On Signs, Omens & Synchronicity, take I

"Swooping Hawk," 2005  acrylic on palmbark 

"I keep looking for the door, I keep looking for the key,

but the more I look the more it becomes a mystery.

I'm not gonna figure this out, I'm gonna relax into it

Let the spirit move through it, relax into it.

Spirit always knows, spirit always knows exactly which way to go.

I'm not gonna figure this out, by thinking too hard and using my brain instead of my heart."

--Singing Bear

In my earlier post, "On My Anger," my intention was not to glorify my rage - for all my anger has ever done was to wrap thick walls of defenses around this heart of mine.  Rather, I simply wanted to give honest voice to the layers of repressed e-motion that I am still continuing to unwind from my SoulSpirit.  This is what the powerful women whom I am honored to sit in circle with keep reminding me to do.  They encourage me to place my hand upon my heart and FEEL.  "What do you feel, Cara?" they inquire.  Beyond the prickly barbs of madness is a vulnerable sensitivity deeply tied to this EarthBody.    

Two years ago, when I finally committed to the fulfillment of my highest good - which is the path of all of our highest good - I spent a lot of time just sitting, offering myself to Spirit.  I didn't know what "to do" or where to go.  I only knew that what I had been doing for so long wasn't working.  So, I sat.  And I sat.  And I sat.  I remember witnessing the sun rising over the east on the dawn of 2010 as a pregnant, full moon simultaneously set over the waters in the west.  I recall sitting cross legged in the sand on these western shores and looking out on the horizon where the vision of a pod of dolphins breaking above the waters of the Pacific greeted my eyes.   I still didn't "know" what to do but, for once, I was trying to feel my way through.  And, damn it, if I couldn't feel, then I was just going to sit in once place until I could. 

Paolo Coelho, in his book The Alchemist, writes that once we have committed to our hero's journey we are treated to beginner's luck.  It is during this time when the signs of synchronicity - the signs and markers that always lay all around us so long as we are willing to listen - blink off and on, unmistakably, like the neon glow of a vacancy sign illuminating a hotel where a weary head can bed down for the night.  Of course, at some point, the luck wears off and the true testing begins.  In following our dreams and living our purpose, the Universe both conspires for us as well as tests our resolve and fortitude.  

Like me and like Coelho's main protagonist, Santiago, you too have a personal myth - one that you were born for.  It's called your Destiny and it awaits your heart-felt commitment.  Yes, you have chosen to come here, now, for a very distinct reason.  By fulfilling your one, true purpose you elevate not only yourself but all of humanity.  In his book, Coelho writes that this is the one, true path to God.  However, you must be willing to sacrifice all that you have been told is "right" and/or "successful."  You must be willing to endure the pain of criticism and the loneliness of isolation in order to grow into your path.  You must sit within the discomfort of "not knowing" because you cannot think your way though this.  You can only open up yourself to Spirit and allow yourself to once again Feel. 

 

On My Anger

The African "Pumbu, Mask of Anger," from the Pende Peoples

"The pumbu mask is considered the most fearful and dangerous...it is used only by a few of the most powerful chiefs. It is formed as a half cylinder, with two enormous eyes projecting as tubes from the upper third of the face, with white rims signaling great anger. The lower two thirds of the mask are typically adorned with geometric patterns of black and white triangles...Pumbu serves as a symbol of the power of the chief, it dances only on rare and terrible occasions determined by divination, such as when the chief is seriously ill or when epidemics or famines rage, indicating that ancestors may be very unhappy...The threatening pumbu signifies the courage the chief must often summon to confront questions of life and death."  (www.forafricanart.com/Pende-Masks_ep_85-1.html)

I painted this rendition of the Pumbu mask in 2005 and presented it to my brother-in-law in honor of his 40th birthday.  My sister's husband is an ornery fellow who is quite honest and open about his mood swings.  I've always admired this trait in him.  It's not so much the moodiness that I am fond of, but the honesty and realness about it.  Others might be turned off by such forthrightness but I find it refreshing, as I'd rather know now what waters I am wading into rather than find myself shoulder-deep in a sea of unexpected rage.  

My painting of masks upon organic, palm bark was a pursuit that I eagerly took up for a couple of years.  At the time, my graduate school professors were encouraging me to dive deeper into the subconscious of my desires - but I wasn't ready to face such facts.  Now, I recognize that giving honest voice to my anger is what I must do in order to move forward.

Yes, I'm angry.
I know you intuit this. 
And, I realize that you might contract from my person as a result.  
Thus, I hope you'll hear me out.

I'm angry
that who I am is first relegated to a physical impression.
I'm angry that I bought into this as an impressionable young person
who sacrificed her personality for the gaze of others.
I'm angry that I can be judged not for the expansiveness of my spirit but for the width
of my ass and the depth of my cleavage.
I'm angry that I can't walk out the door without concern as to how I am
presenting myself - as either "looking to be raped" or appearing "unattractive."
I'm angry that I can't always move through the world without someone wanting to assert their sexual desires upon me.  "Do you want to find a room somewhere?"  
"No.  I just want to walk up the hill," I retort.

I'm angry
that my brothers and sisters are bedding down on these city streets, night after night -
without shelter over their heads and without the comfort of protection in their hearts.
I'm angry that the same man walks these same streets in socks and with his soles bleeding.  
He refuses my advances.  "Would you like some shoes?" I offer.  "No," he shakes his head.
"How about some food?"  
Only once has he caught me, mid-stride, when he wasn't distracted by the voices in his mind.  "Do you have something to eat?" he inquired.
I gave him what I had, but he refused the avocados.


I'm angry that we spill the blood of others in pursuit of material gain.  
I'm angry that we even consider materials as more important than each other.  
For god fucking sake, I need you.  
Your very essence feeds my being.  Don't you see?


I'm angry that the polar ice caps are melting and that, as a result, the Polar Bear population is dwindling.  I love polar bears.  There is just something so magnificent in their being.
I'm angry, yes.
And I can no longer deny it.  Why try?  You see right through my mask.  You intuit my pain.
My anger is millennium-old.  It dates back past the fighting Irish and beyond the movement of my fleeing people from Northern Africa. 
It's timeless.  And I'm so tired of trying to pretend its not there and that all is honky-dory.
Because it's not.  As one of my favorite ShaktiRising women said, "This world is fucked up."  
Yes, and it's so beautiful too.
Thus, even in my anger, there's beauty.

I once mainly operated from this place of anger and all it got me was a mountain of bills and my back pressed into an isolating corner.  Then, two, short years ago, I finally decided to choose my highest good.  So, I opened up and walked through an alternative door.  
(Paolo Coelho, in his The Alchemist, would call this my "hero's journey.")
Finally, I decided that, even though darkness exists, I was going to choose to build towards the light.  
What else could I do?

So, if you judge me for my anger - c'est la vie.
But, more than anything, I hope you'll judge me for my actions.