Uncertainty is my canvas

Photo by Markus Spiske on Unsplash

"Uncertainty is my canvas." ~Carol Mossa

If you bother to look up the word uncertainty in a dictionary, you'll find that the word has some rather negative connotations: doubt, anxiety, mistrust, skepticism, and suspicion, to name a few. What if we substitute the words: wonder, magic, surprise, opportunity and joy instead? 

I wake up every morning with a Ioosely formed plan for the day, but I always leave room for the unexpected, room for the divine to show up with a surprise or two. That surprise might be a phone call from an old friend, an invitation to lunch, perhaps a book I'd forgotten I'd reserved at my local library is waiting. I wake each day routinely expecting, as the late spiritual teacher, Eileen Cady, once wrote, expecting my every need to be met. the answer to every problem. and abundance on every level. I am rarely disappointed.

In 2015 I embarked on a two-month cross-country book tour to promote Linger Longer: Lessons from a Contemplative Life. I had a tentative itinerary, a thumbnail list of speaking engagements, but it wasn't uncommon to receive a message from an acquaintance along the way asking if I was going to be in his or her town. I'd pull my car over, look at a map, and more often than not remark, "I could be! What do you have in mind?" 

What if you let go a little, stopped clinging to the pseudo certainty of every waking moment? Go out on a limb. Go somewhere alone. Talk to a stranger. Try a new food. Take a class. Treat uncertainty as your canvas. I do my best work when I can’t see what’s around the bend, when I have more questions than answers, when I allow the process and spirit to move me in unexpected ways. 

Uncertainty redefined.

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Curiosity: my resurrection

Photo by Umesh Soni on Unsplash    

"Curiosity is the wick in the candle of learning." ~William Arthur Ward

As a young girl growing up in Bristol, Connecticut (USA) in the 1960s, everything scared me: drugs, boys, exams, shopping. I expressed the early signs, if not the full-blown manifestation, of agoraphobia. For those unfamiliar with the term, agoraphobia refers to the extreme or irrational fear of entering open or crowded places. Ironically, home was my comfort zone, not because I felt safe there, but because I grew up under a cloud of addiction and dysfunction. It was easier to hide my feelings, my longings, my fears. And fear had me in its grip for a long time; it followed me into adolescence and beyond.

It wasn't until I approached my sixtieth birthday in the fall of 2014 that I thumbed my nose at fear and took the ride of my life. Literally. That was the October that I crowd-funded a creative project and set out on a solo cross-country road trip. Those thirty days on the open road changed my life, my focus, my self-confidence and my direction. Upon returning, I may have looked like the same woman on the outside, but on the inside, I had changed in profound ways. Curiosity had resurrected me. 

Today, I am guided by an insatiable curiosity, a deep desire and commitment to travel, to experience new cultures, environs, vistas.  As an urbex photographer, I love exploring abandoned theaters, hospitals, schools and churches. I have grown my courage muscles and they carry me far, they open doors previously closed. I don't wait around for a partner, or a friend to offset my discomfort zone either. I am an eager and confident solo traveler. 

I was recently recruited to run for an elected position on my town's Planning Commission. After careful consideration, I threw my hat in the ring, not because I want to win necessarily, but because I am curious about local politics, curious about the process, the players, and service work. 

If, according to English philosopher, Thomas Hobbes, curiosity is the lust of the mind, then I am a hungry lover.

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Famous

 "I want to be famous in the way a pulley is famous, or a buttonhole, not because it did anything spectacular, but because it never forgot what it could do." ~poet Naomi Shihab Nye

In the fall of 1995, I packed my bags and headed for the Green Mountains of Vermont to pursue a second Masters Degree, this time in fine arts. I'd already been a published author and a national magazine columnist, but I'd convinced myself that I couldn't be, would never be, a real writer, unless and until I could write and publish fiction. Up until that point, I had one highly acclaimed book of informational non-fiction under my belt, another at the publisher, and I was a respected marketing columnist for a national trade magazine. 

So I applied and was accepted into this competitive graduate program, this two-year low residency immersion, with the intention....(wait for it)....of becoming famous. I can laugh now at the horror on my first semester advisor's face when I showed up for our first workshop armed with colored-coded notecards, highlighters, outlines, and books on craft (oh, so many books on craft!), ready to pen the Great American Novel.

I did graduate, on time in 1997, with an MFA in Creative Writing, but I got so much more than a framable piece of paper. I learned that the artist's way is not one of rigidity, gripping, holding on tight, following a blueprint or a mind map. Rather I learned that creativity, is about letting go, about trusting the process, about allowing spirit to move me. 

I still bring myself to the page every day, but I no longer wrestle, do battle with those demons  Instead, I have dialogues with the divine. I don't fret about page count, I don't subject myself to unrealistic and unnecessary deadlines. I simply show up. I stay. I allow. Because what really matters more than fame is kindness--to myself, to the process, and to my readers. 

Here's the poem, Famous by Naomi Shihab Nye, that I read at my 1997 graduation:

The river is famous to the fish.

The loud voice is famous to silence,   

which knew it would inherit the earth   

before anybody said so.   

The cat sleeping on the fence is famous to the birds   

watching him from the birdhouse.   

The tear is famous, briefly, to the cheek.   

The idea you carry close to your bosom   

is famous to your bosom.   

The boot is famous to the earth,   

more famous than the dress shoe,   

which is famous only to floors.

The bent photograph is famous to the one who carries it   

and not at all famous to the one who is pictured.   

I want to be famous to shuffling men   

who smile while crossing streets,   

sticky children in grocery lines,   

famous as the one who smiled back.

I want to be famous in the way a pulley is famous,   

or a buttonhole, not because it did anything spectacular,   

but because it never forgot what it could do.

Solitude: Creativity's Best Friend

 

“Solitude is creativity’s best friend, and solitude is refreshment for our souls.” ~Naomi Judd

In her 1992 groundbreaking work, The Artist's Way, Julia Cameron speaks eloquently about her relationship with the divine, the muse, spirit, the universe, God—whatever name you wish to give it. Cameron is unapologetically convinced that all one has to do is show up with an open heart and an open mind, and the creative process will unfold in magical ways.

I have unfolded and flown on creative wings enough times to endorse Cameron’s claims. Spirit can and will move you to create if and when you allow it a place of honor in your life. But it won’t reveal its secrets when you're flitting from one Saturday errand to the next. Nor will it feel welcome when you're belly-up to a bar surrounded by loud patrons. You must make welcome this mystical experience.

Originally used by the Quakers, the phrase, "When the spirit moves me," acknowledges an active relationship and reliance upon a higher power. Quakers believe that they do not need a mediator, a priest, pastor, or the eucharist or water baptism in order to interact with the divine. Theirs is a hotline straight to God. Back to Cameron,

"We are, ourselves, creations. And we, in turn, are meant to continue creativity by being creative ourselves."

How to access this wellspring, this fount of creative genius? Allow yourself quiet, uninterrupted time. Stop. Stay. Listen. Allow yourself to be moved, to be whispered to in unimaginable ways. You will hear a still small voice beckoning you to follow, to explore, to stretch, to reach, to create. Don't deny yourself the magical connection between you and the divine. Some days when I'm tempted to give my muse short shrift, I imagine her sitting in a corner watching me, waiting for me to notice her, waiting for me to pull up a chair. If I dash out the door without honoring her presence, I imagine her smile fading as I once again deny her existence, her generous offering. 

"But Carol," the pushback begins, "I don't have a creative bone in my body. I don't paint, dance, act, write poetry, or make music." Dear hearts, your life is your masterpiece; your very existence warrants creative vigor and expression. We are all gifted; don't be one of the people who never opens their package.

As the late metaphysician, Wayne Dyer, once said, "Don't die with the music still in you."

(Curious about the practical benefits of meditation? Join me on Sunday and Wednesday evenings at 7:00pm EST and Friday mornings at 8:00am EST. https://www.heygo.com/the-footloose-muse)