How Clearly the Dying See

It is coming up to the fourth anniversary of the day

my father died.

His last few days were full of visions and visits from

people I couldn't see.

One afternoon a fist punched its way through the 

ceiling of the room.

He wasn't surprised or even concerned that I 

couldn't see it.

But the symbolism of an open portal between this 

world and the next has been with me ever since. 



***

The Dart Players

Do you see the female figure between the two men?

I didn't plan it but I was interested to see She was there.

The Mother seems to be everywhere.

Even church - although that is the last place I 

thought I would find Her.

Part of a particularly lovely contemporary 

Anglican hymn:

She Flies On

Refrain: She comes sailing on the wind

Her wings flashing in the sun

on a journey just begun, She flies on.

And in the passage of Her light

Her song rings out through the night;

full of laughter, full of light, She flies on ...

Desert turned to gardens ...

and down through the ages she flew on ...

Refrain

Long after the deep darkness

that fell upon the word,

after dawn returned in flame of rising sun,

the Spirit touched the earth again,

again Her wings unfurled,

bringing life in wind and fire as She flew on.  

Refrain

Me

I knew there had to be one more picture in the series.

So I took the pieces that flew apart yesterday and put them
back together again this morning.

This is the sketch of the new 'whole'.

I call it ... "Me".

Pieces of Me

Did Alice know?

I never found out.

The Pieces

"The Self might be thought of as the archetype of wholeness, and its intention is to restore wholeness to the human psyche which has been so fragmented

 - even through means which may appear to be at first destructive."

The Dream of the Cosmos, a Quest for the Soul

Anne Baring

I met for supper with three other women last week.

One of the women has twice survived breast cancer 

and chemo.

Last year her husband said he wanted to downsize 

so they sold their house.  About three months ago 

he told her he wanted a divorce.

Her children are grown up and gone.

She doesn't feel capable of going back to work as an 

EA at a local school in September.

She went through a celebratory 'glad to be rid of 

him' time of lavish spending on herself. But last 

week the bravado was gone. 

She sees that there is no husband, no family, no 

money. Just fragments of a life scattered around her 

like broken glass.

Her depression is absolute.

I feel for her.

But it is only when you are in pieces that the

process of becoming whole can begin.

I Once Was Blind II

How hard to drop the window dressing - the extraneous details that distract from the whole.

The basic shapes are starting to appear. 

Some were not in the first effort but have appeared in this one - others are emerging from behind the frippery.


I have never appreciated the courage of abstract artists.

And I certainly didn't realize how clearly they see. 




Psalm 119:18
Open my eyes that I may see wondrous things ...

***

I Once Was Blind

I'm reading Anton Ehrenzweig's "The Hidden Order 

of Art".

It is a hard go for a non-intellectual, but on the 

occasion that I do actually get something, it really 

rocks my world.

He has made me decide to explore the world of the 

abstract for awhile.

But it isn't easy to move into abstract and still say 

something.

Ehrenzweig speaks about how frightening it 

is for blind people who are suddenly given sight. 

How they must be guided to take in the 'whole of a 

thing' and not the details if they are ever going to 

learn to see with their eyes.

I've been trying to imagine how it would be to 

suddenly be presented with sight - how would I even 

start to make sense of what was happening??

"White Dog on Pink Bed" is the first effort.

It is a charming little picture but not even close to 

where I want to go with this.

If the Devil is in the details, then God must be in the 

whole - and seeing the whole of anything is far  

harder than I ever imagined - it involves so much 

more than just using our eyes.  Something all 

successful abstract artists must know I suppose.

Hidden

I had a dream this week that I found my nephew 

hiding in a small cave of earth, leaves and wood.  

He was wearing a Sikh head covering.

My nephew is now a grown man with a family but in 

my dream he seemed to be about 12 or 13.

I pay attention to my dreams and this one was 

unusual because the message is so clear.

My unconscious self seems to be  directing me 

to "seek" something that is hidden or lost. 

Anyway, it is always a good idea to let your

unconscious know that you got the message.

Hence the unfinished, untitled picture of a 

mental search.

If I figure out what it is I'll be terribly

tempted to finish the picture

and call it, "Sikh and ye shall find".