Greed, envy and selfishness are to “expiration” what love, kindness and compassion are to “inspiration.” Lucy Clark 2022
Hang with me for a moment. The thought above hit me square between the yesterday morning as I was busy getting my wits about me.
If we are living in kindness as much as we possibly can, the level of inspiration is palpable. Seriously, heartrending joy can come from our efforts. There are days that we aren’t at our best; believe me, I know. But it’s the overall “frequency” that we resonate in that I’m talking about.
Recent events in my life have also shown me that those that live in greed, envy and selfishness lead to the expiration of one’s soul. Writhing, unconscionable fits of “getting even” or wishing others tragedy or harm whether in the physical, emotional or spiritual forms can bring all of those things home to roost.
Fighting for survival is very different than living one’s life in this world of plenty. Survival may very well be appropriate in different chapters of our lives. But to live in it every day and find folly and glee at another’s pain – well, that’s just too much stuff for just one person.
Be kind – it heals a multitude of hurt
Be compassionate – it reflects the beauty in your soul
As I walk through this life, I have been many things. I have done many, many things. Some quite poorly while others I have sunk my teeth into and made it into a way to make a living.
As I woke from a deep sleep that, for me, only happens occasionally, I was in the middle of a dream speaking to a room full of folks about what makes an artist an artist.
At the beginning of the talk, no one was much listening to a word I said. The rain was falling outside making the space in which we were in hard to hear. However, as my voice rose with timber as well as intent, the room fell silent. I realized that I had so much to say on this subject that I was slowly turning into a fervent preacher on a hot summers day.
As soon as I woke, I realized that I needed to put these words into some sort of order not only for myself but perhaps for anyone else who might need a little clarity on the subject of what it is to be an artist. Who is an artist, who has the right to be an artist and who has the obligation to live as one.
I am an artist.
I am an artist because I can’t be anything else. This artistry comes from somewhere deep inside of me, above me, surrounds me and overtakes me. It is in every word I say, every gesture I make, every damn thing I create. Is it my skill shining through? I don’t think so. Is it my judgment of others work leading the way? Nope, not that either.
As a gallery owner, I see others come in who work at a craft. They walk through the gallery, silently, or not so silently, judging the work of others. They wear a chip on their shoulder and beat an insecure heart within their chest. They espouse their work and their accomplishments and take no notice of the blood, sweat and tears that others have shed along the way.
Then there are the replicators. Those that can look at some else’s creation and make it. There is no life in it, no authenticity, no real joy coming from it, but yet they can do it.
I have spoken to “book smart” artists who have learned every skill and technique known to humankind. They are technicians and executors of plans, strategies and drawings. They make something so refined as to have no light shining through.
There are crafters and hobbyists. Part-timers and old-timers. Heritage crafts and modern riffs and the list goes on.
What sets all of these apart from a true artists is this.
Authenticity.
Taking a skill and turning it into an art form. Putting away the books and opening up your heart. Realizing that the only reason you create is because you have to create. That all of the accolades and accomplishments; all of the awards and workshops; all of the breakthroughs and breakdowns have gotten you to a place where all that matters is that you create.
You let it flow because if you don’t it will take you down like Volcanic molten lava wiping out a village. It will suffocate you and cause you to deconstruct. The volition of your art has the weight and heft of a Sumo wrestler and you can do nothing else than to submit to its wiles of creativity.
My friend, that’s when you know without a tenuous shadow of a doubt, that you are an artist. At that point, the drive to be in the studio is greater than the need to cut someone else down. You will work tirelessly, without outside influence or direction, just because your need to authenticate your life is greater than being part of a trend or using the Pantone color of the year.
Strip off your considerations, roll up your fucking sleeves and get to work. Without fanfare; without direction and just create.
The space between leaving and what is yet to come. The space of becoming, acknowledgement, and knowingness. The space between the inhale where anything can happen and just before the exhale where life is complete.
All of this invites a big, deep, undulating pause. It’s not so much about the leaving and the arriving as it is about the space between. The place we can get caught in fear and trepidation, uncertainty and anxiety or deep bull shitting denial. A place that speaks like no other of the void. A space that yearns for growth but may be too full of fear to reach for it. A niche of enlightenment with darkness at the edges.
I just returned from 5 days in one of my most sacred spaces in this Universe called Santa Fe. I, at this very moment, am inhabiting the very surreal, ungrounded slightly askew space between. In years past, I would be concerned for my future. The trip, so incredibly enchanting and delightful, has stirred up my longing for what’s next. What will I create, where will I go with it, how I can be more “me” in the process? All those things that used to scare the light out of me and now, without me even being aware of it has softened into a comfort of unknowing.
I have ridden this horse enough to know that all will be revealed in its own languid time. Without force or effort. Without worry or stress. I have realized that what is leaving is leaving and what is to come will find its way to my door. People, places, things, and time have always been and will always be as temporary as a firefly on a warm summer’s night.
I bow to the space between the word and the world. The place where magic can happen with a flick of fate and where, in the end, we will always find our way home.
Going through life can give us the armor that we need to defend ourselves – but if we wear it like a chastity belt we will never get to the really good stuff. The stuff of magic and mist; of connection and compassion; of delight and joy.
Without doubt, we will save ourselves from being taken advantage of but without any hope for grace to enter.
You see, when we hold ourselves away from our “higher” voice, we hold ourselves away from our own exponential evolution. As a person, a friend or a partner.
I can absolutely assure you that being taken advantage of will happen from time to time. It’s inevitable to be hoodwinked, manipulated and generally disused. But so what? What if, all of those things are simply a very miniscule price to pay for the life given to you, the giver, by simply being your kind, generous, compassionate self? What if, dropping all the armor, you are able to drop the weight you feel suffocated by? What if, dearest one, all of the guarding, holding and shying away from is simply a way of keeping your self-righteousness in place? You know, the judging that makes it easier to stay inside our hollowed selves.
This path is not for the weak of spirit. It will take courage of heart, kindness of spirit and an absolute undying need to see the better in yourself and everyone that you choose to surround yourself with.
Begin by being kind to yourself, healing your own wounds and then, my lovely friend, let it bleed and ooze out to rest of the tattered souls that are doing their best to drop their own armor of safety.
To truly transform, one must, each and every day, scrub off the layers of thoughts and considerations from others and be laid vulnerable and naked under a blanket of our own standards. A daunting task to say the least. One that truly requires our authentic self to shine past what others think of us, of our work or our intentions.
We have all been there. Willing, oh so willing to judge another for their reach in this world. Or their lack of ability for self examination. We roll around, thinking unkind thoughts; beating our way through the brush of our own chaos and lighting a candle on someone else’s fire.
And yet, our vulnerability awaits. To be laid quivering and cold, without our protective blanket of what our ego is telling us to believe is mandatory for our growth as an individual riding around the Universe in this human form.
If we are to believe, I mean truly and effortlessly believe, that we are worthy, we must first slog through the bits of bobs of unworthiness and selfishness. Such strange bedfellows but I have seen so many times the two go holding hands while walking down the street of my own delusions.
The ego is a wonderful survival mechanism – one that in my darkest of times has saved me from utter internal destruction. But a great gift can also be one’s most pointed liability. For if we feed our egos more than our authentic personage, we are doomed to being asleep at the wheel. But, if we pay our true selves just a bit more than our blubbering, boastful hobbit of an ego, we begin to see who we are starting to become peep through. And, I gotta tell you, it’s a whole lot easier living with the love of oneself than the condemnation brought on by believing we are unworthy of prosperity, love, adoration and forgiveness.
I am in the middle of transformation and, truthfully, it always comes with a side of fear, uncertainty and doubt. But, if I am to release from the Chrysalis of my own making I just gotta trust the process. And, my friend, I hope you do, too.
The Life of Mud 