Gift: Siesta 101

If I gave you the gift of eating slowly
the gift of a smooth day wrapped in thick honey
the gift of watching words fall off a dictionary
like ripe fruits from a tall tree
the gift of crawling SUV's on the 101 as
the gift of neglected moments of cloud-watching
(children know this gift well)
If I gave you the gift of rich coffee in a real cup
if I gave you the gift of very slow balloons of laughter
wrapped in blankets of siesta,

I wonder if you would take it, embrace it
and fill it with kisses
or if you would crumple it
and throw it in a blue "recyclables only" garbage bin
on your way to your car,
on your way to the atm,
on your way to a fastfood place,
as you complain about traffic
and how there is never time for anything.

Today

Today,
my molecules
are being rearranged
like a cosmic
rubix cube
falling perfectly
into place
so I can experience
fully, absolutely,
the greatness
that is on its way

Small and Very Very Very Loud!

I am amazed at how these little (8"X10") paintings can have so much to say and how they can be so loud. It was difficult painting them. I wanted them to be quiet and they kept screaming at me. I'd have to say, after about 8 layers of paint each, they tired me out. I wanted to sit them down one by one to work "privately" with each, but they kept butting in, saying, "me me me!"

I sat exhausted, looking at them and thinking about how many times I tried to shut them up by washing them with white. They kept coming back, louder each time. My husband, Edber ended my dilemma and said," Maybe they do have a lot to say and maybe they really are loud. Maybe that's how they are supposed to be". So I let them be what they are. This is their truth.

They remind me of Lori's fourth of July party. High energy, high volume and very very happy. They are very strong pieces and they stand up on their own. Each one should be listened to one at a time. When you put a space between them and really listen, the strong flavor comes out and KAPOW! Like red wasabi on steroids. They take no prisoners.

These are my new dynamos. Enjoy!

Blue Sky Insights

So maybe I do have a thing for writing poems and blogs that start with "so". Makes me feel like we've always been in the middle of a conversation. That's so we can skip the small talk and get right onto the yummy stuff.

Been floating in the water watching the sky. I was trying out a strange form of divination I had just invented : reading the clouds like tea leaves. Lots of wings, a beetle, oh and there was a star in my coffee. I don't know if that counts.

Also, I've been drinking some words by Neruda. Licking them off the page like melting chocolate. He makes me see the detail in even the smallest things. The grandeur of ordinary objects. Like little universes that are alive. I noticed how I really love the word, ALIVE. Especially in all caps. I watched the patterns made by water on the ground, the scratchy marks left by peeled tile on the side of the pool. How much more yellow things get when I put on my new sunglasses. Making the day look sunnier.

I've been painting and erasing on some small canvases. It's a great exercise in discipline, working small again. Containing energy. It's almost like whispering. Or trying to conserve speech. I am reminded of the three Buddhist gates of speech (I made this painting a few months ago based on this same wisdom). The filters through which thoughts go before they make their way into words: 1. Is it the truth? 2. Is it kind? 3. Is it necessary?

How would we sound if we all followed these three guides? Will words finally smell like flowers? I am using these gates for the small paintings, too. Come back and see them soon. We'll continue this conversation as if we never left.

Presents from the Present Moment

Being here now, being totally present has become a new meditation for me. Letting your feet feel the ground that it's walking on and rolling that feeling in the back of your mouth like wine. Listening, really listening. Paying close attention to the details of the day. Taking nothing for granted. Nothing is trivial, you know. Everything is sacred. Including the shadows that moving clouds make, or sounds from the dishwasher.

The building we live in is over a hundred years old and I often find blasts of inspiration by observing the patterns on the concrete floor. Ultimate abstract art made by time. Time as an artist. I like touching the back of my earlobe. Smooth, velvet. I walk down the hallway and try to guess what the neighbors are cooking. Or smoking.

I like watching the arrangement of things, like the lines on leaves and the curves on buildings and hand and forehead smudges on our glass window.The colors of the sky, of course. Degrees of crookedness in people's smiles. Accents. I love accents. People speaking another language like wearing clothes that barely fit.

Ultimately, I think that these datails are what add up to a full life. Not the figures in a bank account or airmiles accumulated from business trips or fluctuations in the stock market. We come and go in this playground carrying nothing with us. I believe that we are here to use our senses to the fullest. To really see, to really listen, to really touch. Our bodies are receptors and transmitters of experience. That is all.

I am a connoisseur of fleeting seconds. If I become an expert at anything, I would like to be a master of the present moment.

On Painting BIg Paintings

I have a sense that I am manipulating the energy inside the painting, as opposed to just painting on a surface. I have a sense that I am immersed, not just in the process, but in the painting itself. The act of painting becomes very physical and my gestures acquire a different meaning, a different dimension. I become a magician waving my wand which is also my brush.

Dedication

This word is dedicated to everyone who has taken the time and courage and awakening to raise their brush, their pen, their mouse, their camera, their soul to create art. You are torchbearers of a rare thing: Hope.

We are all immersed in the same inspiration soup. But this word is only for those who have chosen to pick up the sparks and polish it into a painting, a sculpture, a poem, a song, a film. After a day's work of laying your intestines out on the table to be closely reviewed and examined, I toast to you and tilt my invisible hat.

BRAVO.

Happy Empty Plates

I hunger for days when there
is no need to throw anything out
when everything is gloriously consumed
all essence sucked slowly and savored

when the morsel is the only unit of measure on the table
cheese scooped off the plate with the last crumbs of bread
all conversations exhausted, surrendered to sighs and the crickets
no talk withheld, no words kept in shallow pockets

nothing gets cold or stale
nothing gets wasted
nothing to do but dishes
every plate has fulfilled its mission

Random Wishes

I would like for the truth
to be leisurely waiting
in the inside flap
of a Neruda book
sneaking up on me

I would like to never be asked
to calmly formulate the right questions
whether it be about God
or algebraic equations
or directions to the toilet

I would like there to be
no more exchanges of documents
that have nothing to do with their bearer
and to respond only to names of endearment
and just to go by the merit of a smile

I would like for my days
to move to the speed of siestas
and to brag only about a doctorate in kindness
and for not wanting to be saved at last
and to have nothing to be saved from

I would like there to be
a mayday button for crashing souls
and hourly news about the state of chocolate in the world
and for no one to cuss at me
unless they truly, absolutely mean it

Chatishining at You!

I imagine that sending a blog out to space is like sending a message to the universe. The universe is listening! Helloooo there.

Here's to words as delicious as dark chocolate and as powerful as all our hearts beating together. Here's to days of reveling in pools of poetry and clouds of art. Here's to being totally present. Here. Now. Here's to really, really seeing. Here's to my active listening and your active listening. Hello, you.

We swim in the same waves of thought. Inspiration waits patiently for us in the backpockets of your favorite jeans or meticulously scratched onto the plastic chairs on the metro. Go grab it!