My dear, dear, dear friend Kate suggested a book to me a few months ago and yesterday I was determined to find it. For some reason, probably my aging mind, the title had drifted from memory. I text her on a whim and asked her for the title.
"The Artist's Way."
I felt a rush of life through my bones. It's been a while since I have felt connected to my artistic self. Not to say that I have not been active as an artist, because I feel as though I have. I have been creative and I have been taking time to write and perform. I've felt the buzz of lyric and melody on my tongue and in my head, so much so that words and melodies are once again arriving at the same time. It's a bit of a spiritual moment when it occurs--where I feel as though something bigger than me is traveling through me and taking shape in the form of song. It is good. It is powerful. I feel very fortunate when it unfolds like so. But it's becoming more rare in the last two years and by admitting this, I'm hoping I am taking a step in the right direction.
I think it comes down to the fact that I don't feel as though I have connected or nurtured the full artist within me. I have been so wrapped up with life and doing things that I have lost touch with just allowing myself to be. I don't feel as though I'm being as "alive" as I should be.
Ahhh...this is kind of complex.
See...being alive means being aware...being open. Being open, being aware, being connected to everything around me. Open, aware and connected to what day of the week it is. Open, aware and connected to the words and the feelings of all those around me. Open, aware and connected to the life, the mysteries, the beauty that unfolds around me. I recall a moment I had a while back where I felt so rooted in my life that I had full trust in myself. I trusted I was exactly where I was meant to be, doing exactly what I was meant to be doing, and going in the direction I trusted I should be going. While in this place, the feeling of being alive flooded me. Flooded me in the way that when I felt sunshine hit my face, I was so aware of the warmth it had on my skin and in my bones that the moment felt like a vibrant jolt of electricity rushing through me so much so that I wept over the simple notion of existing. It was a moment and it occurred because of how open I was to it taking place. I remember knowing that I was open to the world around me, I was mindful of it, and I was in love with it. I remember driving down the street and thinking about lyrics I had just wrote about a blind man walking three shepherds...and I was thinking of these very specific lyrics, I drove past a man walking three german shepherds holding a red-tipped, white stick.
I felt connected. I felt open. I felt aware. I trusted who I was, where I was, and where I was going.
I think in order to nurture the artist within, I must trust the artist within me. I must honor and value being open to the world around me. I crave it. I need it. My survival depends on it.
After Kate text me the title of the book she called.
After we gleefully responded to each other's voice, I thought she said, "I'm stuffed up again."
I responded about how everyone seems to be "stuffed up" these days...how it must be the season, how it must be something in the air.
Kate said, "or something in the water."
I quickly responded that I really don't think the water is affecting people's sinuses.
She cut me off, "did you hear what I said?"
I wasn't being open. I wasn't aware. I wasn't connecting.
It hit me.
Kate wasn't stuffed up. I was. And I'll be damned if I continue to be.
Open up. Be aware. Connect.
And trust. Trust. Trust.
"i just want to feel today, feel today, feel today...I just want to feel something today."