it was a night filled full of soulful dreams
caught up in nets cast about the heavens.
& then.my body woke.& here i am.in this early morning quiet, i am very much thinking in thoughts of black and white and gray, the look of healing, and of my mother. i am very much thinking of this april anew of now, & of april's that have already yellowed in the pages of their past. i am thinking of Owls, strange as that seems, silent shadows, hunting & living & quiet as they fly past my shoulders, clutching my soul in their talons.
I am caught
thinking of the rawness of injuries, of life breathing in anew when babies are born, and the very last shuddering intake before family is left in grief.
in the dark quiet of this monday morning, i am thinking of days long gone. and all the days in between that lie in wait to be lived, scripted out in memories. photographed & pages turned into small scrapbooks.
as i lie here in the dark, squished in between my husband and my small child, i am awaiting the song of birds that call out their happiness across the last moments of the dark and the slow tip tilting Earth that bows her head to the coming dawn.
Here, in the dark, I reflect on all the different stages of grief, at all the different times in our life when we know loss. For me, there is a raw scrape in my heart to be on the other side of March, dipping my toes in the early April light. Just a year ago we celebrated our first Easter here on the west coast; spring with my beloved Aunt & Uncle; kisses across the telephone, cards sent in love and promises of a summery beach trips.
and then, when May came, it was a plane trip to my parents' home, and a terminal diagnosis for my mom. For all the wickedness of that moment, I had pushed my mind to this moment, convincing myself my mother would live until spring time, that the grief could be pushed away. Convincing myself that if I painted my mother's toes often enough, cleaned and sorted her laundry every time I left here for there, I could bargain with Death & hold onto her life a bit longer. Yet, by the time I tumbled past her death in November, I knew, there was no bargain to be had, and, if there was one, it was most certainly broken.
& I would never have wanted her to linger, entombed amongst the living as she was, buried alive, breathing, unable to connect to us in the ways she could but just a few months earlier.
so i am left thinking, in this early morning quiet, in the dark with my coffee, i am left with this April, with art, and with a deep desire to know healing, to pull a bit more colour back into the faded pages of the past, to breathe in the dark a bit more,
to run in & out of the silent shadows of owls.
a bit of my mother's story (entwined with my own) here & here.
Kevin Ware's injury from Sunday here (so gut wrenching i am just posting an article, not a video).
owl's that i love here.
everyday this month, i will be art-ing around. creating a little everyday, letting art seep into my wounds and bind things up soulful and happy. i find berries, ranunculus flowers and owls most challenging to draw, so i will be working on quick sketches of them everyday. i invite you in on this april of art too. if you write something on your blog about healing or art, or even in just the JOY OF CREATING (art-ing around much?)let me know by linking it here, on mondays, on my blog. if you make something, or if something wondrous catches your eye, snap a picture of it to post on instagram or flickr & please let me know: #aprilart. #artinhealing, #quicksketch, #childrencreate, #artingaround. (I ADORE children's art and when your little Picasso or Miro or Alice Neel catches your heart, take a snapshot of it as well). i am @pomegranateandseeds Feel free to post your "art" to my FB page as well, or to your own, & just let me know. & remember: it is beautiful because it is your own so don't be bashful or shy to art-around a bit.