Posts from — October 2005

I’m reading “The Art of Adolf Wolfli” and soaking it in and eating up the pretty amazing art. Similar to Henry Darger (http://www.realmsoftheunreal.com/) he was a “self-taught” (Art Brut) artist, and psychotic in some way (diagnosed schizophrenic). Anyway, some good stuff. He spent his later life, from the age of 31 until his death at age 66, in a mental asylum. He created 25,000 pages of illustrations, text, music. You can see a few of his pieces here:

http://www.inmostra.net/ccs/wolfli/immagini.html

Disclaimer: He was put in an institution after being caught (for the third time I believe) attempting to molest a girl which I’m not in any way condoning or anything of the sort but can’t ignore his art.

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Gloomy morning and I know the days are getting shorter. Soon it will be dark by the time I am home from work. Always a transition that I dread… but that also means that soon comes that one cold night – the first snow – when I walk in the silent stillness that the flakes bring and I can only hear shoes crunching in the snow and a silver glistening shawl covers the white and there is complete peace in that moment. The occasional car tires can’t break the peace; only add a bit of extra texture to the moment.

If you haven’t heard Jolie Holland, please check her out. My brother Brody gave me a copy and it’s fabulous. I have it stuck on repeat right now. Blues, jazz, folk. Great lyrics, phenomenal voice. Listening to her makes me feel like I am alternating…from a dark, smoky bar with a beer in my hand (and hers) to a front porch in the country, sitting on rockers while she plays and sings… sort of a dirty (dirt as soil as down-to-earth goodness) bliss if that makes any sense.

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Another new post. Yes, I guess lots going through my mind today…
Mentoring in a bit. Feel like I don’t have much to offer today though…

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By Oriah Mountain Dreamer

It doesn’t interest me what you do for a living.

I want to know what you ache for, and if you dare
to dream of meeting your heart’s longing.

It doesn’t interest me how old you are. I want to know
if you will risk looking like a fool for love, for your dreams,
for the adventure of being alive.

It doesn’t interest me what planets are squaring your moon.
I want to know if you have touched the center of your own
sorrow, if you have been opened by life’s betrayals or have
become shriveled and closed from fear of further pain.

I want to know if you can sit with pain, mine or your own,
without moving to hide or fade it or fix it.

I want to know if you can be with joy, mine your own:
if you can dance with the wildness and let the ecstasy
fill you to the finger and toes without cautioning us
to be careful, be realistic, or to remember the limitations
of being human.

It doesn’t interest me if the story you are telling me is true.
I want to know if you can disappoint others to be true to
yourself: if you can bear the accusation of betrayal and
not betray your own soul.

I want to know if you can be faithless
and therefore be trustworthy.

I want to know if you can see the beauty even when it
is not pretty every day, and if you can source your life
from Its presence.

I want to know if you can live with failure,
yours and mine, and still stand on the edge
of the lake and shout to the silver
of the full moon, “Yes!”

It doesn’t interest me to know where you live,
or how much money you have. I want to know
if you can get up after the night of grief and
despair, weary and bruised to the bone,
and do what needs to be done for the children.

It doesn’t interest me who you are,
or how you came to be here,
I want to know if you will stand in
the center of the fire with me and not
shrink back.

It doesn’t interest me where or what or
with whom you have studied. I want to know
what sustains you from the inside when
all else falls away.

I want to know if you can be alone with yourself,
and if you truly like the company you keep
in the empty moments.

I just started reading her book, The Dance….
I like what I’ve read so far and “The Invitation” has got to be one of my favorite poems. It’s yummy and real.

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The Real Work

It may be that when we no longer know what to do we have come to our real work.
and that when we no longer know which way to go
we have come to our real journey.
The mind that is not baffled is not employed.
The impeded stream is the one that sings.

-Wendel Berry

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