Navel Gazing

There's often a feeling of self-doubt upon returning to one's residence after some time away. Did that really just happen? Did I just wake up from a crazy-awesome dream? Are you telling me that I can't just meet up with my fellow weirdos whenever I want because there's an ocean between us?... Do I really belong here? Often the thought-stopping occurs here. Buck up, and move on. Back to "life". Or, if you're like me -- a sucker for a juicy existential crisis -- the thought-spiral continues. Where do I belong? Where is home? What does it mean to belong, anyway? Is it something to be earned? Is it a result of the people you surround yourself with? Is it a choice?

Whatever the answer may be for you, I think most, if not all, of us at YxYY found a sense of belonging this last weekend. If I had a dollar for every time I heard someone say some version of, "I've found my [people] here," I could've paid for the whole weekend, no problem. (Feel free to insert family, freaks, weirdos or some other applicable descriptor into the brackets).

In one of the many fine and fabulous un-scheduled sessions, a group of us "navel gazers" tried to pin point two things: What brings us to places and events such as YxYY, XOXO, Burning Man, etc., and perhaps more importantly, how do we continue this awesome Yes-ness past this 72hrs of the rad and fantastic?

If I could label the connecting thread that drew us to Yes& and tied us all together, it would be: creativity. This event began, and has continued, with an idea. An amazing, creative idea started by the Radical Five Founders. That idea led to an intent; the intent to connect wholeheartedly and authentically with other weirdos. That intent has led to what I think is a pillar of Yes: permission. You have permission to be 100% you, 100% of the time. All are welcome, all are invited. Come as you are, and be accepted & appreciated for your unique & quirky perspective. You belong. Full stop.

This wonderfulness naturally leads to the second question us navel-gazers poised: how do we continue this "perpetual yes" (as one of the Five put it)? Three days was a teasey taster of how beautiful intentional community can be. "We want more!", we cried out together in room 533 of the Ace Hotel. Can we find this out in the "real world"? Why can't this be the real world? Can we tap into this as a steady supply of inspiration? A drip-feed of inclusivity and positive intention? Or must we hop from event to event, looking for our next hit of total acceptance? How can we use these events as a boost; as a provider of momentum in this movement of "yes", rather than as our sole source of yay-sayer dopamine?

It would be ideal if this final paragraph contained the answers to all of these questions. Alas, I do not have the answers, but I know we, as a collective, do! What I do have, however, is an idea. (And isn't that how this all started anyway?) I believe Step One is to start with yourself. Make the intent to connect to yourself. Give yourself permission to "wave your freak flag." Seek out inspiration for your Inner Artist. Accept yourself as you are. Say YES to YOU. Do that, and I can guarantee you, you will find your "people" on this yes-filled journey.

Got it? Great. Now... what is Step Two? Well, that's up to you.

"Hello, it's been awhile."

Oh, sweet time alone... Just my Artist and I on the page, becoming reacquainted. It's a little awkward at first, almost like a reunion with a lost lover. Silent musings are exchanged between us. Did you miss me? Is it obvious that I missed you? Do you still feel something? Who have you loved since... me? I make a remark hoping she still remembers our inside jokes; the lightheartedness with which we used to communicate. Waiting for the right moment, or what I think is the right moment, I reach out... hoping for -- longing for -- connection.

Here we are, trembling as we teeter on the sharp edge of the unknown, wondering which way we will fall.

Oh god, I missed you.

I could cry for the relief of being with her again, as if the whole time we were apart I was holding my breath. And now, standing before her, I can breathe again.

"Shall we?" my Artist says. I nod, unable to speak, though my mind swirls with words, jilted sentences and half-finished stories. I collapse into her arms, overcome with emotion. She holds me, firm and forgiving, and we make... art.

Joy

You'll never get it done, and you cannot get it wrong.

This is, of course, pertaining to life in general. At first glance it sounds de-motivating. But think about it: how much misery do we put ourselves through obsessing over "getting things done" and "getting things right", hoping to arrive at some magical and elusive place of accomplishment? I am the queen of to-do lists, so I am all too familiar with this common fallacy. Even if I was to get all-of-the-things done, what then? How bored would I then be? Would I not conjure up some other desire, interest, or curiosity to then start a new list? Of course I would. Because that what life is; it is moving from desire to desire, a myriad of contrasting moments, a continual shedding of the old, and adapting to the new and the better.

I don't mean material things (although that is also true). I mean aspects of ourselves. We are not stagnant beings, and we were never meant to be stagnant beings. Movement means change, which leads to evolution, which results in expansion. In that expansion there is joy, and the freedom to choose that joy. Or not. Lucky us, we only get one moment at a time to make that choice. All previous choices are irrelevant, for those moments have quite literally passed. All the ones to come are beautiful mysteries. Joy is before you now, in this moment as it has been in all other moments, and as it will be again, and again. The best part? No matter what you choose, you cannot get it wrong.

Feminism in the early 1900's

A poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox, a woman ahead of her time:

The Tides

"Oh, vain is the stern protesting
of winds, when the tide runs high;
And vainly the deep-sea waters
call out, as the waves speed by;
For, deaf to the claim of the ocean,
to the threat of the loud winds dumb,
Past reef and bar, to shores afar,
they rush when the hour is come.

"Vainly the tempest thunders,
of unsexed waves that roam,
Away from the mid-sea calmness,
where Nature made their home.
For the voice of the great Moon-Mother,
has spoken and said "Be free."
And the tide must go to the strong full flow,
in the time of the perigee.

"So vain is the cry of the masters,
and vain the plea of the hearth;
As the ranks of the strange New Woman
go sweeping across the earth.
They have come from hall and hovel,
they have pushed through door and gate;
On the world's highway they are crowded to-day,
for the hour is the hour of fate.

"Many are hurt in the crowding,
the light of the home burns dim;
And man is aghast at the changes,
though all can be traced to him.
They sat too long at the hearthstone,
and sat too oft alone:
And the silence spoke, and their souls awoke,
and now they must claim their own.

"Let no man hope to hinder,
let no man bid them pause:
They are moved by a hidden purpose,
they follow resistless laws.
And out of the wreck and the chaos
of the order that used to be,
A strong new race shall take its place
in a world we are yet to see.

"Oh, ever has man been leader,
yet failed as woman's guide.
It is better that she step forward,
and take her place at his side.
For only from greater woman,
may come the greater man,
Through life's long quest they should walk abreast -
as was meant by the primal plan."

Chopin

The shore does not cry out to the waves, saying,
"Crush these rocks, take this sand,
Carve me until I am beautiful."

It waits, and it waits,
And the waves come.

The shore does not stop the tide,
It simply allows
The rise, the fall, the push, the pull.

It waits, and it waits,
And the waves come.

And it is not broken, it is not bruised,
It does not resist;
Ever-patient in it's Being.

It waits, and it waits,
And the waves come.

The shore takes shape...
High or low,
It sees the tide for what it is,
And becomes the beauty it longed for.

It waits, and it waits,
And the waves keep coming.

Let's Make Art

"Art has the power to transform, to illuminate, to educate, to inspire, and to motivate." 

~ Unknown

I asked a friend if he would play piano for me, at our neighbourhood bar. He said he would -- if I sang as he played. "Fun!" I thought, before being seized by fear. He also suggested that I perform some spoken word poetry on open mic night. "Fun!" I thought, before being seized yet again by fear.

There's a theme occurring here. Fear. But fear of what? Fear of self-expression? No, that's not quite it...

Ah, yes. Fear of being seen. Being seen involves vulnerability and exposure. It opens up the potential for criticism. A wise man once said, "If you want to avoid criticism: say nothing, do nothing, be nothing." (Author of this quote up for debate).

"Nothing" is not an option for me. Nor should it be an option for any of us. Like so many introverted artists before me, I must swallow the lump in my throat, and walk hand in hand with risk as I show my art to the world, whether that be singing, poetry, or publishing my book.

In the case of my book, I'm taking it a step further; beyond a revealing, beyond exposure. I am asking for help. The truth of the matter is, without help there will be no art to show. It will remain on my hard drive, collecting proverbial dust.

In effect, I am not only saying "See me." I am also saying, "Trust me."

Trust me that this art is worth it. Trust me to deliver. Trust me to spread a message of love, courage, and companionship through a children's tale.

Finally, trust that this is not just about me being seen. This is not just about publishing a book.

This is about us creating art.

Embodiment

Past the point of prose,

Torn between "ought"

and "ought not",

the should-do

and the want-to.

One foot here, 

one foot there,

straddling the practical,

and the possible,

waiting...

For money? For power?

No.

For permission.

Who you are,

what you are,

what you do,

how you do it --

it's all the same.

Or should be.

My desire for art --

is it selfish?

To pursue it, to consume it, to create it...

It's all I want and ever wanted.

The movement, the music;

the canvas, the paint;

the actors, the stage;

the words, the page --

I want it all.