Artsy fartsy

Lately in my life I have had a mix of feeling completely lost and uninspired along with periods of feeling overwhelmed with insight, inspiration and newness.  Lately?  Who am I kidding, that mix is my life summed up.  Perhaps what brings me back to this blog after two and a half years is finally coming to terms with the fact that I have to get off my ass and commit to something again.  I have to begin to search again.  I have to reignite my urge to push boundaries(something I am a self-trained expert at, just ask my parents).

One of my faves ever.  Bogotá, Colombia.
(not the artist from the documentary)

Between last night and this morning I watched a Hulu documentary about a street artist who's art I have seen and appreciated over decades of my life.  My first of many light bulb moments was that I had never stopped to register that there was a creative genius with a tremendous story behind the images.  The documentary left me with a myriad of emotions from enlightenment to frustration to acceptance; acceptance that I have to stop sitting on my ass, numbing out with TV streaming, and start doing what comes so naturally to me.  I need to tap back in to that part of me that woke up when I was an angry 16-year- old with no other outlet.  I need to create my own art.  I need to honor my own gift...I need to write.  And write.  And write, etc.

This year has been tough for me.  I am living somewhere that I am enamored with, but never planned to be.  I'm not close with anyone here, I am lukewarm about my employment situation, I am achingly far from anyone I can truly lean on and New England's North Atlantic winter is on the way.  However the most pressing part is that I am feeling a choking feeling when it comes to my self expression.  Literally feeling like I'm being choked since arriving here, a tightness in my throat.  And it's not allergies.  I have to do what it takes to release, I have to express.  And write.  And write, etc.  

Art of  one of the most prolific artists ever to live.  Denver, Colorado, USA 

The inspiration to create doesn't seem to be the key factor in my lack of production.  Every day I experience the beauty and sadness of our earthly existence.  Every day I notice moments, observe love, listen to seagulls loudly squawk.  Every day I am taking things in, and every day the moments die inside.   To the point that I'm making myself sick.  Things feel off.  I feel lost. 

    

How life should be.  Buenos Aires, Argentina.

What has been absent for me is motivation.  To watch that documentary and realize what a gift this street artist has given the world on an incredible scale made me feel like a chump for not creating my own art when I damn well know I have the ability to do it.  I could feel the motivation awakening.  Do I think I'm going to have the impact that he does?  That's not the point, it's not a competition.  It's not about scaling my own art, it's simply about doing it to honor myself and to explore where it takes me, to give in to the gifts of destiny.  

There may be no one that ever reads this, and I'm okay with that.  But I am not motivated by fame or "being known" or whatever.  I am motivated by being bored and frustrated and feeling lost.  I am motivated by the feelings that I get when I watch others go through their journeys and realize I've taken way too long of a lazy break of my own.  I am motivated by the longing to feel like I belong somewhere, a struggle of my entire life.  I really want to feel like I belong in my own skin, on my own crazy, blessed, unique path.  I can't lie when I say that I do want to feel like I'm helping others, making a difference, not matter how small.  But I can't help anyone else until I help myself first.  So I write.  And write...

   

Pep talk.

"In the beginning there is not much difference between the coward and the courageous person.  The only difference is, the coward listens to his fears and follows them, and the courageous person puts them aside and goes ahead.  The courageous person goes into the unknown in spite of all the fears." - Osho

Tossing and turning, tossing and turning some more, that was my night of "sleep" last night.  I had this obscure dream where I was downtown in the early morning hours to pick up my car after being at a rave(or something like that)all night.  As I waited on the corner, chillin' before getting in my car, all of a sudden it was gone.  Stolen?  Towed?  My dream state didn't say, so I called my dad to pick me up so we could figure out how to advise the police about my missing vehicle.  I was relieved when I awoke to realize that my car is still parked where I park it every night at my apartment complex.  Glad I didn't have to deal with police...

I would be lying to myself if I tried to say I wasn't sure what's causing the temporary insomnia.  This morning, I find myself having quite the internal conflict.  A bit too personal to describe in detail, I'm being faced with a situation where I have to make a decision where either choice is neither right nor wrong.  Both choices are positive, allowing a lot of growth, and both choices can potentially cause a lot of questions that could remain unanswered.  Therein lies the conflict, and the fear.  

I feel compelled to stay the course, allowing myself to move through this particular experience and become pressurized.  That pressure will either make me stronger, teaching me or, it will break me; but it's got to be better than being sedentary.  This gypsy can't stay still, and that includes internally.  This is why I'm so intrigued by this situation, the unknown it will bring into my life.  I'm addicted to the unknown, I'm addicted to its reflections and its lessons.  I have an impulse to forge ahead despite the fear. 

Coupled with the impulse to forge ahead is the impulse to walk away, realizing that this situation is not something I need to continue to involve myself with.  Realizing that I have learned what I need to learn from it and the time has come to have a new adventure.  But wait, aren't both pathways a new adventure?  Isn't life itself a new adventure every day?  Oy vey.

I am left to remain in conflict for the time being.  Deep down, my intuition is signaling that either decision is okay, I cannot choose wrong.  I am simply baffled that I have reached a point in my life of such neutrality, a gift of enduring the awakening process.  Both choices bring the unknown, both choices present fears.  There is no other choice except to accept my own decision and the decisions of all parties involved with a response of love.  After all, the only choice we have in life is to choose between love or fear.

"To accept the challenge of the unknown, in spite of all the fears, is courage. The fears are there, but if you go on accepting the challenge again and again, slowly slowly those fears disappear." - Osho 

"The only thing we have to fear is fear itself." - Franklin D. Roosevelt  

Red tent.

If I could describe in words how unlike myself I feel today, and the past few days in general, it would be welcome relief.  However, I can't.  I feel totally and utterly out of sorts.  I don't generally have to question where this kind of mood comes from; fortunately for me, I always know.  Usually, I don't have unexplained moodiness, it's the uterus, it's an especially bad case of PMS.  One that has me crying as I write this.  Please don't feel bad, I don't even have a legitimate reason to be crying, but alas, I cry.

  

During all of this crying, I found myself thinking, "If I only had a place to go where I could cry and no one would question it.  If there was a place I could go to get away from the world and just feel crappy PMS ass."  Then I cried even harder wishing that my world had safe places for women who need support before and during menstruation; I want to go to the red tent.  Sure, the red tent is reserved for women who are actually menstruating but I'd kill to be able to go to one today.  I am craving escape, understanding, comradery, a nap, a good laugh, distraction, and the empathy of other women.

Many cultures around the world currently have menstrual huts as part of life.  Native American cultures are famous for the menstrual huts that women would go to during menstruation to bond, celebrate femininity, and encourage creativity during a time where women were believed to be more connected intuitively. 

It's clear as to why we don't have these special places in the Western world now.  Our periods are something that we are supposed to hide.  Our periods are something we are supposed to be ashamed of and feel is "disgusting".  A menstrual hut would not only blow these bullshit beliefs and habits out of the water, but would encourage the beauty and special nature of this time, the connection with our womanhood and our sisters, the celebration of all things feminine.  Celebration?! That's right.  

Rarely do I feel this out of sorts.  Perhaps it can be chocked up to the fact that the weather is HORRIBLE these past few days and I'm likely mourning the arrival of ultra-wintry weather, but fuuuuuck I feel awful.  I even got into a Facebook fight with a dear friend in Egypt.  Then I cried.  Then I texted a friend.  Then I cried.  Then I listened to music.  Then I cried.  This is madness, nobody should be forced into society in this condition.  I want to be locked up in the red tent until emotionally functional Sarah returns.

       

Saving Private Daylight.

Today is a day that many folks do not look forward to.  Today at "2am" it suddenly went right back to 1am.  I literally watched my phone change time from 1:59am to 1:00am.  An extra hour of sleeping, or other extra curricular activities..., don't mind if I do!!  I love it, I love the time change.  

Sure, I think it's stupid that we change the clocks in some sort of human attempt to control the uncontrollable; time is relative anyways and, what difference does it truly make to change the clock?  Though most of the world does not practice "Daylight Savings Time", and even some states in our country, alas it is here:  Five months of darkness.  

Now, I'm no ignoramus, I understand that it is, in fact the orbit of the Earth around the Sun and not the changing of the clocks that makes the daylight fleeting.  But the fact that we change the clocks, in turn, makes the sunset happen earlier bringing what I call "The Darkness".  I LOVE The Darkness!

For a lot of my life, I struggled with the lack of sunlight in the winter.  I had the typical seasonal depression, hated the change of seasons to cold and dark, and the nights that never seemed to end(I still hate the change of seasons to cold).  Spring eventually worked it's way back into life and the daylight increased after what felt like years of darkness.

About eleven years ago, I decided to make a change.  I consciously decided that instead of choosing to loathe The Darkness, I would embrace it; I would enjoy it, love it, need it.  I decided that I would fool myself into liking The Darkness by telling myself that I needed it to do certain things; for example, if I wanted to watch a movie I would need to wait until it got dark.  If I wanted to make a phone call or smoke a bowl or clean my house, I would need to wait until it got dark.  Pretty easy to do really since the sun goes down at like 4pm for a good part of winter.  But the seemingly magical part is that it worked like a charm!  By simply telling myself that I needed The Darkness, wanted it and loved it, I found that I did need it, want it and love it.  Yay for The Darkness!  My personal mind game proved fantastic results and I've never been the same since, almost looking forward to this time of year as opposed to dreading it.

There is so much that is mysterious and magical about the dark hours of the day, especially when there are so many dark hours in one day.  Darkness is when we rest and rejuvenate.  Darkness is when we feel more comfortable with intimacy and, darkness beckons love making.  The Darkness allows for for much of the external world to be unavailable for viewing thus allowing introspection and self reflection.  The Darkness is when we escape the hustle and bustle of the daylight hours.

So as the season of The Darkness is upon us, I reflect back on that day when I changed my mind about it, and I feel really grateful.  I will embrace and enjoy the many lightless hours of night in the next few months.  Now if I could only convince myself of the same when it comes to the cold temps, I'd be set...

          

Branding.

"My soul is not contained within the limits of my body, my body is contained within the limitlessness of my soul."

"You cannot define yourself in reference to other external coordinates, you must define yourself internally with your relationship with a higher entity.  Think of yourself as a manifestation of some higher thing, some higher frequency.  This is the visible realization.  And you know that because you can't see atoms, can you?  And you certainly can't see the forces that hold atoms together.  There in the micro-quantum world lie the answers to everything.  We can't understand it with our biological, rational minds, but we feel it intuitively.  Get yourself in line with that stuff and you'll beam like the sun."

If I challenged each and every one to guess who quoted the above listed quotes, I am certain that nobody would come close to guessing who the two men are that said those two things.  One is Canadian, one is British.  Both are extremely famous comedians, movie stars, funny men.  In fact, both are known as complete goofballs, guys who push the limits of comedy.  

Jim Carrey and Russell Brand, in that order, are the two men who said the two profound, deeply meaningful things that are quoted above.  How is it possible that those kooky guys, whose mission it is to make us laugh, can come up with such substantial, spiritual inspiration?

As a society we pay attention to, only seem to take notice of, the superficial.  We are more obsessed with what someone is wearing than the actual composition of their character.  There is no doubt in my heart that both Jim Carrey and Russell Brand have lived multiple lives before this current one and the wisdom of their old souls knows full well that in our modern world we do not acknowledge and value spiritual strength.  So, in order for these messengers to be able to deliver the real message they are intended to deliver, they must first earn our attention with silly antics.  If Jim Carrey did not grab our attention with Ace Ventura and Dumb and Dumber, would we ever have listened to his true wisdom?  If Russell Brand wasn't touring the world with stand up comedy in order to make a name for himself internationally, would we be willing to sit and listen to his penetrating, almost uncomfortable ranting about the state of humanity and the power of connecting spiritually?

Both of these men have used their gifts first to make us laugh and now to challenge us to look deeper within ourselves, beyond the laughter behind which so many of us hide and to truly begin to understand something greater; that of our true selves.  Looks like they are good for more than a laugh after all...  

A period of mourning.

I walk with no skip in my step, my head hangs a low, my eyes are dull and lifeless, I can barely muster a half-smile... The FIFA World Cup 2014 has ended.  *sigh************* And stupid Germany won.  Whatever, they kicked butt and were a very strong, well organized, and disciplined team.  Part of me feels like Germany shouldn't be allowed to win anything for at least a few more centuries.  I guess they have to prove they can win World Cups since they can't win World Wars.  BOOM!  

I'm in mourning.  

For the better part of four years I waited for World Cup 2014 Brazil.  I talked about it with every foreigner I encountered(lets face it, Americans don't know shit), I dreamed of going to Brazil for the event, and a few months prior I began counting down the days.  I was pre-obsessed in preparation for the true obsession that I knew would take over once the matches began.

Out of the 64 matches, I think I missed two or three.  Sure a lot of them I wasn't able to fully watch, but you better believe they were on the televisions at work.  I spent two weeks of absolutely gorgeous summer days indoors, watching three games in a row during group stage.  In fact when group stage was over and there was a day off, it was strange, I felt lost.  

From the beginning I found myself very emotionally connected to the Colombian team; to this day and for the rest of my life, I will feel emotionally connected to Colombia.  In a country so conflicted as Colombia, soccer is the one thing they all agree on.  The Colombian team went further in the tournament than ever before and one of their young players received the honor of the Golden Boot, having scored the most goals of any individual player in the tournament.  Not bad for a team that went out in quarter-finals.  I cried when Colombia scored their first goal and I cried when they exited the tournament, heads held high.

Another team I ached to see do well was, of course, the formidable and famous footballers of Brazil.  Who wouldn't want to see the home team win a World Cup?!?  But destiny had other plans and Brazil exited the tournament with their worst loss ever.  The 7-1 lashing by the Germans was the only game I deliberately turned off.  Some things are too painful to watch, and being able to literally watch dreams of players and fans alike be crushed in such a ruthless manner was rough.  It was one of those moments that made me very glad I had chosen to not go to Brazil for the tournament. 

As the knockout rounds left fewer and fewer teams, my obsession with each team, each game grew that much stronger.  With fewer teams and games to enjoy, I found myself practically talking to strangers about the tournament.  In the final I was able to watch Argentina, another team I was pulling for, but they couldn't hang on long enough and lost to Germany to accept second place.  And then the mourning began.

I'm not sad that Germany won(sort of not sad), I'm not sad about any one thing in particular.  I'm just sad that it's over.  The anticipation, the excitement, the anxiety of extra time and penalty kicks, the needless obsessing, the Uruguayan biting, the players' goal celebrations, the face painting, the Spanish speaking announcers screaming "Gooooooooooooool!", the emotion, the love, the beautiful game.  *sigh, again*  

I feel like a part of me is gone.  I find myself scouring YouTube and fifa.com for videos, interviews, articles.  I even was on Wikipedia looking up historical facts about the tournament and current player statistics.  It's not the same, but hopefully it can ease the pain of withdrawal.  Even while writing this, I went back and forth to YouTube at least six times to watch goal scoring videos and player interviews...

I will get through this hard time in my life.  It hopefully won't take too long to recover from Post-World-Cup Depression, or as I call it PWCD.  The countdown to Russia 2018 begins today.

                

Rental car.

Being on some kind of permanent rebellion against "the man" I have gone the vast majority of my life without owning a car.  As a teenager I had a couple of cars, both of which ended up in a junk yard, totaled.  And before you ask, neither was my fault.  When the second car was totaled, I was too poor to be able to afford a new one, so I simply began using the public transit in the small mountain town I lived in.    

In my early twenties I took up bicycling as a hobby, pastime and way of life.  I lived, worked and shopped all within a small radius, making bicycling the only thing I needed for transportation.  I thought I'd never need a car!  

Years later, living in Los Angeles, did it become clear to me that having a car would not only help me get around significantly easier, but improve the overall quality of my living experience in that vast, car-dependent city.  Alas, I bought a car for the first time in my adulthood.  I bought a 15-year-old Subaru from my mother with 180,000+ miles on it and that thing got me around LA just fine!  When the road called to this gypsy again, I sold the Subaru to a dear friend and embarked about the globe again, carless.  

Upon returning to Denver last year, I was like, "Sweet, I'm gonna live on Capitol Hill and walk and bike everywhere just like the good ol' days!"  A few months passed and I quickly realized that I was over the good ol' days and I felt trapped in Denver, unable to get out and enjoy the tremendous amount that living in Colorado has to offer.  I knew I wanted a car.  I wanted to feel like and adult, to be able to go where I want when I want, not having to "borrow" someone's car.    

In order to skip over a bunch of details, I got a car, a brand new car.  Brand new was never the intent, but having a car guy for a dad, he convinced me that for what I wanted(another Subaru), that it was best for me to go with new since used Subarus in Colorado are as rare as diamonds and cost about as much(due to demand).  

I am quite enjoying having a new car; the new car smell, the shiny new everything, the fancy dials and buttons.  But I have to admit, it's a bit strange.  I keep wondering when I have to give it back.  I've been so accustomed to cars that I drive not actually being mine, that it feels like I need to give it back eventually.  I've used lots of rental cars, and borrowed friends' and family members' cars so many times, that it still doesn't feel like the new Subaru on the street is mine and I don't have to give it back.  My mother even  made a comment along the lines of, "It'll feel like yours when you start getting the bills for it", and honestly it's not even that.  It's going to sink it that it's mine when I can literally go wherever I want, whenever I want without having to call someone and ask, and without having to pick it up at a rental office.  It took nearly 35 years, but I just may be starting to act like and adult.