Experimenting for upcoming classes: mixed media on pages from my Dad’s dictionary L Doctor

When Julian of Norwich was about 30 years old, she was struck with an illness so severe she knew she would not survive. When she was administered last rites, she began to experience visions from God. Fifteen visions lasted throughout the afternoon of 13 May 1373 CE. A final vision came the next evening, when she woke completely cured and, shortly afterwards, wrote them down. She is the author of the phrase made famous by T S Eliot: “And all shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well.”

This declaration that “all manner of thing shall be well” does not eliminate misfortune, sickness or death. It is pointing to what all the respected wise ones say about the ability to find peace, and even joy, in the eye of the storm — to come to trust that there is something that transcends chaos and impermanence.

*One who is grounded in eternity and moving in the field of time. —* Joseph Campbell on the Bodhisattva
L Doctor Sketchbook

Practicing accepting whatever comes is often misunderstood to mean being passive, or not taking action. This is incorrect. Acceptance is the knowledge that opening to what is creates the ability to act more effectively, with clarity. Saying “yes” to whatever storm hits is an ongoing practice. It comes from knowing that anxiety is contagious, pervasive and debilitating. It easily folds itself into anyone else’s anxiety, and multiplies. It can even become a convenient entertainment, keeping you stuck in a story that limits your ability to see or act in a meaningful way. Welcoming what comes resides in vanquishing any thought that your situation should be any different than it is. I can already feel the freedom in this.

Just to identify things beyond control, and let them go, is transforming.

What fills you with anxiety? This morning I am considering that whatever it is that takes one off center is also the key to the door that takes one back in.

The goal is to evolve to that place where the energy that is projected outward to correct the world is turned around to correct oneself — to get on our own track and to dance, in balance, between the worlds.
— Joseph Campbell, The Art of Living

Something that helps me find my way back in is “looking for signs.” This is something I have done for a long time, and takes me to the “bigger picture.” Facing the third day of an IRS audit, I said to myself, “What happens if I say ‘yes’ to the IRS?” By this, I don’t mean take whatever you want, but rather that acceptance makes me a better negotiator. I received an image of sunflowers, and went out and bought some to put in the room we meet in. The smallest act can shift perspective, which is the point — not controlling the outcome.

When you find that burning point, the stillness, within yourself, all action is empowered. For now, I am calling the burning place your soul. It is the part that remains, in spite of everything. It surfaces most easily during times of uncertainty, loss and confusion — when you feel most inadequate or helpless. This is the most authentic place to create from. When you feel helpless, it is a good time to go to your studio.

The heroes of all time emerge out of a chaos and danger that is no less than what we find ourselves in. There are all kinds of unexpected trials along the way. It is a comfort to remember that this is where the stories come from. In the stories there is also the recurring theme that for the hero, (the one willing to be vulnerable by risking the journey), help comes from unexpected places. Just as with scientific discoveries, the intuition or solution often surfaces in unforeseen moments or from surprising places.

The kind of power evoked from connecting with your soul, your burning, is not based in strategy, or brute force, or reason. The power latent in your soul emerges out of openness and stillness, and will naturally arise. The door to potential, to finding “the eye in the storm”, lies in retreat from the world, news, duty, at least for a certain part of the day, and opening to imagination. This is where your soul abides, and is abiding always.

Poetry can help you carry whatever may happen in a day. When fear and anxiety appear to be everywhere, find a poem. Here is an excerpt from a long poem, “The Return,” by Mary Oliver:

I do not want to be frisky, and theatrical.
I do not want to go forward in the parade of names.
I do not want to be diligent or necessary or in any way
heavy.
From my mouth to God’s ear, I swear it; I want only
to be a song.
To wander around in the fields like a little reed bird.
To be a song.

Experimenting for upcoming classes on pages from my Dad’s dictionary. L Doctor

I have thought a lot about Joseph Campbell’s declaration that the timeless stories of the human dilemma — whatever trouble we find ourselves in — transcend all cultures and all times, and point to the invisible force that holds us here. As a starting point, you don’t need to be religious to believe in gravity, that invisible force that miraculously holds us in place on a spinning ball in the midst of countless galaxies.

However we name the part of us that visits in dreams, or restores you to a sense of wholeness, it emerges from mystery, from a source unknown to us. Your soul connects you with the bigger picture, the unaccountable vastness of the universe we are in — and the sense that our predicaments, however dire they may seem, are nothing new to the human dilemma.

This parting phrase from Ron Padgett’s poem on “How to Be Perfect” is a reminder that delight is something we can actively pursue, by taking a moment to notice what is happening in the natural world: