Quarter Notes - January 2007

Musings on Life in these Times

from Deborah

Quarter Notes serves as a space for me, and you, too, to share stories of epiphanies, those “clunks” of recognition when everything afterward seems different...the stories that inspire us to change our thinking...stories that guide the way to living with greater reverence for this sacred experience called life. We in the northern hemisphere, especially in North America, need these stories like air and water.

I envision adding to Quarter Notes during the course of each seasonal quarter, my thoughts and your thoughts, so you can check back often to see where the "gaialogue" has traveled. At the end of each quarter, I’ll archive them and start another one fresh. To contribute just email: deborah@athanorarts.com

I want to share a realization that hit me so strongly a few days ago that I wrote it down:
Art in all its manifestations has the power to reveal that which I didn’t know I knew. Art holds the same possibility for any of us. The story that popped into my mind which triggered the realization was this:

In 1992 I spent two months in solitude in order to reclaim my childhood dream of being a watercolor artist. The first watercolor I ever painted on a full sized sheet of paper (22" x 30") turned out to be prophetic. I didn't know that at the time, of course, but I knew the image didn't feel right. I thought I was painting Philadelphia but two particular office buildings that came out of my hands and brushes didn't fit the facts of that city. I knew that but couldn't seem to change it. And the way those twin towers were folding over, well that didn't make much sense to me either, but that's how they painted themselves. I didn't recognize what I had done until two days after 911 actually happened ten years later.

Not only can art be prophetic but it has the power to bring deeper truth to awareness and to transform trauma. I found this story in my manuscripts only yesterday. It was written right after our nation went to war in

Iraq:

A small circle of women gathered yesterday in the clay studio to give voice to our deepest truths regarding peace and war as our hands sculpted images in clay: two figures emerged with gaping wombs birthing new life and love; a circle of animals and humans appeared praying together in sacred council; a griffin took flight from the flaming waters of the world.

Our conversation was so rich that Linda suggested we share our truths on email, to see what ripples might form in the electronic pond. Instead of signing petitions that might never arrive where they're meant to go, she wondered what would happen if we began sending our true stories to each other and our political representatives. Good suggestion though it was, I don’t remember our pursuing it. I did, however, write my own response to our shared "mourning."

I learned a long time ago that revenge begets revenge. I recognized that the bully on the playground is the most frightened child around, likely to be diminished in self-esteem, perhaps tortured in his/her body, scared of being wounded yet again.

I learned a long time ago that the Hitlers of our world, who've been with us for 1000's of years, have been so wounded themselves that their hearts have turned to stone. They no longer experience the full range of human emotion. Compassion and empathy become their enemy. When I experienced the profundity of that isolation and loss, my own heart flooded with compassion for all the violent ones in our world, including Hitler.

I learned a long time ago the power of living from the heart. Though there have been many great teachers of peace, it took my own personal experience of that power to know the truth of it in my bones. On a peace walk in 1989 at the Nevada Nuclear Test Site, officially known now as the Nevada Environmental Research Station, I found myself standing before a guard with his billy club raised to my chin. All around me, peace walkers were succumbing to fear, hysteria and warlike chanting that couldn’t help divide our ranks. I closed my eyes for a moment to seek the peace within, to find the beacon of the heart's wisdom to guide me. I began singing - soul to soul - my own impromptu prayer song to this man standing solid before me. I sang about both of us being afraid right now in this moment, both of us wanting to provide for the lives of our children, both of us longing for happiness and a healthy world, singing and singing and searching for our common ground in the words that poured forth. Though he hid his eyes behind the visor of a baseball cap, he couldn't hide the tears rolling down his cheeks.

Meandering questions float through me now. Do we have to wage war

before befriending our enemy? I think of Germany, Japan, Vietnam.

Why not skip the war and go immediately to "co-creating" peace? Why not get all the countries of the

world together to sit in the time honored tradition of the Talking Circle and ask: What hurts? What do

you need? How can we all feel safe on this planet of finite resources? What do we want from life?

What does your family really need to be happy? In your culture, what makes life worth living?

How do we provide a safe haven for all people – so there will no longer be bullies on this

small playground of a planet.

How soon will the illusion of separation shatter, so that the pumpkin can feed both of them?

Speaking of a small planet, my love for all the beings of this earth stems from early childhood. One
particular memory stands out that altered me forever:

As an only child I found comfort and company in the backyard, especially in the arms of the willow tree
not far from the back door. Planted by my parents when we first moved to our little red brick house when I was three, the willow grew much more rapidly than I and by the time I was nine or ten, the tree beckoned me to climb it. One summer twilight, I ran out of the house to escape my parents' arguing. The wind tossed the willow in the prelude to a thunderstorm but I didn't care about the threat of lightning. I scrambled up the tree to hide in the sheltering branches and clung to the trunk, pressing my left ear into the knobby bark. I sobbed. The willow groaned and whimpered deep inside. I sprang back startled by this reflection of my own anguish. The willow lives, just like I do, and she talks as well. I pressed my ear tight against her skin and knew I was hugging a friend.

Do you have a touchstone in nature...a rock, a tree, an animal, a river whose memories still enliven you? As I unravel the thread of my own remembrances, I'm surprised to discover my own seamlessness. Nature is my story. There is no difference, and my living and my dying belong to it. I am not cut out to be society's paper doll propped up by the pretense of self-sufficiency separate from the natural order. Instead, I am plump with complexity and lean with simple truths of the heart. This life force in me depends on the same life force streaming through you, the tree, the planet, the galaxy. And though my time here is brief, I know that everything I do matters to that great thread - that what nourishes my soul, strengthens the web which sustains the whole.

On that note I will end this “peace” and encourage you to join me in this endeavor. The vision of WakeWater and the events, possibilities and art that happen at Athanor Arts support your journey and inspire mine as well. As Mr. Green says on the RedGreen show, “Remember we’re in this together.

To respond, for more information, or to register for an event: deborah@athanorarts.com.