I dreamed of my mother as a great white owl

4/27/11: [" I had a dream about my mother's passing.  It happened in two ways- first she was younger and had a parasitic infection that she would never be able to be rid of.  My brother and I had discussed giving her a 'happy pill' so that passing would occur in her sleep.  She took a shower and got dressed in her paisley pajamas and emerged, was all groggy from the pill, she went to lay down.  And slept.  But somehow  it didn't take. She did wake up... She wanted to smoke a bundle of sticks like incense or sage, tied with a red string, which would make her high, relaxed, so she wouldn't fixate on taking the 'happy pill'. So it would work.   I was sitting with her alone in the waiting room and I told her that I appreciated her ( "mom..[pause]...I appreciate you"), that she was a great mother and I was thankful that we were all able to communicate openly (i.e. about her passing and her wishes for the pill, the sage, etc).  She smoked the bundle of sticks in the office waiting room and we made our way back to the house for her to "rest".  My brother and I were hurriedly making preparations, trying to do anything that could be or needed to be done before she was gone. Suddenly all these people were there in her house with a screen and a slide show; her friends-all older adults- people who had known her.  They were giving out awards: "best cowboy"...I kept having moments of grief, of the  weight of the reality that she was gone- would never return- but the wave of sorrow would pass and  I knew I'd be okay.

Before this party, and after her passing, we were outside in the yard where the hill begins to slope to the creek all sitting at a banquet table, celebrating perhaps commemorating. It was midday, clear, sunny.  A huge white owl swooped from the direction of the creek across the yard and landed in the top of a tree by the stairs leading to the house, facing us. Perched.  I caught eyes with it and I knew it was my mother reincarnate, or sent from my mother at least.  I pointed it out to my brother who was walking around the table serving others- I said "mom is here" and I pointed, maybe even said hello directly to her (" hi mom"), to the owl, but it seemed that I was the only one noticing this large white owl so plainly in view.  Midday.   I was certain it was her, for I could just recognize my mother's soul behind the owl's eyes just like I can and have all of my life recognized her soul behind HER eyes." ]

  ****

In my absence from writing and posting, I have changed.  There is something matured in my aura, I have heard, something stoic in my essence.  I feel this shift within.  Perhaps the world around me has changed by my perception, and I am approximately the same.

Kathy, in 2010

No less, it would be impossible in this gap of time, this tiny fragment of unaccounted-for space almost negligible by any measurement other than that of moments, to pick up where I left off.  Moving forward is required, yet I cannot go onward without first looking back- back to that dream, back to the months preceding.

My mother got sick in the fall.  At one of her first appointments in the rapid-fire series of dire discoveries, complicated news, and dumbfounding prognoses, her doctor was dressed like a band member of Kiss, bare-chested, white-faced and all.  We'll always remember it was Halloween. It was almost too uncanny to believe.  Then after the doctor, it got better: she was finding dimes.  Everywhere. Under car floor mats, inside pockets of things long since worn, stuck to original flooring when we peeled away tiles to put down new. We thought these signs were good, to keep one's sense of humor and perspective, take it all in stride, to bolster faith...

...She passed on a Friday the Thirteenth.  We'll always remember that too.

These are embellishments I could not, would not, even make up.   If nothing else they are ironic reminders of the nuances of life. Of living in a world. And taking notice.  In the face of serious illness, every sense is heightened, every nerve is perked.

I remember one of the last times she left the house in early spring, we took her to the doctor.  Then, since she was up to it, we cruised around town...we stopped for ice cream and visited her tenants, chit-chatted, all the while in the back seat she with the window down and her long strands of remaining hair blowing, her eyes closed, grinning, taking it in. it was so starkly sunny.  White light.  It was almost like a movie.

 ****

The owl dream was kept private, intimate, because it was somewhat premonitory, my psyche's preparation for the blow it was about to receive.  It became a kind-of sacred tether between this world on earth and wherever she might go.  I share it publicly now because the dream, the owl, and this whole experience are part of me now. These will influence the days ahead.  They already have.

 ****

I was living a sort of bi-coastal double life for a while, which my friends and I would joke about...getting on with 'art' and 'creation' and 'living, pursuing' here in the West, then ducking out unbeknown-st to most, and hopping yet another plane, navigating through the darkness of cancer, weakness and, as she put it, "deconstruction". The deconstruction of her life. 

I made paintings 'with' her every month along the way:

'finding dimes!' (October)

'fatigue' (November)

'kindness coming back to me' (December)

'resistant, cold, trust' (January)

 

'little successes' (February)

 

'I saw the face of God in a black disc' (March)

'deconstruction' (April) [coming soon]

...to  document her journey.

****

The owl came to the window of my [childhood] bedroom not an hour after she passed.  It cooed in the window repeatedly, and I'm sure if it had gotten any closer it would have crossed the threshold, been sitting right there on the sill looking with its eyes.  My brother was there bearing witness too, and we had chills and smirks and long releasing breaths, and inklings of comfort to carry us forward.

...What's uncanny is that I made a totem of animals at her house in December: a wolf, an elephant, and an owl.  I picked them kind of arbitrarily, choosing them more for their respective 'attributes' than anything else...

Nowadays I wonder if I chose them or they chose me~

Sometimes in life there comes a time for a great and necessary pause.   This is part of the creative cycle of ebbs and flows.  One periodically needs to refill the creative well, to paraphrase Ms. Julia Cameron ala The Artist's Way, or to expend creative energies in other ventures, outlets, manifestations for a while and return to that which is second nature whence replenished by an unlikely fuel source.  In this case, all of my juice is currently being directed elsewhere- into a new and engrossing creative project, inspired by the recent experiences I have shared, neigh, am sharing, with my beloved mother.  It will be my concerted attempt to transform some of life's most grating struggles into images of the universally human: peace, truth, experience and expression.

The summer is a perfect time for a hiatus anyway- there is the inclination to go outdoors and fill the well with spring's smells, colors, mildness of heat and blissful sunlight afternoons that lead into long dusky evenings.  No one's readin' blogs anyway 'bout now...

I may show up unannounced now and then, but will otherwise be taking this time for myself and the things and people I treasure (which DO include writing on this blog, don't get me wrong!).  I will emerge on the other side of my stay-cation brimming, I am quite sure.



Até logo/Bis bald/A bientôt/Hasta pronto

my mother's house- notions of space

I wonder if anyone else dreams of spaces, layouts, blueprints, MAPS as much as I.  It seems that every morning I am sketching out a map of the spaces within my dreams:

dream map from last night

because it is that relevant- things, people, are often "on the left" or "down two steps", sub-level, walled, steep, or behind.  They have some specific feeling of space; a relationship of myself in regards to a person or a structure or surrounding scenery.

This could be exacerbated by my current read. I don't read very fast- I let it sink in good and deep, absorb it as if by my pores, let it assimilate in my organs, self, essence.  If a book doesn't seize me immediately, I have no qualms moving on from it without finishing.  Its kind of 'love at first sight'-y, my approach to books (and I won't deny I approach other things this way as well...).

Right now I'm intoxicated by my latest juicy introvert book: The Poetics of Space by French philosopher Gaston Bachelard. He describes the nature of homes, both structurally and metaphorically, describing how our homes and structures of [day]dreams are influenced by literal experiences with homes and structures of all kinds.  Quickly the concept of home becomes exponentially more complicated, both as concrete structure constructed by nature or by man and as metaphorical, oneiric structures constructed in the imagination or [day]dream of man's mind. 

I've always thought there was something unexplainable about returning to the home of one's upbringing.  Whenever I have found myself visiting my mother in that home of youth in previous years, I have struggled not to transform into this other version of myself, somehow antiquated, youthful, outdated.  Simply 'different'.  There's so much history in that structure, those rooms, the things that decorate it, that my [day]dreaming mind was swept to another place.  How can one's experience of a space not be colored by previous experiences in that space, or prior ideas about that space?  It seemed each time my mind wanted to go to the same little blink in history and dwell there, conjuring all these teenage connotations of the rooms, the walls, the smells, the contents.

This time I'm here with earnest purpose, serious shift of roles and expectations...and the coloring of visits-passed has changed.   Now more than usual I'm noticing the beauty in this space, this structure, and my mind's dream of this space now and before.  The birds sing eloquently outside my old bedroom window, and the winds are strong yet gently engulfing.  The greens are greener than I remember, and a passing breeze carries my mother's smell past my nose.  And instead of associations of adolescent rebellion, feelings of stagnant qi trapped in decades gone by, I conjure ease, a smile and momentary sense of comfort here.

cobalt blue

daffodil yellow, orange

terra cotta, seafoam green and lantern lit long ago

commemorating gardens-passed

a friendly glance from my cat, phoenix

a piece given to her years ago ('begin well with you', 2009)

 *friends and family: enter through the back door~

accidental poetry #6

Denali Highway, Alaska, 2am. circa 2007

night:

life, not as a ghastly object

half formed

(assembled from gathered text  fallen, collected, reassembled March 29-31, 2011)

Elephantine

I'm feeling a little blog-blocked.

I have been feeling this looming sense of obligation to my monthly quota of posts, but nothing is really calling to me.  So, like the morning pages ritual, I'll just begin...

I have spent a lot of spring break in solitude or engaged in social play with my most treasured peeps.  I have had time to wander, rest, sit with myself, read for pleasure, watch entire movies, model for a photo shoot and still carve out substantial creative time.  It is glorious.  The tension that typically resides in my shoulders melted away, the aggravation in my stomach subsided, and the crick in my neck-back released.  I have been writing poetry and morning pages, letting my computer-face hibernate.  And willingly.

But as the saying goes "all good things must end"...

So now I am warding off this penetrating persistent irritability with everything.  I crave spring weather (where IS it?),  I'm itching to travel and feeling stuck right here.  I need an adventure, some spontaneity, a bit of fresh stimuli for my artist-self.  My soul wants to believe that life can feel like spring break; that spring break doesn't have to be just a little glimpse of bliss we cling onto until our fingers cramp and we fall back into reality and then mourn its passing and try to climb up, up to that apex where we can see the "break" and wait for it to roll around again.  My soul needs to believe that the bulk of life can resemble the gratification and contentment that coincides with [my] spring break.  The percentage of enjoyable days versus challenging ones should be inversely proportional to the way I experience them now.  But maybe it is just my frame of mind that leaves me trapped...

Regardless, I think I am undergoing this growth spurt of psychic proportions- growing more like an elephant in size- Ganeshian- crammed behind a tiny desk in a tiny windowless room too small for my epic proportion, eating snacks all day and glazed over by this bright white screen, hum.

daydreaming elephant sketch, March 2011 (soon to become a painting!)

Along with growth come the growing pains, the irritability and the agitation of shifting, of accepting something new and unknown.  I am trying to take it all in and then let it rest within me; trying to acknowledge the input, the awareness, the sense of aggravation and make sense of it all as best I can.

winnowing, 2009. print for Air Exchange- Four Oceans Press

Speaking of elephants, the story of Ganesh came up in my yoga practice last week, and in my dream not long thereafter: I was putting on a giant elephant head mask to go parading in the streets with two youth in costume, one male, one female..."who cares" [what people think of us] we said, its trite anyway...let's just get on with expressing ourselves...

Suddenly as I write this, having had no direction for the content of this post as I began typing away, it hits me: I need to own and share the story of Ganesh and accept the elephant as my totem.  It seems to be choosing me after all....

sketch for totem, December 2010

Ganesh:  In Hindu myth, Ganesh was born of Shiva and Parvathi, the divine couple who lived atop the snowy mountain called Kailash.  Lord Shiva went away to war, leaving his beloved wife alone.  Parvathi decided that to protect herself she would birth a son to guard the door to her palace home (goddesses have the power to do this).  Parvathi created him from mud or soap or turmeric paste.  She gave strict instructions to Ganesh to allow no one to enter without her consent, and retreated to have a bath.
Eventually Shiva returned from war to his home on the mountain and as he tried to enter the house, Ganesha stopped him. Shiva was infuriated at this strange little boy who dared to challenge him. He told Ganesh that he was Parvati's husband, and demanded that Ganesh let him go in. But Ganesh would not hear any person's word other than his dear mother's. Shiva got angry and impatient and cut off the boy's head.  Parvathi, upon seeing this, was saddened and infuriated, and she demanded that Shiva take the head from the first living thing he saw to replace her poor son's head.  The first thing he came across was an elephant.


Ganesh is said to be the 'remover of all obstacles' , the Lord of Beginnings, but also the obstacle itself.  This dual nature suggests a specific way of viewing obstacles: as having a purpose to lead one to a greater____(insert awareness, understanding, freedom from something...new beginning).   According to some interpretations of the story, the decapitation of the stubborn boy's head symbolizes the loss of the limited individual egotistical mind- "the murky cloud of the ego", and the elephant head symbolizes the true self, or the 'universal ego' of connectedness; a Universal Self.  Through the severing of the individual ego and the attainment of Universal ego, one is renewed and better able to serve "creation" (i.e. creativity).  The ego certainly is an obstacle, and the understanding of (i.e. removal of) this trait is freeing.  Hence Ganesha's is both the obstacle and the remover of obstacle.

sketch for "Ganesh", completed today 4/5/11

 In my hipster summary of the moral of the story of Ganesh: "Toss the ego aside and sport the true self"...grow into your elephantine proportions!

ceremony

 ekh, assembled from text fragments 3/29/2011

"Intend-tos"

The equinox is nearly upon us, and though it doesn't feel like spring in Portland today, the flowers have begun to bloom and the trees have begun to blossom and the beloved week of bliss cherished by students across the American land, if not relished more by their teachers, mentors, and hard-working adult staff members, has begun....as of two hours and fifteen minutes ago. 
But who's counting.

In looking forward to the coveted week far too long in advance, it seems to have that 'gone before it ever gets here' sense about it.  I was already dreading how fast it would fly by (too fast!) and how much I wanted to [or felt obligated to] accomplish (too much!) and how long the remaining months until summer will feel when once spring break has passed (too long!).  But luckily I had a realization just in time: no point in regretting the calories before even eating the cake.
And so I decided to remind myself about the simple goals of this week of freedom, and to call upon the warm glow of spring and flowers and everything blooming.

'Work' of Art XII

Very simply, on this my much anticipated, cherished and beloved week of freedom, I intend to:

1.  Relish the moments

2.  Relish the days

3.  Get creative!

4.  Get organized

5.  Get healthy

6.  Get rested and relaxed


Nothing more, nothing less.  No pressure, no stress.  And certainly no mourning its passing before it has gone.

Happy Spring Break 2011!