Dec 23, ’12
I wake to sleep and take my waking slow
I feel my fate in what I cannot fear
I learn by going where I have to go (Theodore Roethke)
I realize that my degree of homelessness isn’t so bad as compared to what others go through, have gone through, possibly will go through…. However, as one faced with the prospect, I see myself in a position to make a critique on homelessness, or the threat thereof, and that is, to me, that it truly sucks. It’s a state of being with much pain and heartache. I’m grateful that right now, for me, it doesn’t suck too bad and the prospects for me are looking good.
I looked at an apartment on Friday morning and a moment in the sun in the largest room (before I even looked at the kitchen or bathroom or dry basement w/plenty of storage space….!) and my heart and my voice cried out simultaneously “I want this place.”
I sense a strong possibility that the apartment I want is mine but until I hear a YES from the real estate agent and sign on the dotted line, all I’m doing in the Now is riding the strong sense of hope and waiting for the phone to ring with good news.
All positive vibes from loved ones gratefully accepted & appreciated!
I’ve been working on this painting all morning. It’s now close to noon and I’m becoming aware that it’s time for some lunch and time to step back from the painting, look at it and be aware of my thoughts.
This painting is called Spring Ahead Day III.
My POV: I am sitting on the deck of an apartment I rented in Montgomery Center Vermont. It is the Spring of ’94, on spring-ahead day. I’m writing a letter to my father, watching the shadows move around the tree as if the tree were the marker on a sun dial. It was a wonderful day in Vermont for me. To be sitting outside in warm air with the scent of freshly mown lawn in the air, the budding leaves just everywhere, an incredible green in the grass, in the trees, the tiny lettuces planted in the tiny garden…. All this wonderful budding spring after one of the longest, dreariest, most frightening, harshly coldest and whitest winters I’ve ever experienced…. I’m feeling joyful that I’d survived that winter to be in the Now at this moment. I’m feeling deep pain because I know that my father is dying. I’m in deep sorrow at my present abject poverty and deep frustration at not knowing what to do, where to go, how to earn my way — nothing to do but write the letter and feel the joy in this moment.
This past April, I thought to destroy this painting as impossible in every way, shape and form. Terrible composition, terrible perspective, terrible under-painting — everything, terrible, terrible, terrible!
Yet, I persist. And I’m still here, with the moment on that long-ago day in Vermont a past memory as well as a present reality. I’m feeling loss and woe, also a deep and abiding joy that I’m here to look out my window at a view that’s well-loved and soon to live for me in my memory. Today, this painting has a sense to me of being ‘right’. All the elements are finally starting to work. Of being on the right path, the right tack, the right side of the street, right where it needs to be and wants to go.