Chapter 7, Selecting; 12 Secrets of Highly Creative Women

I finally resonated to what this Chapter is speaking to: The Business end of things. I know it is referring to building partnerships to support your dreams. It''s about networking and your strengths, so you know more about yourself and what you bring to the table and what you might find in someone else. Getting the money and support without getting over your head.

Ms. McMeekin taught us how to start looking and noticing our passions, identified our saboteurs, brought us to recognizing guides and now wants us to pick our team. The book’s influence is taking place in a few weeks what usually takes years in real time because it is talking to all of us woman in the different stages. At this part of the book I almost put it down. “You’re not there yet honey,” Then I read the first few responses from you ladies and Wham, inspiration… My networking is more to the organic stage, not to the business end of selecting right now. Here’s two stories that are the best way I can describe what I took from this chapter.

I’m just learning yoga. I met my yoga instructor through the Internet, saw her name, saw she would come to my home, called and she came out, both of us sight unseen. She’s has such a good heart, she is wonderful in ways that are totally unlike me. She’s got me thinking. (First piece of a network puzzle that I didn't expect.)

My yoga friend and I got to speaking about (actually the idea germinated during my Savasana time. Cool!), now that the weather is nice, using my backyard and the absolutely gorgeous view of the Sonoran Desert, to offer yoga for those in my rural area. Okay, I thought though, well what about when it gets hot, it’s not going to work anymore, and K. says you never know, someone that comes to that group may be able to offer her home when the heat comes, Bingo! Okay-- then I thought, I’ve got the lap pool so little added bonus/enticement for those that wanted to stay and swim or hike in the desert. Then she said you could get out the word about your practice of Reiki and SoulCollage®! Okaaayyy…. (I’ve been practicing Reiki on and off since last June, but only on friends and family. However, nothing really presented itself to me to market myself.) Maybe some of these women will be connections to parts of my Art that is seriously lacking any networking connections, maybe I’ll have a built-in group when I start SoulCollage®, or maybe the SoulCollage® and Reiki will spin off new networks, that spin of new places. And on it goes. One little connection started on avalanche.

(I really need to pat attention to my J. Campbell quote on the side there.)

I don’t have a preset agenda for what kind of people that will be my partners. This is where the guides come in; I trust that the Divine will bring the right people into my life at the right time when I’m ready.

Second Story (little bigger idea): Though I’ve had an idea for a non-profit organization for women who suffer from dual diagnosis. An alternative to automatic responses of medication and 12 steps. I’ve vision of the inside of this building sometimes; a peaceful restful place for women who can’t afford the high end Rehabs; something that speaks to the nutritional, mental, physical support as well as holistic & alternative modalities. I’ve been incubating on this for a few years.

Sometimes I stop believing, but things keep happening that jar me out of melancholy and get me thinking and dreaming again. Then suddenly a flurry of activity happens, and then a slow down…and then doubt, and then something unexpected gets those juices flowing and a new person enters my life.

I’ve got an idea I’m being guided somewhere, at some point I will have to take the reigns of my own destiny, but right now I feel I just need to keep showing up. I practically stopped on the Reiki thing till the yoga friend appeared. I practically stopped on the Rehab till a girl from Brisbane! who is finishing her book about this very thing called THIS WEEK to ask me permission to use passage of my book I started on this subject and put aside 3 years ago. I practically stopped on writing on my version of moving from the suburbs to the pioneering in the deserts of Arizona, till I got one little email that said she loved my baby chick story and I should keep going. Go figure how all this stuff works out. Maybe some won't make it out of the frying pan, who knows?

I do know you can’t let these serendipitous happenings lie around. I’ve noticed the most successful women in this group not only produce, but also continually put themselves out there, they actively seek out support, and when destiny comes knocking they have an eye to see it. They don’t let a potential resource wither. That takes practice. That’s all.

Build it, and they will come!
Love
:)C

Beeswax Mixed Media

Finally, a piece I feel worth sharing.
Process was acrylic paints on a canvas board.
Three images and a piece of paper.
Two similar tissue paper, one lighter one darker, layered.
Paper Towels
Gel Medium
Natural Beeswax
Ink pen to emphasize words on the paper.
Black Crayon melted and smeared.
Quilting Iron
Embossing Heat Tool

I am fascinated by sculptures in the Neolithic period of the goddess and cave drawings.
I was going for that feminine, watery feeling, and the treasures we hold.
I'll let you take from it the rest.

Oh-- and I learned to take up excess wax using paper towels; pressing the quilting iron to the towel over the area on the canvas till the wax melted to it, lifting and moving to anther area of the towel till I got the desired transparency in certain areas, it also helped with the smudging effects.

There are many thing in your heart you can never tell another person. They are you, your private joys and sorrows, and you can never tell them. You cheapen them, the inside of yourself when you tell them. ~~Greta Garbo

Chapter 7, Consulting with the Guides; 12 Secrets of Highly Creative Women

There are women who make things better... simply by showing up. There are women who make things happen. There are women who make their way. There are women who make a difference. And women who make us smile. There are women of wit and wisdom who -- through strength and courage -- make it through. There are women who change the world every day...women like you. ~~ashley rice

Mentors, guides, ancestors, family….. got me thinking this week.

My father made bologna palatable by frying it and hot dogs taste good by dunking them in soy sauce, raw in a coffee cup – hey us kids loved it! He pushed snowballs down my back, and took my brother and I Snipe hunting. (If you don’t know what that is, it’s a complete farce as there is no such thing as a Snipe and you walk around with a paper bag and a flash light calling Snipe, Snipe… in the dark, in the woods, there is also a build up for years that you have to be the right age before you get to go Snipe hunting.) He made me laugh and feel safe. He also tried his hand at Children stories – he was good, he read them to me at night when he tucked me in.
Dad used to say I was supposed to go into the ad business because of all the posters I would make, taping ripped up paper bags into banners for birthdays, anniversaries, welcome home’s….

My mom, a bit of a tortured soul, read to me giving me my love of literature and tried to teach this tomboy to sit still and sew, but I was a lost cause, poor Mom, she got the daughter she wanted in my sister. I’m glad for both of them. My mother read everything I wrote and even submitted my first piece of poetry to “Barbie Magazine,” which was actually published and a darn good poem for a seven year old. Mom took up oil painting when she was 36, somewhere in 1973. She was even in a show. We were all very proud of her. Dad was clever when he made her frame for the big painting. He pounded the hell out of it with a huge, heavy mace that was part of our living room décor before staining it. Except for her pork chops, mom was a good cook (I swear in the 60’s and 70’s those pork chops had to cooked within an inch of there life and tasted like the cardboard on the back of a legal pad.) Though her sweet basil on fried eggs in bacon grease, though horrifying to a nutritionist now a-a-days were great. Her pasty recipe passed down from my great, great, great gram is still a family tradition –though mom put a new twist on it (it’s a secret). So I was peeling potatoes by the time I was eight and cooking a decent meal by 12 &–still enjoy cooking. My family dubbed me the queen of making something out of nothing. Currently my homemade salsa, fresh ingredients from the garden should be canned.

I’ve nurtured and raised 5 other boys, and girl that didn’t get it in their own home and my two beautiful sons. I offer a circle of yoga, with my yoga instructor at my home without charge and give out complimentary Reiki treatments at my grams nursing home. Those people are my mentors as in their strength I find my own.

But, though I’ve often wanted the traditional mentor, none seem to present themselves in the form of a human. My mentors are in movies, literature, poetry, nature and animals.

My dad was a projectionist in Milwaukee and we were able to see movies for free back then (shhh no one was supposed to know.) I was raised on films and learned to decipher plot, character, and the deep layers of the human psyche. (I have a secret dream of receiving an Oscar for an original screenplay) Movies –good ones always seem to teach me more about the human condition and ways to understand others more than anything else. Can I just add Bette Davis, Joan Crawford & Anne Bancroft.

Joseph Campbell, Clarrisa Pinkola Estes, Jung, Marianne Williamson, Krishnamurti have had the biggest non-fiction influence. Shirley Maclaine, Toni Morrison, Charolette Kasl, Kay Jamison Redfield & Angeles Arrien also. Great fiction as had the same effects on me as movies. It’s the best, the worst and the ideal of who we are in our true hearts.

Oddly enough, I think of myself as my own mentor; that my contributions and willingness to take chances, even scared or worried…to self my talk myself out of bad places and notice and be grateful for others. I put a second picture of myself on my blog. At first I was very satisfied with it but then I thought others would think that narcissist. In the end, I realized that this is how my husband sees me, and if he can love me that much, I can try to see myself through those same loving eyes.

Holding a tree till I can feel its roots and match my breath to it's essence, floating in the sea, feeling the life forms surround me, waiting till I disappear and there is nothing separating me from water, earth and air. Brushing down my horse, Ambrosia; she lets me know when I’m stressed and teaches me awareness. These have guided my body –

The teachings A Course in Miracles and Krishnamurti support my daily faith, reminding me that I’m not alone, that something else is always there to guide me. The Holy Spirit – the Gift of Grace.

Chapter 6, Committed to Self-Focus; 12 Secrets of Highly Creative Women

I think sometimes it is necessary for one to acknowledge a mistake and eat a little humble pie. sigh -- last week before I took off I left a comment on the 'Next Chapter: 12 Secrets' page using the word 'bs' about some of the thoughts put out by the author -- well there is a at least a bare minimum of 5 other ways to say something without throwing the baby out with the bath water or being disrespectful. So to my colleagues, friends, Jamie and fellow blogger's on this path please accept a heartfelt apology for my choice in expressing myself.

But, as it goes, often one learns the most from mistakes. While I was in Rocky Point for the week I had time to reflect on, the book, the author, the responses and places where I was resisting or resonating.

Marianne Williamson in “A Return to Love” speaks to our generation as one that has slipped into a barely camouflaged vortex of self-loathing. We are trying to validate ourselves through lists and lists of credentials & relationships. I went to a SARK workshop a few weeks ago and though I may have been a trifle bound up about my art and writing, somewhere through the day of listening to everyone’s saboteurs ‘group think’ happened and I started thinking I needed more help, I wasn’t enough. I got weaker instead of stronger. I don’t think this happens to everyone. I believe for me, it was because I did not know how to be strong in my convictions unless I was less than or more than the speaker. I couldn’t seem to find a happy medium and so chose the weaker side – this is always an attention getter –yes? Though I don’t think I was actively look for attention – some part wanted to be ‘more special.’ That is a gremlin at it’s core.

A workshop or seminar, guides, or book, if one is not careful, assigns someone else the charge of our mental care, they are made into the ‘fixer’ and we are the fixee’s. Think of all the self-help books from the 80’s till now. We ate them up, I ate them up, barely taking time to actually do the work I was told in one and then on to the next, the same info regurgitated in another form, but the same lesson. Still, I over-ate, drank, blamed my childhood, hid, vacillated between depression and aggression – Marianne words –“We can find a lot of different ways to express how much we hate ourselves.” I’ve done far worse damage to myself in the 30 years of self-talk than my mother did in the first 15 years of my life.

I’ve read a lot about squelching the saboteurs or acknowledging them as part of the process. My belief is they only exist if we feed them. (you know the story of the two wolves) it satisfies the ego to think we are fighting against something or learning to accept something or ‘growing.’ I think if we can’t stimulate our minds in one way we will find another. That way we are not wasting time; we are being productive. God forbid we go through life unproductive, but happy. We are so incredibly vicious to ourselves in our self-talk, no wonder we doubt, make excuses, lack faith.

After reflecting it occurred to me that none of these gremlins are actually real, they are apparitions, fictitious, and vacuous. There is not one made that can’t be unmade. (You know in the movie “Willow” when the sorcerer asks Willow what his first instinct was, and was to choose is own finger for the one of power? It’s a decent analogy if you saw the movie) A gremlin may be cute, charming even, but this is One Monster that feeds on comparison and disparagement. We lack trust in ourselves. Hence the books, workshops, seminars, (not that these can not be productive tools)

The other thing I reflected on was if I went along with the premise that the one BIG Fear could be broke down into little gremlins running amuck, unchecked all over my own mind, spewing green pea soup and turning it’s head in a circle, then wasn’t there perhaps a chance this was another form of creativity I was missing. What, I thought, if there was a window – I mean, there is a window in every prison cell of our own making? What if I’m forcing myself to take the only exit there is and though I’m scared shitless, I crawl through that window, through the dark scary, muddy, slimy, bug-infested – nope skip the bugs – tunnel. (I’m thinking “Shawshank Redemption” now – I’m clueless why all these movie analogies are coming to fore…) What would happen to my creativity, my play, my art, writing, my loves, my passions; if instead staying in the room with the gremlins I finally got tired enough of the self-abuse and I simply left.

I have a very strong intuitive feeling that my art would explode, like the frickin Fourth of July! I get the feeling the chain of production perfection would just vaporize – that’s the acid test, blowing past these hard fought for barriers, illusions of protection, that I’ve been the only one responsible for building. I really want to see me like that.

LOVE & DELIGHT!

Just a Note

This is where I was; Sea of Cortez, a few hours away. It was good, I definitely needed the Deep Breath! Feeling much more centered and focused -- and remembered my sense of humor :)

Have few more great pic's of the sea gulls swooping to catch bread crumbs from our terrace --when I get a scan disk (tomorrow, I hope)-- son showed me how -- learning curve here; Didn't realize a blog courtesy is let others know when you are away. When I go to Mexico I don't take my computer -- a little rule for self care.

Thank you ladies for leaving the sweet comments on my little chick story! Alas to say one didn't make it while I was gone, but three are thriving!
Can't wait to catch up!

in love and light

NEW BABY CHICKS!

SUNRISE AT HOME :)


Aren't these girls sweet? It’s time to start a new batch of chick’s. Over the years, after moving from the suburbs to 5 acres in the Sonoran Desert – think pioneering out west – I discovered the circle of life up close and personal. Our property abuts state land giving us the feeling of living on acres and acres of uninhabited desert and there is a lot of wild life out there.



My children, only 5 and 6 at the time we moved named each and every one of our first 14 chicks that were put in our first pen. Over the years we have battled the coyotes, wild dogs, owls, summer heat, and forgetting to lock the chicken house, to maintain a decent flock. Things we learned: Too many chickens equaled way too many eggs and not enough friends to give them to. Owls can pick up a chicken. The heat of an Arizona summer can kill a chicken. Our chickens actually have a mist system in their “enclosed” yard to keep them cool in the summer heat of 116 F sometimes. Dogs and coyotes can dig under a fence. We learned to dig a fence at least a foot into the ground, and eventually we built a concrete footing and enclosed the whole thing. Our dogs like chickens as much as any one. (I couldn’t bring myself to tie a dead one around their necks, like I was advised, so they would never kill another chicken.)

You can’t check under the little feathers to find out if you have a rooster or not. Imagine my surprise one morning, a few months into my pioneering waking up to some strange gurgling of a young rooster crowing to the dawn –also a misnomer, they will cock-a-doodle-do at 4:30 in the morning every 60 seconds for an hour sometimes -- and 3 roosters is a Bad thing. Also one bad ass Rooster – spurs are much bigger and nastier than I had imagined –named Rocky had to go –-- (my children used their large water guns and trash can lids to go feed the chickens in the morning and fend off Rocky – they were true warriors to behold!) The four of us had to catch him and put him in a pillow case to give away – this was a comedy someone should have caught on tape.

Also found the reason for sayings like “hen-pecked;” they will peck off the feathers on the back of another hen till the feathers are gone- gross –I’ve still yet to hear a good explanation for this one. And “Chicken!” Lordie, those things run from their own shadow! Most of the first batch lived to lay eggs – 8 months by the way- to an egg, and they are small at first, such novices we all were.

Collecting eggs was like a Easter egg treasure hunt for the boys every morning-and me too. Different chickens lay different color eggs, from tan, brown, to blue and teal and speckled, also your garden variety white. After the first and second batch and the massacres by wild dogs, our dogs, coyotes and the Owl the size of a large cat- which came to be known as – “The Great Chicken Massacre of 1995” and so on, the boys learned not to name them anymore - it was bad luck.(ya get superstitious after awhile about such things) We buried Miss Mary who lived through the first and second and third wave of baby chicks. Eventually we learned the hen growing and thriving ropes. We had a really varied batch of good laying hens and couple of Bannies for fun, small little things with feathers all amuck and on their feet. But alas, we went on vacation and the boys forgot to close the hen house door – feathers everywhere the next morning we heard– sigh – started again, but this batch had a couple of hens that would not stop pecking open the laid eggs. Some one said put golf balls in there and they’ll stop – they didn’t. There are two left plus a pretty white Banny who’s eggs are teal. She won't lay anymore because the other two will peck them.

The new chicks, I’m hopeful for. The feed store I buy from gets two different kinds every Friday so my decision is buy two every week for five weeks. I always buy more than I need because of casualties. This week I bought four because they needed numbers to stay warm until they feather out. (I never used to know stuff like that!) The two with the white on top of their heads are Barred Rocks and the other two are Black Sex Links -- Okay – I’ve always been too chicken ☺ to ask why.

One day I’m going to write a book called “Chronicles of a Mountain Woman” and share all the crazy, funny, heart-breaking stories of moving out here. The tarantula caught for show and tell – OMG! That was a first, and the Rattlesnake Summer.

When the developers found this area and a bunch of city folk moved out here some wanted to turn this area into a town, they called us who lived out in the San Tan Mountain region and rejected the idea “the Mountain people,” which most of us found hilarious as it conjures up something in the Ozarks, hence the title. Some of the night stars disappeared with the light pollution. Heard our first siren in 15 years. But still can here the train in the distance. The people that wanted to get away from the city just acted like they were still there, and the waving at your neighbor, even if you didn't know him, you just knew we a were all out here together, stopped. Cars started honking at the people in pick-ups pulling water wagons cuz they were slow --we learned patience out here; I learned who ever you might honk at or pass rudely in a cloud of dust you would meet at the the one and only tinee market for 30 miles. We had to sink a well for water.... but I digress.... yeppers, there is a book there.

Wish these gals luck! And the two older ones that literally will be put out to pasture.

A SARK WORKSHOP

Son and I had a wonderful weekend! We went to SARKs workshop this weekend. She is amazing and so accessible! Complimented the Creative Women book study journey!

Chapter 5; 12 Secrets of Highly Creative Women

This Chapter became surprisingly difficult to read. Like Jamie, I found myself intellectually debating with many of the assertions made. My first four journal pages are arguments against the claim women are still victims of the patriarchy system – for heaven’s sake this isn’t the Victorian Age. I agree with the sentiments of the artist that declined to participate. Moving on.

Things are what they are, until they are not. Everyone overextends at times – (to what degree decides whether or not one is chronically screwed up) and I wonder if I would know who I was if I did not – overextend on occasion. Sometimes others have to come first. This is my challenge to trust the Divine. Many of these twists of fate have turned out to feed my artist later on.

I am sensitive to the possible loss or rupture of connections with the people that love and support me most. It is a most genuine fear, but the answer that beats within my heart is made by Clarissa Pinkola Estes. This woman has charmed me from her “Theater of the Imagination”(on disc 8 –‘The Fishermen’s Wife- On fatherhood and positive patriarchy.’[sorry, couldn’t help that little note there,] [disc 11 has my favorite Sealskin/Soulskin,]) to Women Who Run With the Wolves, the comment on page 86;
“With las agonistas sometimes, in agony for my lost work. Keeping promises to my family of elders, children, and grandchildren is not a juggling act, but the priority.
However, Marianne Williamson, a Course in Miracles mentor, of which my whole being resonates, echoes a sentiment of mine also, “And no one will listen to us until we listen to ourselves. The Goddess awakens in our hearts before she awakens the world.”

All of that being said – I do have my own saboteur: Wanting to do too much too fast. I lack patience; I scatter my energy to several different ideas at once. For instance I want to garden, start riding the horses, build the labyrinth, work with transfers, learn SoulCollage®(this opened a world to me, that started me on this path and I must always honor it,) practice with the acrylics – yet there are accounting duties, Gram to take care of, horses to brush down, children showing up unexpectedly – where the hell do you put a boundary in there? But, I have lived too long in the “Me” era to not know when to say “No,” and practice it wholeheartedly --when I can.

My holistic day begins something like this, (maybe 75% of the time) with a short Reiki treatment to myself, just a short walk into the desert, this gets the blood flowing to the brain--which is slower to focus first thing these days,) coffee (albeit decaf), reflection time with the Course, yoga –I’m just learning, and then intention set for the day. I will have known what as gone before, I will have already mentally outlined my week, though I love lists and crossing things off. And I will know which days and hours I can pretty much dedicate to my creative work. I believe this is described as “focused consciousness” in the book. Pg 88

But, this is I at this stage in the game. Sometimes I feel I’ve been nothing else except self-focused (self-absorbed? even) since the boys were starting to leave and my Gram fell into Alzheimer’s. What and who was I? Where were my routines? What happened to the girl I was? What dreams to throw away and which to keep and what new ones to start? I couldn’t even formulate those questions, let alone answer them. The last few years have been nothing but a big, gut wrenching identity/mid-life crisis. I’ve found my center now. The walk was intense, but I’m not the only one that kind of likes it when one of the boys drive up from the UofA and I’m in my art room and holler, “I’m in the middle of a creative spurt, can’t be bothered, go get groceries.” They are writer, photographer and actor and understand –now – how much that time means to me. They smile, and when I show my latest, and they give the best critiques ever.

The biggest thing I can do for myself this week, besides staying true to my semi-routine, is to take myself seriously. That is where my self-focus will begin. Believing this. At my favorite little art store I picked up a magazine, “Art Calendar.” The article “Take Yourself Seriously,” gave me a tool to learn and apply and another, to practice Professional Courtesy to Myself. Makes the difference between a dabbling crafter and an intelligent, respectable artist with integrity.

With Beauty and Magic, pay attention -- Seek to understand rather than be understood.
I like this one and will keep it for awhile.

Madness

The best part of collage is no element, not even a cut, is done for without reason -- and then there is always the serendipitous happenstance, that makes it all the more powerful.
love-n-light