"Three things in human life are important. The first is to be kind. The second is to be kind. And the third is to be kind." ~ Henry James

 

The prayer for guidance found at page 832 of the Book of Comman Prayer reads:

O God, by whom the meek are guided in judgment, and light riseth up in darkness for the godly: Grant us, in all our doubts and uncertainties, the grace to ask what thou wouldest have us to do, that the Spirit of wisdom may save us from all false choices, and that in thy light we may see light, and in thy straight path may not stumble; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen. Isn't it interesting that the entire objective of the prayer for guidance is to have the Spirit of wisdom save us from all false choices - a prayer to counter our self delusions.  I should have paid more attention to this prayer's ultimate objective more than its seductive images of light a long time ago.  Had I done so, I would have placed substance over form.  We live; we learn; and hopefully light will continue to rise up in darkness for me so long as I am meek enough to know why it rises and for whom it rises.  Funny how you can miss what is right before your nose.

 

In one of my favorite new blogs, Getting Past Your Past, psychologist/lawyer/certified grief counselor Susan J. Elliot offers these words of wisdom in a post entitled Finishing Unfinished Business:

"As I said in the 'Putting the Inventories to Work' post, the key truth to relationships is that water seeks its own level. If we want to know what is missing in us, what is lacking in us, what unfinished business we have, what our inner struggles are, we need not look further than the person we are involved with. If we listen carefully and look closely, usually our choice of mates will tell us what we need to know about ourselves and the work we need to do. As we grow and change, our choice of mate continues to reflect what we still need to work on. By looking at the partners we have been choosing, we can see what in ourselves need work."

Is this what Mama meant by "birds or a feather flock together"?  I don't know, but it reminds me of something said in AA about water seeking its own level and how addicts sink lower and lower and so does the quality of their friends and acquaintences.  The delusional guy on the next bar stool becomes a sage because he approves of my drinking, laughs at my jokes and never suggests that I should go home and take responsibility.  In fact, he agrees that the whole world is to blame for this mess of a life I have made.  But despite all his brilliance, he doesn't break the fall when I slide off my stool.

One of the best posts at Elliot's blog is Want Real Love?  Ten Things To Think About.  This should be printed, kept on your/my body and read daily by everyone (especially me).  Why everyone?  Because I don't think one percent of the population gets what real love is, and that has included me for most of my life.  Despite all the needy crap we call love, it really isn't in style.  This blog entry begins with the following quotation:

"My God, these folks don’t know how to love - that’s why they love so easily" by David Herbert Lawrence.  The post ends with Elliot's admonition: 

"If people understood what real love entailed they would be less inclined to go in and out of relationships where they will experience anything but..."

 

I can't wait until Elliot's book (Getting Past Your Breakup: How to Turn a Devastating Loss into the Best Thing That Ever Happened to You) is published!  Love may not be in style, but plain old meanness is.  Any way to overcome the latest meanness given or received ought to be a rocking good read. 

I have always been interested in the nuances that distinguish sexuality from sensuality and recently ran into a lovely description written by MargauxMeade at her blog, Love in the Time of Addiction:

"My sexuality used to be such a big part of who I was. I could feel it pulsating beneath my skin and surrounding me like a force field. It undulated when I moved and clung to my clothes like perfume.....I'd say it was less sexuality than sensuality--a desire to nuzzle up against life."

This is a highly effective description of sensuality that embraces the spirit of loving life, being engaged, making meaning, savouring experiences, being enchanted by concepts, colors, shapes, scents, texture. Sensuality surfaces or fails to surface in every little thing a person does or with which he surrounds himself and fills his heart and mind.  Sensuality exhibits passion about everything, not just love objects.   

Sex is fairly mechanical or manipulative unless infused with honest sensuality.  This is why blantantly sexual public expressions are crude and unattractive to me.  But the alchemy of sex and sensuality produces a force that shimmers.

 

Phillip Yancy, in his book by the same title, asks what's so amazing about grace and uses Jesus' parable of the prodigal son as an example. The son had shown great contempt for the father but eventually, and unexpectantly, came home. The son was full of remorse,but that is not the focus of the story; instead the parable focuses on the joy of the finder (the father, the bestower of grace). Yancy says:

".....the central focus of the story is the father's outrageous love: 'But while he was still a long way off, his father saw him and was filled with compassion for him; he ran to his son, threw his arms around him and kissed him.' When the son tries to repent, the father interrupts his prepared speech in order to get the celebration under way.

A missionary in Lebanon once read this parable to a group of villagers who lived in a culture very similar to the one Jesus described and who had never heard the story. 'What do you notice?' he asked.

Two details of the story stood out to the villagers. First, by claiming his inheritance early, the son was saying to the father 'I wish you were dead!' The villagers could not imagine a patriarch taking such an insult or agreeing to the son's demand. Second, they noticed that the father ran to greet his long-lost son. In the Middle East, a man of stature walks with slow and stately dignity; never does he run. In Jesus' story the father runs, and Jesus' audience no doubt gasped at this detail."

I am interested in Yancy's term outrageous love. Is this grace? Have I found a definition that makes sense to me? I think so.

You don't see much outrageous love these days. It is not in the fabric of today's culture; it is viewed through squinted eyes as a horrible form of weakness. As an example, ex's are expected to hate each other, questioned when they do not and judged stupid or weak by "good Christian people" who do not witness the animosity they expect to see between sinners who hurt each other. Each is expected to play the blame game andgrasp and weld whatever power he or she has to collect a pound of flesh. While jabbering about grace, elbowing each other out of the way to gather the crumbs of love, we do not know outrageous love when we see it. It still makes us gasp.

Oddly Katharine Hepburn and Jesus might have seen love eye to eye. Hepburn's insight makes me wonder if love is love at all if it is not outrageous. She said:

"Love has nothing to do with what you are expecting to get - only what you are expecting to give - which is everything. What you will receive in return varies. But it really has no connection with what you give. You give because you love and cannot help giving." 

 

If, in fact, God has no hands but ours, are we not, as a result of the incarnation, the bearers of grace, one to another?  Going into Advent, I want to ponder how more than just amazing grace is.  I want to meditate upon its outrageousness and celebrate it wherever I am privileged to bear witness.  Why celebrate?  Because according to Yancy "Trace the roots of grace, or charis in Greek, and you will find a verb that means 'I rejoice, I am glad.'"

 

Therefore, let us keep the feast.

 

I recently did a study of art work made of spirals.  The spiral is an ancient symbol of energy flowing in spirals and life's rhythm. The spiral symbolizes immortality for Polynesians and the winter solstice for Mayans. This image is my idea of the energy of the winter solstice - the light of the world dispersing nuances of color. 

I can so identify with a concept described by Chris Middleton and Luke Herriott in Instant Graphics:

"Many designers and illustrators are explorers and archivists of their immediate environments, scouring the city streets, parks, river banks, gardens, markets, and even their own studios, for objects, textures, and source material that they can sacn in and use in their palettes, or incorporate into freehand collages and assemblies of objects.

Whether or not they use digital techniques to manipulate such raw materials and create their final designs, many designers inevitably find themselves becoming collectors and/or curators of certain types of imagery or objects - insects, sports cards, magazine clippings, old catalogs, engravings, or prints. Some develop a fascination with a specific type of image or object - perhaps from an accidental find - and set about actively researching and building collections of them, which, in turn, begin to influence their subsequent work."

It seems that most of my artist friends collect curious objects.  Not just graphic artists and illustrators, and I would be surprised by a painter who didn't keep a camera nearby to snap an inspiration.  It reminds me of a time my brother-in-law came to my house at Christmas and asked where I find all the unusual things he saw there.  All over the place, I responded.  Nothing looked unusual to me, but I know what he meant.  Compared to the traditional decoration my sister favors, I suppose my artist's abode does look unusual to him.

Which leads me to the best excuse I have for not getting my "stuff" under control.  Creative inspiration.  A sunburst garden ornament lies on the rug in the sunroom awaiting painting; antique books for reference lie on the floor next to my computer; rocks, leaves and bird feathers are scattered about the house; sexy, inspirational cards sit on my table; a scarf hangs from a wall light; a dried rose given to me by a lover long ago resides in a pen case; turquise sunglasses, my Scottish rock, my nephew's favorite rock and an armillary adorn a table in my office.  During the season of Pentecost rose petals danced across my porch, and last summer little blue pellets - lacecap hydrangea droppings - filled little bowls around the house.  A piece of wood that looked like a gun or something of that nature hung out in the sunroom all last year, and robin egg shells are housed with music boxes, old letters and other curiosities in a curio cabinet.  I could go on, but you get the picture.

If I had given in to my mother's influence, I would have a neurotically organized, if not bland, house.  I would scrub and control it and all that enter therein.  Honoring cleanliness and order over flair, I would look for ways to express myself through controlling my environment.  I would paint dull brown paintings.

I make no more excuses.  While the eye delights in color, shape and texture, collections of curious objects are more than visual delights.  They often serve as objects to study in order to produce.  Most people don't know this, but the production of art is frequently a highly intellectual process.  A subject is studied, turned inside and out, pondered until the "problem" is solved.  Chu-chink.  It comes together.  The work is produced; the idea is conveyed.  I believe that this is the main reason I prefer to produce graphic art.  It is more intensely symbolic, bearing more than technique, conveying an idea.  

With all these objects around, I used to think my life was a souvenir.  It isn't.  It's a work in progress filled with things done and left undone, curiosities big and small - just another artistic habitat for creative inspiration and a statement of rebellion against the dull brown painting.