Thought for The Day - What was I saying?

Every image, every portrait, every face and movement of the body communicates and tells a story. Every note, the squeal of the guitar or wail of the horn, tells us something and in the core of our being, we understand completely. It is our conscious mind, deluged in the day-to-day grind of "debt, traffic" and "jobs" that doesn't get it. And only in quiet moments, does it permit "the truth" to filter into it's world.

Thought for The Day - Natural

Linen with a swirl (in process) 24 x 30 oils

As the paint dries, my thoughts turn in various directions...

It's a process that works in me. Like having a long day, and mine are typically 19 hours a day, and being so exhausted, you can't help but have a deep sleep. But in lying down, my head sinking into the pillow, with that final adjustment of shoulder hunched into the edge of the pillow, my thoughts become visual, my consciousness returning to other places. I have learned, though, to allow whatever dreams occur to instruct me at other times; I rarely remember what I've dreamt. I do know the dreams are present because there is always the sense of a message there.

It isn't my desire to allow paint to dry on the palette; I would rather it dried only on the canvas and preferably after a painting is completed. But that is not the course of life for me at the moment. Besides, I get to spend more time in quiet communication with the latest piece(s) and doing so, I better understand what's needed, what is requested of me. Certainly, there are times when I'm anxious or ready to get my hands on it, but time does not permit, as I'm running off to begin my work day.

The practice, the patience, the waiting for "things to turn" and evolve...at moments, it is beyond difficult, like spending your entire life waiting. But in the process, I learn more about me, God and His purpose for me.

Peace, be still.

Thought for The Day - Practice Session

I was nine or ten years old, living on the West side of Chicago. My mom and I decided it would be a good idea for me to learn to play the piano. I guess there's a musician buried beneath all of the other creative stuff I do comfortably. Initially, she would take me, wait in the entry area, while I had my lesson. But eventually, I had to walk the four or five blocks by myself. I used that time to imagine my playing the songs I learned in class. Of course, the teacher suggested that I practice at home, but we didn't have a piano and small Casio keyboards weren't available so many years ago. But we had a small organ, which, when I think about it, was a blessing. I would try to play the songs I learned in class and it seemed like I never got the sound just right. But I would practice.

I had an older cousin who was far more gifted in music than I and on the day of a recital, his mom and mine were there. My playing was simple and choppy barely getting through the song without too many errors, but my cousin, he played like a young concerto! He had the look and the confidence as he played each note. The music lessons lasted maybe a year before we moved and I never was that good at playing. I did learn to place my hands on a piano or keyboard properly and I can still pick out middle C.

A few years ago, I tried my hand at poetry and unlike the piano lessons, there wasn't anyone to guide me. It was on my shoulders, but the burden seemed light. To express myself with words, creatively, with flow, pitch and depth...it flowed easily. Now, I'm not one to appear on a stage and read it - at least not yet - and there's all this expectation that one does it with the swagger and confidence of the "spoken word" crowd...that's not me! but I continue to practice word creativity; this is one way to do so.

I guess, in essence, the painting and drawing, the writing and now reading up on guitar playing - yeah, trying that now - are my practice sessions. And it all meant to serve, inform and uplift.

Thought for The Day - The Centerpoint

That place of focus, the place where everything else revolves, begins and returns to. The center, the place of strength and highest acclaim. That place emotionally, logically, behaviorally and spiritually, where, when we operate, we exude our highest being.

I've read several quotes recently stating we don't live or appreciate "The Moment." Given my nature, I was ready to point the finger at myself, certain I was guilty. But at the moment, music is playing, my all-time favorite group Incognito; the song "Good Love" - look it up! That's at this moment. The music dictates appreciating the moment. I worked on a pastel piece this morning and whenever I work in this medium, "preconceived notions" are tossed out the window! Even when I stare at a work in progress and imagine colors and movement, when pastel stick hits paper, in that minute, at that time, it's only that moment and I'm guided by one hundred variables all at the same time. I could be troubled by the conflicting possibilities, but in that moment, I am at my center.

I have reasoned many times, my "work" remains small; I don't have a large audience for writing, painting, sharing a good word and especially counseling. But I have concluded "I've reached one." Did you hear me? Are you listening? If you have heard me, if an image rendered, gave you pause for reflection, then you found me at my center (and I reached at your core!). If my listening to your struggle and subsequent advice or just a nod of understanding eased difficulties for you, I heard you, I responded in the moment. I don't claim to have special powers, but as I learned from my father so many years ago, pray, seek and receive the answer in the instance. The best is given in the moment, with or without forethought.