someone calling themselves Christian in my earlier life!

Our family is culturally Christian in the way that many Americans are, we celebrate Christmas and Easter – but we are not religious. We almost never went to church. I think once we went to an Easter sunrise service when I was a kid growing up. I remember having a sleep over with a new friend when I was junior high age and going to a Catholic church with her family and her. The holy water inside the door, the sign of the cross, the kneeling at the pew, I felt so far outside of belonging in this place, so uninitiated. It was foreign and scary. Except for travelling in Europe in my early 20’s where I visited churches as historic tourist attractions, this was my experience of church.

In the first months of our relationship, Joe got very sick from the chemotherapy and had to be hospitalized. Someone needed to handle the payroll for his employees, so I called his bookkeeper. At the end of the conversation she asked about me and I burst into tears. She suggested I call Sara Vurek, the pastor at the Fairfax Community Church. I moved aside the protesting thought – call a minister? – and I called Sara. Her voice was warm and real – she seemed so normal to me. She put Joe on the church’s prayer chain and connected me with Unity to put him in their big prayer network. Though a spiritual life had awoken in me out of my divorce, it was more new-age. I really didn’t really relate to what prayer would actually do, but it was comforting in some way that is hard to articulate.

Not quite two years later we were planning our wedding and we needed someone to officiate. Sara came immediately to mind. Joe saw her Birkenstocks and discovered she’s a fervent San Francisco Giants fan and he was sold. The ceremony Sara created with us was just right for us and through the experience I fell completely in love with her. At that same time I found myself hungering for a spiritual community, a spiritual home. Two Sundays after our wedding, I went with a friend to a service at the Fairfax church. I was unable to even say the word church out loud; I wanted to mumble it behind a brush of my hand across my mouth. It was all so foreign to me and I had all these ideas about brainwashed people who spoke straight out of the Bible – which made them completely un-relatable to me.

This 1950’s era church was in the middle of being remodeled, there was paper all over the wood floors – it was hardly an inspiring sight. That Sunday Sara was away. I don’t remember who the woman was who presided. Besides offering us a blessing with water she’d recently brought back from a trip to the Holy Land, I have no memory of what happened. But I knew I was coming back – something called to me. Through Sara’s reflections (they were not called “sermons”) I found a way in – a way to understand the teachings of Jesus and the traditions of Christianity that were actually applicable to my own life. In retrospect, I see the enormous impact that the decade I spent with this little church has had on my personal evolution – my leadership capacities were incubated in this sweet community. But what’s most precious to me now is that, along the way, I discovered the part of me that is deeply devotional. There is a place in the center of my chest, in my heart that longs to long, to revere, to surrender, to worship even – something greater than me.

I’ve done a couple of silent meditation retreats within the Buddhist world. Loving-kindness meditation is a beautiful and effective spiritual practice. But to me it doesn’t feel devotional. I don’t feel that place inside me of surrender, giving myself over to the presence of the source of infinite love. And then there’s the iconography. Images of the Buddha and Quan Yin and other eastern spiritual figures are interesting to me, but they don’t enter in like seeing St. Francis in my dad’s garden, or Mary, the Blessed Mother, Guadalupe in Mexico. I surprise myself as I realize that there is even a way that the image of Jesus on the cross can enter the deepest part of me now. I used to be incredulous as to how a spiritual tradition would use execution – what looked like torture to me – as its primary symbol. Eckhart Tolle (the author of The Power of Now, A New Earth) helped me see how Jesus on the cross symbolizes the emotional pain that we all experience in living a human life. I’ve come to understand that it is when this pain is most intense, it strips away our fallback coping mechanisms and has us open a space for another way to see. This allows our consciousness to expand to hold all that the present moment contains and it is how we are resurrected from our own crucifixion. Ok, now I can allow this symbol to mean something to me.

For the first 30 or so years of my life I lived within a shell that had me believe I could use my agile brain as a way out of any struggle. The little crack in that shell that started with leaving my first husband has become so wide it’s hard to see the edges of it in my spiritual peripheral vision. Through this bigger space I pour in the thinking and teaching of Richard Rohr and Cynthia Bourgeault, who seem to me to be the growing edge of Christian thought. I’ve heard and read them say things that blow my mind in the very best way – things that have been almost entirely missed in the stories of Jesus and Mary Magdalene – at least in the mainstream understanding. The clearest truth for me is that Christianity is a relational faith – as much as the source of infinite love exists in each of us, is each one of us – it’s most potent as the connection between two or more of us. I have a hard time putting words to my experience of it. It’s a feeling in my body. I have the sense that the center of my chest is expanding. Love is being received as well as emanating out from me. It’s heartwarming and heartbreaking all at the same time.

I have more to say. Where I’m called to go next is to share with you how I relate my faith, my spiritual evolution to my work – my painting and my teaching. But this is a whole post in itself. For that, stay tuned to next week.

Love,

Cara