Flying Girl and the Moon, or She Holds The Light Within
Golden Fluid Acrylic on Moleskine Paper, 8x5"
It's been a long time since Flying Girl has made an appearance, but here she is. It's also been a long time since I posted in my cool stuff blog, small & heartfelt, but there's a new one up there, too.
Here's the thing about that light that we all seem to be reaching for, the moon that we aim for-- when we persist in thinking our dreams are OUT THERE, in the ether, we forget that we already hold our dreams within ourselves.
Our dreams, our goals, all that stuff we are promising we will do or promising we will stop doing, most of that is incidental.
We want to be our best us.
We want to be happy.
We want to be creative.
We want to be loved.
We want to be satisfied.
We want to be complete.
I can plan and organize and write ToDo lists and calendars and meal plans up the wazoo, but the truth is, sometimes I think it's just me trying to fix the things that I perceive are wrong with me. It's me trying to get somewhere other than right where I am.
Sometimes it seems like all that busy work of being busy and productive is the easy way out. I know other people who drink or self medicate to forget that they are not who they want to be, I focus on finding away to get to be who I want to be. But the similarity is still there. I am dissatisfied with who I am, where I am, what I am.
I use being productive to make myself feel better. It is as if when I DO things and MAKE things I have evidence that I am good, but when I don't, the bad feelings well up and take over.
Maybe my creativity addiction is less self destructive than a drug addiction, but it comes from the same place.
What would happen, though, if I didn't need to paint to be someone? What if I didn't need to hold onto those titles of artist/writer/teacher/mom in order to be someone? What if I didn't need to figure out how everything works, to understand everything, to be in control of my personal being in order to feel okay?
What if I accepted that I was okay. What if I accepted that I was great. Heck, what if I accepted I was miraculous, a being not unlike a god, perfect in my imperfections and holding as many possibilities as I can conceive? Just like every human being on the planet, and a few orbiting the planet. Miracles, all.
What if we didn't have to lose weight, eat better, finally get published, quit smoking, get a new home, keep in touch with family better, make new friends, grow our own herbs, take up photography, meet a new mate, or whatever yearly goal and resolution we are always promising? What if we could just be awesome the way we are?
Bumps and bruises and stutters.
Mistakes and coarseness and slobbery.
What if we could accept that we were lovable?
What if we could love ourselves?
Imagine a world where everyone simply was. And we accepted everyone for their beingness. And we accepted ourselves, too, just for what we were. And we loved.