Thursday, June 12, 2014

Growing Open

Ahhhh, getting older...

I am learning more and more the wonder and mystery of the command to "be like a little child" in my faith, seeing with new eyes and shedding the scales of cynicism and insecurity.

My art process is a big part of that discovery, though the time I am able to devote to it is seasonally slim to none.  I wonder if there will ever come a time when my practice will meet and shake hands with the deep knowledge that art is a breathing for me.  Other things on my to-do list seem to shoulder their way in front, cranky and demanding, and I shrug off the whispered suggestion that I should spend an hour in my mess, figuring there will be time tomorrow.

We know how that goes, don't we?

More and more my faith life shows up in my art, even when I don't intend it to.  This is the way of the Spirit, an interceding deeper than words sometimes expressing itself in color and smudges and slivers of paper fluttering toward the carpet.

I am more open than I ever was, and that openness often looks an awful lot like inaction to the outside eye.

Yet as the "doing" slows, the noticing answers with a deep hum, a childlike bubble of acceptance and "is-ness" that my previous self would never have tolerated.  I find that this noticing looks like equal parts laughing at myself, apologizing more, and looking humanity in the eye instead of looking away, either out of my own perceived superiority or inferiority {flip sides to the same unhealthy coin.}  Sometimes I don't understand this new state of being, but I always appreciate it.

It's been months now since the whispered fear asked, "Will the depression come back?", and I live instead in a state that I can only assume is what mentally healthy people call normal.  I like it here.  But I also like the me that the depression created, as it forced me against rough places until my old skin peeled away, because she is kind and breakable and real.

If growing open and growing older are inevitable companions, then I will embrace them as a pair.  And I will let them dance across my pages unselfconsciously and without barriers.