Moments of Stillness Later in Life

There comes at least one moment in life when one has the opportunity to break the bridge that binds one to the past and future, when one can live as present and be alive to all the senses. The moment may come in the guise of pain or happiness, at the moment of death, in the arms of a sweet lover or even as the result of a long season of personal development.

Maybe I am ready for my new life.
Maybe this is not a convenient time.
Maybe this is the best time.
Maybe I am still learning to be happy.
Maybe I am ready to be true to that one voice
      that sounds like my own,
      but is really the Song of the Universe in disguise.

OK, No More Maybes

I am giving up the sacks of stuff wedged in my garage, in my chest, in the shadows of my mind.

I set out now to write even One Simple Word so sumptuous
     that reading it would first slay your illusions
          that all the festering pain is lasting.
Then the sweetness of that word
would slay the you seen in the mirror of circumstance.
Then a single syllable would turn into a phrase of celestial music.
You would die with a smile upon your face.
Or better yet you would live within that state
     in a string of moments
         like notes of a song stretching out forever.

So, I work, I wait, I wonder, I feel...
all in service of reaching for that ideal-real word.

I reach for the ideal
   because the world needs the other side of reality
      missed in the pain body of
         what ifs, should haves and discarded passions.

What I am learning so far in my particular life:

· That service comes with the ascension of singing and the pain of crying.

· That trying to live without regret has consequences that instill a need to go deep deep deep into practicing the presence of the Creator.

· That relying on the material delusion to fulfill oneself is Purgatory.

· That love comes from many corners of one’s life, and is made visible when one is both present and willing to take the risk of being seen.

· That it is perfectly acceptable to know inexplicable joy in the middle of feeling sadness or even happiness.

· That unhealed anger clouds the stormy mind and rains sorrow upon the world.

· That pain is strident and restless, yet something greater, sweeter and lovelier lives within stillness.

· That all learning is subject to revision, growth and humility.

Sit with me and be still for moments… then for a few moments more. See what comes from behind the veil of sorrows. See what wants to be born Through you as acts of service to a world in need.

Love,
Rick

(c) Copyright Richard Sievers, February 10, 2016, All Rights Reserved

Going to the Source

Look, Ink is Bleeding Through My Fingers!

The farm season is winding down. The season to expand inward, the season to create and write is here. For four hot months the characters in the new book have waited patiently. They have been pulled with the weeds and sowed with seed. They have been given away through the sweat of a summer's tilling and harvests. They are patient, but time moves on... at least in this realm.

Sitting at the writing desk A blank mind blinks in the blue cursor of a white screen How do we begin again? My fingers hover and hesitate over the keyboard. I feel shy, like a besotted lover who has been on a long singular journey, one who finally is arriving home to his sweetheart. Who moves first? What do we say? How do the words become loving actions from a clarified Autumnal heart?

Many questions. Analysis about writer's block won't help with answers. Figuring how to arrange the schedule and desk and the files of electrons in the mainframe won't help. Go directly to the sources, the characters of the soon to be book or canvas. What do you say patient ones? How do we begin?

And the pen begins a long arc. Messy words tumble and splash all over my hands and onto the page. The meanings are inarticulate, clumsy at first. But I will write anyway. I just keep at it. And soon the lover will become familiar again. Soon the characters will be more than projections; they begin live in my dreams again. Soon their words are sowed upon the willing page.

A poem comes through the conversation as so many poems do:


Talking With Two Characters While Writing the New Book
                                   It’s Time: Just Write the Damned Book
I’m helping you come alive.
Sure, I know you are both me.
Finding your voice is finding my voice.
You are bringing me to light too.

So, why is it so hard to co-create you here?

“It’s difficult, being born.” you say.
“It’s difficult facing death.” you say.
“It’s wonderful being seen by bringing light to the darkness.” I reply.

Yep, we can trade platitudes all day, Spirit and me.
That becomes a day divided against itself,
a transport of circularities.

“Just commit to yourself.” you say.
“I don’t know that self.” I reply.

“So make yourself up.
Write it.
Write us.
Write yourself.”
~~~~
Whatever your endeavor, from within a heart of love and devotion take solace. It is in the beginning again and again that miracles occur. It is in the willing efforts of the spirit and hand that new life is born.

If you dream it, then begin it. And see where the words and colors lead you.

Blessings to you dear readers. May your characters and colors and living ink splash upon the canvas of your lives.

Rick




(c) Copyright on Image and Words, Richard Sievers, September 2015

Machismo in the Spiritual-Creative Life

Let There be a Place For Everyone Here

The machismo-ego is alive and well in the spiritual lives of many people who have claimed higher ground. Men, women, contrite, spiritual... we're all susceptible . This realization had led to the hallmarks of machismo-ego I've witnessed in my life. Perhaps there is a similar list for you. I call this the machismo-ego triangle:

 

I thought I'd pretty much tied up or eliminated machismo from creative-spiritual life. After all, I pride myself on trying to be amenable, flexible, resilient, multidisciplinary, loyal to a daily practice, of service.

OK, I'll stop right there with the listing. You get the idea. One should be suspicious when they see the words "pride myself" at the beginning of a sentence. Pride/Arrogance is a sign for me that I am off kilter in my life.

Which leads me to another road I've gone down in my spiritual life: "Shoulds". I should live more reckless, should live carefully and patient, should be more open to the muse, should be less distracted, meditate more, work more... blah blah.

This leads to the third leg of the triangle: Work, in the forms of "If I'd only...".

If I'd only: just made the book happen, been able to all day and then write at night, made myself stronger-sterner-slicker, schmoozed with the fancy people, related to the poor, had a perfect farm-family-future.

You get the idea.   
Pride, shame, control, all in a shiny package of goodness. 
 

What's on your lists?

These are but the shadows of the much needed companions in a conscious reflective life:

 Gratitude, Integrity and Will. 

 I call this the Creative-Love Triad.

 

How easily self-soothing compassionate talk can morph into insidious defeating inner diatribes. From a reflection like: "I missed my writing this morning and I intend to show up at the writing desk tomorrow." to "Why the h--- didn't I just go and write. Even if it's slop, just do it."

That latter diatribe is Not helpful based on several  

Signs of Machismo Spirituality:

• Black and white thinking. Like statements implying  This is bad
• All or nothing statements. Like using the words ever and always
• Put down, cynical language. Eg. Why the h--- or the word slop.
• Immature "solutions". Just do it.

    

In my life, machismo has been based on fear and an inaccurate view of just what wonderful creations we all are. There is also a profound lack of empathy in machismo. 

How about for you?

When I shame my way into doing my work or my art, then soulless pablum is often the result. 

When I begin with gratitude and presence, then no matter what occurs, the process is healing.

An antidote to machismo is compassion.

Yet even in writing this, my ego raises its hairy unkempt head and says: "What a trite thing to say. Compassion. hmmpf."

Here's some antidotes to that cynical hmmpf...

Shame often comes forward during the richest times of discovery. 

First, just notice what is occurring within you.

Then Respond if Necessary.

A response to the hairy ego might be: "There, there, shadow self.  Thank you for trying to keep me safe. However, we have compassionate guides to help us. So please be Quiet and then we'll listen for Love."

Which leads to another antidote for the striving ego:    Prayer.

If the word prayer is a loaded term for you try using meditation, creativity, intention or dialogue instead. For me, prayer is usually the very thing I forget in the process of a creative day. And it's the thing I most often need.

The machismo ego says we're in control. There's a seductive half-truth in what the ego says. 

Instead of controlling sort of statements perhaps I can say:

"I have a will to be open to the sacred, a will to be available and present to what may show up on this page, on this canvas and in my family. I have a will to respond with kindness."

When I begin with prayer, simple and real solutions appear.

This morning I began my day unproductively, a little sad and somewhat beset all I had to do. Yet here I am connecting with you (hopefully). The words come haltingly and then they flow.  They have a ring of truth to my heart. But what the heart really wants to say is this:  

No matter who you are or what you've done, there is a valued living place set at the table for you. May we sit down together and pray before we partake in this feast of living in the strength of kindness."

Peace to you today.
May you find the compassion within integrity, will and gratitude.
May you know the real heart beneath the illusion of striving to be something else.

Love,
Rick

(c) Words and Images, Richard Sievers, January 2015, All Rights Reserved.