Art – a love affair or a connection with God?
Last night I pushed myself to go to a gathering with coworkers outside of work. In spite of my true-to-self ideas that it was probably going to be a waste of my time, I went anyway. I heard myself as I gave out all my reasonings as to why I didn’t want to go, it all sounded negative and I didn’t want my identity to reflect as someone who just speaks of things negatively. Due to my cautious nature, and many failed attempts of have good outcomes relating to other people’s ideas of a good time, this is my outcome. And the truth is that I wanted to start giving opportunities and understanding a new try. That maybe something would come out of this. It was a false result. But a great way to show to me that I’m improving on self-actualizing afterward. Self-actualizing has got to be my new favorite task these days. It just comes to easy and I am so much more understanding of life through it.
Well, on the ride out to the location, I looked out the window and viewed the small coastal harbor there, filled with it’s boats so neatly parked and floating so effortlessly in order and beauty. Then not too far up above there is the crescent new moon hanging pretty low this evening. It was also a deep golden-yellow color.
Such a beautiful and natural seen that I could forever get lost in the scene of the sea and the moonlight. I think about how everyone knows the moon as what it is, where to find it, and the simple characteristics of what a moon can do. But even though it changes in shape and sizes every day, everyone can still look up at night and know the moon is there. And even when the sky is dark during a new moon, we all still know the moon is still there, and we know what to expect of the moon, and how we connect to the moon. And I think about that of me. I feel like I am lost in the idea of my image, that when I change my look to change my mood, do people still know I’m there? Do they still know what to expect of me, who I am, and where to find me at night? If I’m blonde one night and red the next, face full of make-up with a grunge look and sun-kissed bare skin the next, am I still as expected as the moon? Does my personality change with my audience or my clothes, or do you think my needs change because I want to be gone in the dark a night a month?
Where does the moon go during the full moon? Does it turn it’s face away from the Earth so it can talk to God?
Sometimes I wonder why the people I’ve met have no depth, and are too afraid to live a life of deep connection. I understand the jobs I take, take me back and sometimes I wonder if I should be sitting in conversations with poets, with scientist of the mind, and those who are always trying to find a deeper meaning to life, to relics, to people places and things…and sometimes I wonder how the hell did I get here? So far to only get so far…
So the moment I sat down, I knew..this was yet another failed attempt to get anything remotely worthy to jot down in my books of time spent worthy.
Earlier yesterday I spoke to someone many years my senior, who lived a simple life and continues to do so. I asked if she still knits, and she said oh, you bet I do! Then she tells me how she has so many balls of yarns stored everyone in her house, and how she has now extended her stashing pile to flow over into her car. Where she said she better hurry and find a new place to decoy them before her husband found them on their ride up to another town for the holiday’s. She then got even more excited when she spoke about her other love, her love for books. It was like witnessing a teenager find a new passion project. Her eyes lit up, and so did her bodily expression as she spoke about her two love-affairs stashed away from her husband’s eyes. We were at an event that I was helping host, so I made sure to peer my mind in and out of the event and the people around her, yet it was really nice to see that excitement come out of someone. And in all honestly, it was nice to see a sort of mirroring of myself within another person standing infront of me. Not many people I know, if any really, have a love affair with a passion project the way we do. And as soon as I sat down at that gathering yesterday, I looked around the table to see some sort of mirror, some sort of connection worth reflecting and I instantly thought how much better it would have been to be sitting in a well-lit cafe with someone who could be my mother, as we shared a connection about our secret affairs that brought us so much joy that most of life could never understand.
Art. My connection to other is not drugs, nor empty conversations, but true creation of art. Whether it be words in poems and stories, paintings, drawings, or buildings. Art is a connection no one else can replace.