It had to come sometime...

Of course I hate to admit that sometimes I am just not inspired...or I'm not prepared to sit and let inspiration come to me at will...I think I have avoided examining this period of time (and I imagine it comes often, I don't know for sure since I hardly stick around to wait and see...) when I don't "feel" inspired. Upon deeper examination, perhaps I feel other than happy and loving so why bother doing any work?

To answer my own question, I think these are exactly the moments I need to work with. It's nice to create whole, seemingly brilliant, and creative pieces and feel good about myself, but what happens when I don't feel so good about myself? What happens when really important emotions come up in my daily life and I can't seem to sit down and "do something creative?" I think this is why I went to art school. There was no time for this and I think I felt somewhat relieved by that. When I was feeling passionate and inspired, sure I wanted to be guided in that, but when I was feeling less than creative, I certainly did not want some teacher, or worse, some student, poking and proding in my life and telling me to "use it" in my work.

Some recent episodes in Six Feet Under come to mind...there's a crazy art teacher always trying to push the students and I thankfully did not have to endure that. But here I am, typing away, realizing that I may not have a teacher or a class to sit through, but the archetypal voice still exists...

What does one create at this point? How do I "use it?" What is 'it?'

Transition
Dissatisfaction
Empty
Exciting (transition is usually a rich paradox for me)
Uncomfortable
New
Inspiring (I know, who knew that this would be there?)
Vast

Maybe today I'll write, not as an escape, but as an art form...


I see ahead of me a clear point, but surrounding it I see hazy details. I see a woman. She haunts me. She follows me around, taking notes, chuckling, Aha-ing, and I can sense her presence in my dreams, watching me while I sleep. I've talked to her a few times...we've shared winks and glances, but like any interesting character, I fear initmacy with her. It will take away the magic and mystery.
She's got long gray hair, with weird things like forks and paintbrushes jammed into it to keep it in place. She speaks with her blue eyes and feels with her weathered skin. She dresses in soft, flowy clothes that don't match. She smells of lavender and chammomile, like she walked out of a tea shop minutes earlier.
When I talk too much I see her out of the corner of my eye...she's asking me what I'm going on about so much that I need to say it more than once? I try to ignore her...even though she is right.
She is the Universal Mother. I am the Universal Teenager.
I am scared that once I really get to know her, I'll find out about me...I'll find things I've been hiding. I'm always hiding. I wish it were bad stuff, but most times, it's part of me I'm not ready for...or I think I'm not ready for. The crone keeps them for me. She doesn't judge me for hiding...but she does keep challenging me...always asking, "Are you ready yet?" I shake my head, no. I imagine a mentor doesn't always have an easy job. How does she know when to push? Pull? Sit and wait?
She wants me to grow up, grow into. I want her to let me stay in my room, in my chaos, with my comforts. She coaxes me through the door, "Why don't you come out, beautiful child?"
I answer, "I'm not ready. It's not safe. I can't."
She is patient though. More patient than a cocooned worm. She's got nowhere else to be, but with me. I secretly hope she never leaves me, never stops coaxing. She knows my secret, of course. I want to smell the wafting of herbs, want to taste the love in her cooking, want to feel the soft texture of her clothes as I embrace her.
What does she want me to grow into, I wonder. What does she see?
She sees my Woman. She sees the teenager transforming. She sees my intuition, my heart, my mind...she observes the constant play between the three and the synthesis. She probes further and sees how my pain, my childhood experiences, have shone light on my life. She sees how my spiritual clothes no longer fit me and how my ideas about the world are dressed in combat gear. She sees my heart in kevlar, struggling to beat, unencumbered, in time with my spirit. She knows. She knows if I choose, then I will be ready. She knows that I have tried on the Woman inside of me and although I felt awkward, I felt good too. She knows that I only have to commit, to really take on the Woman. It's a strange tug o' war...where there is just holding, no tugging. She has picked up the rope and so have I, and we just wait for the other to pull. It's almost more tiring than the tugging.
Where is the rite of passage? Where is the moment when I declare, yes, Woman, I am you and you are me! I want to hear a 'click' or change my name or start a new life...and yet the only thing that I know is true is that I just have to do it one day. And then the next. And the following days after. I want a definitive moment!!!
But my Crone shakes her head. We both know better. We know that it is a decision, an action. We know that to be Woman, to integrate Teenager and Crone, we need to step forward. Change isn't always hard, but I want to be conscious. I don't want to wake up one day with more gray hair and think, Oops, I forgot to be 28. I want to wake up everyday knowing that I have accepted the responsibility of my womanhood, my humanity. I have the power to choose, create, believe, act, and feel. All those things reside in me. Expression is a choice. Art is a choice. Life is a choice.
It's time for me too choose.