Tuesday, March 31, 2009

My Path of Creativity (part 1)

In my family—in my relationship with grandmother and mother—nature was very important. Plants, rocks, trees, stars and clouds, all lent themselves to be used, appreciated and wondered at in their beauty and mystery as reflections of the Beloved.

In the same way, my mother and grandmother believed that their lives were to be lived, used, appreciated and wondered at also, as a reflection of the Beloved. They lived to serve a higher, greater force of good that included their family, and was surrounded by the natural world.

When I think of my grandmother I see her on the front porch showing me how to weave a crown made of maple leaves stitched together with stems. Together, we played store with the golden seeds and snowy petals of daisies, and made wishes on the flyaway fluff of dandelions. She reminded me of Confucius—there was always an order and purpose to each task that translated into the bigger undertaking of one’s life work and goal—that of serving and loving the Beloved and passing that awe-some duty down to the next generation.

What I learned from my mother was similar. She gave names to each thing: flower, plant, tree, rock and constellation, as well as giving importance to the names of each family member. For years, before we went to sleep, we faithfully named each sibling and parent, and their patron saint, entreating them to grant another day and night of protection and blessing. Creation and Creator ordered my life and gave it meaning, purpose and beauty.

My responsibility as eldest daughter was clear. I was to carry on this task and truth in my life’s work. I was deemed the artist in my family and enjoyed the partnership that this position evoked in my walk with nature. My room was full of feathers I had found, snakeskins, bird nests, sticks, stones and leaves. I spent long summer days in the woods exploring and climbing trees, and I never lost the chance to marvel at the wonder around me and fill my space with it inside and out.

My mother and grandmother also passed on to me a joy of reading and writing, so my inner and outer worlds included the thoughts and wonderings of others such as Whitman, Thoreau, Hesse, Dickinson, and Shakespeare, with a touch of Gilbert and Sullivan thrown in to liven things up.

My spiritual life was rich, and the poetry and prose I wrote expressed my curiosity and yearning for the answers to life’s deeper meaning and purpose, and why that was not always reflected in the world around me. In my imagination I was a knight of the Round Table righting wrongs and fighting dragons. In my daily life I was big sister, caretaker, babysitter for my younger siblings, watching out for them with love and tenderness.

The most natural step for me then was to pursue an education in art and nursing. However, an undercurrent of searching and an intense questioning of the implicit order of things was making itself more and more apparent. It was clear to me that the order and harmony I was surrounded with in my childhood was an island of refuge away from the fighting and despair of the rest of the world. If I was to find my life’s work and serve the Beloved in a meaningful way, I needed to see beneath the slogan of “love and peace” printed on my favorite t-shirt.

This led me to look beyond the truth of my family’s culture and religion for a broader, more encompassing enlightenment. My grandmother, the Teacher, and my mother, the Nurse, both laid down a structured path for me. My ancestors, all God-loving, faithful people, led lives of service and compassion. I acknowledge them. I bow down before them in gratitude for their sacrifice.

But my path was more. I was born at the cusp of a transitional period and I knew it. What I didn’t know was what I had, that no one else had, that would add weight to the last layer of snowflakes that was creating an avalanche of change and renewal in the world. The question I needed to ask was, what are my gifts? That question—and answer—didn’t come until later.

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