I came across these random thoughts written on a pad as I walked in Green Cay a couple of months ago. Thought I’d add them here, since all writing, for me, adds to some form of healing.

Seeing loads of snail shells, large ones, out of their element, or is it me?

Breezes sweep past and caress my legs as I look out -
Cameraless, Partnerless, here at Green Cay.

Pad and Pen – Spaces for Tears.
Well, I let them come.  No camera to hide behind tonight.

Feeling breezes again
Quick caresses on my legs.
Oh, how I wish they were yours, that you were here, my Beloved.

Spoonbill was on dry land, dried out spot -
Found way back to walk.
Only for me, dry land – wet land.
There is more to find here on Earth.

Anhinga is spreading his wings and don’t know why it is.
Is it you, my Darling, letting me know through your favorite bird that you’re here?

Today WRITING CAMP, my friend Morgine Jurdan wrote and read about a delectable meal she recently had. Beautifully described, missing, for me, was the bread soaking up sauce part she had told me about in an earlier phone conversation. After the call, I wrote:

Morgine’s bread soaking up the cream mustard sauce – doesn’t matter what the sauce – I see it, feel it, that piece of bread swelling with the fullness of the tasty moisture it is absorbing – all the cells getting full as its body is pushed around the plate to gather up all that is available in the plate of life to put into my gut.

“My gut” – Interesting I’m so harsh about it – “gut” sounds so heavy, almost ugly. What if it were into my “being” – gently, slowly, if I temper myself to taste morsel by morsel and allow myself to digest the treasures of the plate – slowly working their way through my boding, sensing the spaces they need to fill? It’s all liquid, absorbed and softened by the carrier, a healthy piece of bread, bringing out peace of mind, peace of body.

PS – Originally wrote “mustard sauce” and in editing added the “cream” (which had in reality been there). I was tempted to remove the “mustard” part. “Too tangy”, thought I. Then, “Silly, or not, maybe that’s what’s missing for you – the tanginess of life!”

If you missed the link to Morgine’s writing, see I Remember…, halfway down the post, for the meal writing to which I responded.

This morning I was moved to join a call facilitated by Julie Jordan Scott.  The call was one of her current 49-day daily writing program in AND NOW, YOU WRITE. I’ve been a participant in countless calls and programs that Julie has offered over the past eight or more years that I have known her.  She is a truly authentic, loving, sharing, caring, generous human being. I consider her one of my mentors and know that always something will open up for me out of being in her presence. If you are interested in writing and/or being comfortable in expressing yourself, I strongly recommend you check out Julie’s AND NOW, YOU WRITE virtual writing camp.

The prompt for today was “I fill the paper with the breathing of my heart” and in the subsequent five minutes of free-flow writing time, the words that filled my paper became:

I fill the paper with the breathing of my heart.  Prompt from Julie Jordan Scott

Today is Valentine’s Day and all around it seems people are acknowledging the “heart” day… Subject lines in emails, Twitter posts, probably on Facebook also.

My friend Marifran Korb has written some wonderful posts on Celebrating Valentine’s Day, including most importantly celebrating ourselves.  She wrote: “Make a commitment to fall in love over and over again with YOURSELF. Love is a commitment, not a feeling.” Valentine’s Day, Part 3, with lots of great ideas.  AND, I wanted NO part of any of it!

Sam and I never much celebrated Valentine’s Day as a holiday.  I’d like to think we celebrated our love daily. Despite this, on the subconscious level, I think, sadness had been setting in as I was reading tags and posts.

I’m here now at my computer with sporadic tears welling in my eyes, some  passing down over my cheeks.   It’s more than two years since my beloved Sam has left this Earth and, though my life is full, sometimes it seems even lonelier than it was  in the days and year after he died. (Why is it so hard to say that word – “die?”)

So how do we handle the tears, the sadness.  “Write,” I say. And, unintentionally I did.  A young mother in the Conscious Business Owners coaching group of which I am a part, was querying her wanting to be with her young sons, concerned that her business would pull her away from that which was most important to her.

One of the other group members wrote: “For me personally, I think my resentment of not having outside contact would have been somehow translated into our relationships in a negative way. So find a balance that will work for you but remember there is another child who has needs–you.”

That sparked me to write my own response (see end of this post) and though the tears started welling up even more, I found I was in action… My number one RX for healing… or easing the moments.

1.  After I wrote the email, I decided it would make a good blog post and possibly turn into a podcast for the Become a Blogging Maniac course in which I am a participant.

2.  Reflecting on one of the things missing in the moment, I saw “family closeness”, so I called my son who lives 1/2 hour from me. Upon hearing my sadness he invited me to visit and my “daughter-in-love”, immediately got on the phone and compassionately said, “Come to dinner.” (Thank you twitter friend Mary Morris, marylmorris, for introducing me to the concept/phraseology of “daughters-in-love.” I have two.)

As I take each of these steps and more, I am grateful for the past and present blessings in my life.

If you are someone who is grieving the absence of a loved one, I invite you to also be in action with whatever will best occupy and forward you.  Be sure to look for that in your life for which you can be thankful.

And, if you are someone who is blessed to currently have everyone important to you in your life alive and well, I invite you to stop to make note of the memories you can add to your Treasure Chest of life and acknowledge them now.  One of my blessings is that I have so many beautiful messages Sam wrote to me.

Speaking of writing, I’m moved to include a treasured photographic memory, that brings back the warmth and comfort of our relationship.

Smiling at the memory – See PICTURE TO PONDER – Issue 108 for the story.

From my EMAIL REPLY (see explanation above) that triggered this post:

“For me, M, your response to S was ‘right on’.  I’m reminded of the times I used to say guiltily (those little self-sabotaging demons kicking in) that I wasn’t the “Milk and Cookies” Mom AND my sons turned out great!!! They are wonderful husbands, in marriages that are each loving and stable, and fathers to  4 wonderful, bright, loving children.

When my sons were very young, I was quite involved with numerous volunteer activities and  then went back to college, finishing two years in an art education program.  I would often take my boys to one of the studios when I went up for extra work.  I still have etchings (real ones on metal plates) that they did  when they were 5 and 8.

I recall my younger son complaining, when he wanted to throw some “guilt” at me, about the times he’d have to come home to make
his own lunch so he could run back to school to play kickball. (Doesn’t sound too tragic, does it, given he’s mentioning the “play” part also?)

Whenever guilt would kick in for me over the years, I would remind myself, and continue to do so, how well my/our sons turned out -
a tribute, I say, to the ultimate love and security that was in our home, with two loving parents who were comfortable in their own
skin (usually) with what they were doing for self-fulfillment, as well as familial fulfillment.

S, it certainly sounds like you have your husband behind and with you. THAT is the MOST IMPORTANT thing that your sons will
see.  In addition to all the love they are and will be getting, they will have the experience of two adults being true to themselves.

I am deeply missing my husband, and those years long gone, as I complete writing this.  And, I am grateful for the blessing Sam’s and my life was  together  and for the next-generation two loving families that we seeded.

Treasure these years, S, remembering to treasure yourself and your needs also.”

Yesterday, in a Facebook post, my friend Lisa discussed tea she was enjoying, purchased at $60 a pound in Chinatown in LA. It reminded me of a tea experience of mine. I had been somewhat taken aback at the end of the experience and the memory surfaced during another writing class with Julie Jordan Scott. In that session, a few days after my “outing,” we were to write on a “sensory experience.”

The spontaneous writing that emerged brought appreciation and humor to the whole experience for me and I still smile when I think about it and what I wrote. I promised Lisa I would post the story here. Thank you, Lisa, for the memories and Julie for the prompt that opened it up.

Tea – Taste and Smell at Twenty-seven-fifty

Twenty-seven fifty – yes, that’s Twenty-seven dollars and fifty cents
On three little bags of tea…. Can you believe? 10 ounces total –
Twenty-seven fifty!!!

I’ll blame it on my friend. We tasted two delicious teas, up front,
Almost in the mall pathway, two inviting urns, cups – little plastic ones
in a dispenser beside them -

Rooibos Chai with something else was on the left
Didn’t get the name of the one on the right.

Had two cups of each and went to discard the empties.
Friend said, “… must have to go back to counter
to toss them out. Don’t see anything here.”

Same friend had commented when we passed, down the interior mall path. “Imagine, a shop just for tea. This one has fine tea.” So we stepped back, walked over and sampled.

Would have left and found place for cups/trash, only friend said “to counter.”
So we wandered back.

Nice lady salesperson, enthusiastic, knowledgeable and sharing.
Got enrolled. She opened tins. Showed us mixes. Gave us wafts of aromas
as she tilted the 12 inch tins – Were they 18 …?

The blueberry/peach on the counter in the back, served cold, was delicious too.

Now we’re deep in conversation.
Aromas are great, textures appealing and the names sure do call.

Eighth of a pound and 2 ounces. Getting somewhat confusing. Hearing four, five and six dollars plus for some portion of a pound wasn’t really registering. Brain must have been
thinking/assuming that she was talking about quarter and half pounds.

So we – she, that is – started mixing, to replicate the samples.

4 ounces – 2 ounces of each makes on bag – Ten dollars and seventy cents, already mixed
custom for me – too late to change mind. Besides didn’t even realize what it was costing, so caught up was I!

In the back of my mind as all of this is happening was,
“I’m in this course… This week is about sensory awareness…. Senses not usually attended to. So……. Taste and smell… my weakest. I can chalk some of this expense up to course work. Right? Ok, I’ll do it.”

Mind chatter. Can justify so readily. But twenty-seven fifty?? Couldn’t believe it.
And it’s OK.
There was no sales tax, so must be good for me!

Now I sit with three copper-colored, front and back, brown sides and bottoms, little foil bags. All [....] the store name

There is Mate Vana – Rooibos Chai – the first I tasted. So smooth, light and yet rich.The middle bag is Blueberry Bliss – Rooibos Peach that was the slippery, smooth, lightly refreshing, cold one on the counter.

That would have been enough – Totaling twenty-one dollars and I still wasn’t really aware of what this all was costing.

“ChocoNut Green Tea” suddenly caught my eye in the beautifully done booklet/catalog :
“The simple pairing of Chinese green tea with delectable chocolate bits and scrumptious almonds, pistachio nuts and macadamia nut pieces” Who could pass this up? Especially and, of course, after she, the server, said it was new and delicious! All hot button tastes for me!

I finally asked the total and stopped. Still hadn’t really registered – Twenty-seven fifty!!

Tried the choconut last night. It was somewhat of a disappointment and I’ll work more tomorrow on breathing it in. Might even put some of the tea leaves on my tongue.

And, I know, I’ll wind up doing visual here also…. Photographing, perhaps writing more.

This twenty-seven fifty already has given me some fun in the writing. There’s also been irony in looking at the circumstances, for you see, none of it was necessary beyond the tasting.

There was, in fact, a round opening into a trash receptacle, right between the two urns way up front, far from that counter!

Must have been my auditory sense kicking in the strongest, as I missed it, listening to my friend who said “We’ll have to take the cups to the counter to toss.”

Three 0 five AM. Twenty-seven dollars and fifty cents worth of fun and I still have lots to taste and smell!
©3-18-08 Sheila Finkelstein

In earlier posts I’ve written how I have used Haiku,letters to the editor and writing from prompts, all as means to gain control over anger. Interestingly, though I am a visual artist, currently using my photography to inspire people to see things newly and in ways they’ve missed, when I am in the depths of a strong emotion, I immediately go to writing. Some of my most profound work has been written at such times.

When I taught Art in an elementary school, I worked from a cart, moving from classroom to classroom. My supplies and cart, when not in use, shared space in one of the school storage closets. Because I used a lot of different materials, my space in the closet was not always neat.

One day, on my way out to a graduate class, I passed the principal by the front entrance. I must have made some comment about the closet, for she stated, “A bomb can go off in your closet and no one would be any the worse for it!” I immediately became furious and ended up handling my rage by writing out at every red light on the way to my class. The following, turned out actually to be an expression of my life and still is what I stand for today.

I wrote:

ODE TO A PIECE OF CARDBOARD:
or, A Philosphy of Life

What’s a piece of cardboard?

It’s the base of a sculpture, or an
integral part of one.
It’s the support for an assemblage;
A cardboard loom for weaving.

It has form, or it is flat.
It’s a surface to work on–
To build a mask; to rest a tray as
plaster is poured;
To keep work safe, as it is moved from place to place.
It’s a support for the paper on which notes
are taken at a museum, on which observations
are drawn.

Skin it. See the corrugation.
Use it for line or texture in a collage.
Cut it with scissors.
Roll it.
Attach it.
Tape it. Glue it.
Build with it.
What more is it?

That is up to you.
You may make discoveries as yet unknown.
I am not the possessor of all knowledge,
all ideas.
I can be the source from which you can get help

to develop your own ideas, your
individuality, your uniqueness.

If I can, I will provide the materials that will
help you make your discoveries, to suggest
alternate possibilities if I can’t.
When you need it, I hope it is on hand.

All of my knowledge is available to you–
all of my expertise.

I hope that these experiences will help
you to use things frugally, with originality;
That sometimes when you are sparked
with an idea
You remember and are aware of potentials
and alternatives.

Pass a pebble, a rock, a shell, a leaf–
A new and different shape (real or in your mind)
Look at it. Touch it. Turn it over.
Return it to its home if you wish,
Or, let it send your mind and fingers flying
in a drawing or a painting.
Use it in a collage.

What’s a feather, a piece of cloth, a strange
shape, a can of nails, a box of scrap wood?

That’s up to you, my dear friend. . .
Up to you to collage your life a rich and vibrant one.

© 1977, 2002 Sheila Bakely Finkelstein

(Note – If you are wondering what happened insofar as the principal was concerned, I placed the typed poem on her desk the next morning before classes started. She never mentioned it to me AND she also never spoke to me about the closet.)

“Inner vision is perhaps the greatest change catalyst that the world has ever known.”  Diarsmid O’Murchu

Inner Vision – 2 words could be one word like television.  One Word – a screen into which we can look and see the secrets of our soul – a clear flat panel for fast moving pictures.  Could be delights and also could be nightmares.  I see now a sonogram with a moving baby.  Didn’t have those in my time, at least not for general use.

Inner Vision separated brings more of a mental-sensory thing/experience to me – a kind of intuition.  Innervision – we can see with our eyes.

Inner – coming from within.  Vision – coming from without – Can be a different experience.  I’m actually getting confused here.  Mixing up metaphors and combining things; a tendency of mine, to wander, mix, get off track.  Not sure I want to stay here, blocking out things I don’t want to see.

It is ok to turn off the innervision screen.  Needs rest sometimes.  Don’t we all?  And perhaps that is when the INNER VISION is the strongest – at Peace – a blank canvas, screen, that is!

“In the moment, sometimes the only way to find out what it is I want to do is go ahead and do something. Then the moment I start to act my feelings become clear.” Hugh Prather

This quote so sums up my life which almost always seems to be the act of creation. How well I know that all it takes to get me out of a slump is simple action – out of my head and the rights and wrongs that smack themselves around there, along with the dos and don’ts and shoulds and shouldn’ts. Anything, it doesn’t matter.

The act of taking a miniscule, seemingly infinitesimal, step is sufficient to light a path to wherever, whatever. It doesn’t matter. It’s the moving forward that sets in all in motion. The excitement comes. It builds and whole new things open up. Sometimes, not always, and it’s enough, more than enough, sometimes great – Yes, Picture to Ponder, the little girl sculpture on my table – so much more – my life.

written 1/29/08 – Free flow, timed writing to a quote and

Interestingly tonight, 7/28/09 , Dan Millman, The Peaceful Warrior, stated on a conference call that yes, it’s important to pay attention to our feelings AND to focus on our actions, moment to moment, what we need to do next and act.

CONNECTION – “When I connect from my heart to my soul to you and to the paper, what I feel is:”

Peace and a way to move on.. move on from my thoughts, the jumble in my brain, perhaps the anxiety in my heart, in my body;

the tension which tightens across the birdge of my nose, clenches my teeth, tightens my jaw – all magically disappear;

I “know” all this. Why don’t I remember and move it out, let it flow freely, keep it going ongoingly?
(Starting quote is another from a course with Julie Jordan Scott, a few years ago. Above was written then, below now.)

The answer to freedom -
Remember the pen to the paper, the keys on the keyboard, tapping, bursting forth with symbols on my monitor. Therein are the connections, the openings.

In previous posts here I’ve written about Haiku writing as a means of gaining control when angry and I’ve written about Morning Pages and free flow writing from prompts. There is also “letter writing”. Often simply the act of writing a letter expressing feelings, then tearing them up, never sending them is more than sufficient for healing.

This morning I was reminded that “Letters to the Editor” of our newspapers is also another access to freely expressing ourselves, powerfully so ,when there is a point rather than the act of simply “venting.”

Writing to my local newspaper was something I did quite frequently many years ago when I was involved in my community both in library organization and then when I was teaching art in the public schools in my town. Mostly they were to inform.

The particular letter I thought of today that’s the seed for this post was one I wrote during an election campaign for our local Board of Education, particularly volatile with one candidate who was president of the Board, or became president. I probably still have the letter, written more than 40 years ago.

One of the main phrases that I recall was my statement that “[he - the candidate] was doing nothing but throwing empty phrases to brew a burning cauldron of hostilities.”

During that same time period, I went back to college to get my degree in Fine Arts Education. Painting and Drawing was the first Art course I took. My professor, recently retired, had mostly criticism for whatever I produced. Toward the end of the semester she told me my “work lacked emotion” and I “should drop out of school and join a local guild to satisfy my housewifely ambitions!”

Anger flared and I immediately thought of the above-mentioned letter to the editor. “That was certainly FULL of emotion!” I went home grabbed a masonite board, a newspaper, paints, glue and match sticks and put together an assemblage – painting the fire and the cauldron, filling it with “hate” and other “anger” and “war” words cut from the newspaper, adding the matches to reinforce the fire.

I proceeded to bring it into the next class. I don’t recall what her response to it was. What I did realize years later was that, in fact, this piece did not convey the emotion of the feelings. What I had done was illustrate the seething emotions that had been behind the expressive words in the “letter to the editor”. Also, I still find it interesting that although I am known as a visual artist when it comes to expressing emotions I immediately go to words and writing. (The emotions expressed in my art, mainly my photography, come from a whole different, unidentified, subconscious level. )

Words in the Burning Cauldron of Hostilities

A close-up of the words, headlined in my newspapers in the late 60′s, used in the collage. I find it interesting observing now that the only word I cut up was “hate”, used three times.

In conclusion, several forms of self-expression were covered here. What is and are yours? If anything has opened up for you from my experiences described here, I’d love to read them in the comments here. Thank you.

(Note for those who may be curious about what happened insofar as “dropping out of school”: I did take the next semester off and then went back. I did not think one had to be a good or great artist to be an effective art teacher. Having stopped attending school board meetings, where I might be likely to speak out and ruffle feathers, I did get a job teaching art in the elementary school in my district where I taught for six years.

Thirty years later, an email from a former student attests to my having made the right decision! There were also many letters to the editor and School Board from parents and teachers when my teaching position was eliminated due to decline in enrollment.)