May your holidays be bright and full of cheer.

A Dancing Bear

by Linda Jo Hamlin

A dancing bear for all to cheer
My brown body sways in the dusty arena.
The golden ring in my nose looks precious
Shining in the half light. Glinting in the shadow self.

I move both feet and try for grace
Under pressure, besieged by the laughter
Unable to hear the music beyond the din.
Eternal rhythms call the drums to beat like hearts.

When did I wake in this heavy fur
Carrying the weight of eons
Designed to keep me quiet
Intended to still my spirit?

So, I move my feet and in my mind
I cast off forgotten ages
To examine them in the full light
Of intent and present.

To you I may look like a dancing bear
Furred, costumed and wearing a tiny hat
But inside the fur, I am lithe and lovely
A child of the universe
Dancing my self through the day.

Photo by Robert Ziesler

Sweet Dream
by L J Hamlin

Once I thought my life was lost
beneath the past’s debris.
And suffered all the perceived cost
becoming more bereaved.
A dreamer resting on a bed.
dressed by my own taste.
By my ideas the dreams were fed
and worries went to waste.
Like a cloak I wore a past
and doomed my future too
Until that cloak was put at last
where nothing more is due.

But blessings wait, or never leave
and waking up one day
Now’s a truth I could believe
and attend to what I say.
Change is now, and life is now
being now and too,
The reinvention of the songs
we sing to be ‘til through.

Old stories do not serve us well
I left mine by a road.
Tell the good and not the fell
seems to be the code.
The peace is always in our midst
the love abides there too
Altogether all is kissed
me and you and you.

The stories are much better now.
The dreamer sleeps with smiles,
Dreaming a story of the Tao
That dances down the isles.

My baby steps were good enough
And pirouettes as well,
Dancing, twirling, all fun stuff,
More movement and I'm still.

I wake in grace’s sweet embrace
Aware there is no “win” or “race”
Or special something you must solve
To simply be and thus evolve.

Before Germination
by Linda



Deep within memory and time
I discovered a seed covered in rime.
Keeping it cool. Keeping it hidden
So it could spring forth when reactions have bidden.
When it was planted I haven’t a clue
And the way it reacts, I truly rue.
The seed covered with ice, kept revelation cool
It was not very nice but seemed like a jewel.
It mimicked the light, it shone and reflected
When keyed by event - the seed resurrected
Old business, old thoughts, old emotions and traps
Reactions would roar and my energy snaps
My life’s grace leaves at that moment
If I don’t recognize the seed-tyrant’s foment
To try to correct a memory’s shade.
So loud the grieved voice; ego's trump made.

So disconcerting, not to be there
Not in the moment - so unaware.
Real time gone, now dealing reactions
Only reflections of old emotion’s blithe actions.
I am trying hard to discover the seeds
To deal and heal and thus stop their deeds.

I hunt them and heal them with determination
Using compassion like I am my own lover.
Before my seeds germination
Into reactive ground cover.
A gardener of the spirit,
I am my soul’s keeper.
The present, I hear it
and carry it deeper.
Replacing the seeds
Of experience’s discontent
With the solace and peace
Of the now’s great present.

Morning Light

Early morning light moves about the room as
it dives through the crystal hanging in the window
leaving little rainbows everywhere.
I can almost feel a kiss
as something passes through my soul on the way
to the kitchen.
A moment of tenderness, a soul exposed.
My feet stop the shuffle
in their early morning slippers.
No motion into tomorrow
or yesterday. Just the stillness of now.

I close my eyes and listen to
the glory of the moment.
Soaking into me like the daylight
when it infuses a pond of clear and still water.
The moment warms me with grace and gratitude.
Joy spinning in me like energetic koi
flashing gold and silver.
My eyes open. My slippers slap the floor again
as they take me to a cup filled with hot tea

waiting to go to the garden.

Belief in Change

The other day a friend was talking with me about knowledge we glean from books. We read the books and we understand the truth of what we read but we do not change life's patterns to reflect what we have learned. She believed that we did not change even with the knowledge because we did not believe we could.

I thought about it for a minute and thought of dishes in the sink. We know we should wash the dishes. We have read all the books and explanations about how healthy it is to clean up those dishes and even knowing this - it is easy to shine on all the knowledge and walk away from the work. We know clean dishes will make us feel good, keep us healthy and give us pleasure and we may still walk away, leaving them to worry about, fret about and wish the job was done.

Thinking of the image of the dirty dishes needing change and cleaning them seems much like cleaning up our way of being in the world. Both are actions to remove the debris from the past, both are work. The things we can learn to change the patterns in our lives which may appear as living in the past, dreaming of the future or listening to the ego's rantings will only manifest if we practice and do the work. The reward of the work is change. Clean dishes are a good thing just as being present for our lives is a way of being.

I said to my friend "... it seems that though we know with our intellect that these truths will set us free yet it isn't until our heart knows the truth that we take action and work with the energy of the heart to make it happen."

We both laughed and later as I was leaving she asked with a smile "Are you going to do those dishes?"

What a wonderful life.

Night Sounds

Waking again at the magic hour of 3:00 in the morning the darkness brushing the walls of my room, I remembered a poem I wrote about waking. I decided to share it with you.

Night Sounds

When it gets quiet at night,
the sounds of the world drop away
one by one into the cool indigo silence
of the world sleeping.

Sometimes, then in that cushion of darkness
one can hear the wee sounds of the in-between.

Like a small bell far away,
or like an engine idling, waiting for passengers
sometimes like a radio just beyond audible reach.
voices down the street, wafting from an open window
to your ear.
Like the earth humming an ancient song.

Why does this happen
when one is alone in the star shine
wondering about the night and her secrets.

The moon’s full, belly light
shines through the window
slicing the dark into large bites
yet the still small voices murmur
as I lay with my eyes wide open.

Is it because the veil is thin?
The three o’clock call
waking us from sleep.
I am not the only one.
Others admit this waking hour
and sometimes they too
hear the ethers breath
of night sound.

It is curious,
a wonder and an irritant all at once.
Uncomfortable to recognize
like the stranger ‘s eyes
in which you see yourself.
So,
wrapped in night cushion
I lay listening.

Welcoming in the solstice

Today I gathered with others and we welcomed the turning of the season. We gathered together and shared time and space and thankful mentioning. It was a creative act to leave the day behind and go to the space of no time and now time. So as we finish the celebrations of 2008 may we all shed the skins of stories that are done so we can free ourselves to be who we really are and not our old business.

The spiced cider we sipped was delicious. The visions and knowledge we were gifted with - priceless. It was good to witness the end of a cycle and usher in the baby potentials that are waiting for the room to grow.

Enjoy the Season

May your spirit be bright.

Independence Day

Running free - this mustang reminds me of the freedom of the choices we make in our life. When I painted this I named it "She Loves to Run" and thought of the joy it brings when we do what we are naturally positioned to do. Painting is such a healing, timeless doing. When I step back, I too feel as if I have been on a good run and covered a lot of territory. It is a great feeling.

The choices we make are everything. How we think, what we think, what we think that is true that is not true, which thoughts are based on imagination or biased memories, which emotions are born from thoughts that aren't true and what is really true - are all up for examination. Sometimes as in painting, I find myself on a course that I believed was true, only to find out the thoughts that formed the course were not the best. It is then that the wonderful freedom to choose the better thought, the better action presents - like fireworks.

It is then that the old thinking can be recognized and ignored when it tries to stop me from my run. The run for freedom and independence day.

Do or Not Do

Today it is hot in the desert. Before the sun sets it will be over 105°. Why is it so easy to avoid art on hot days? I find my self craving the healing the creating brings yet avoiding the very thing that heals me. So, after I post this I am going to go run my fingers through some beautiful beads which wait for jewelry to contain them, pick up my notebook and draw some designs and see if the concerns with the heat dissipate.

It is always better to try to do than to defeat oneself before the effort has been made.

Excellent or Perfect?

This photo was taken in a small town in the highlands of Guatemala. I didn't have to do a thing but point and shoot. The bowl existed in a small area between an artist's studio/gallery and his living area. I looked out of a window in the gallery and there was the bowl in such beautiful light. It made me think of an instructor I had who would talk about painting and process.

One of the things he used to stress was that it was excellence we were after in our work, not perfection. Excellence is obtained by making and learning from mistakes, like life. So it is only by jumping in and making the effort that we will find out where our excellence exists. Those in his classes learned to never be afraid of making mistakes during the struggles of creating. What a great gift that was.

I will forever be greatful to that teacher for giving me the freedom and the wisdom to not hang on to the pain of expansion and to look for the answers, the indications towards excellence mistakes provide.

Thought Life

Sometimes my mind gets the better of me. Feeling uncreative, from experience I realize that it is only how I am thinking. If I can think of what I am doing in a different way, or take a different approach, then I change how I feel and how my body feels. So, working through the resistance to creating, ignoring all the snarky little thoughts like "no time" or "really should do this or that" or "maybe some other time" it seems all the chatter disappears and the making, the creating takes over.

It keeps me in the timeless present and makes a present of timelessness.

Cycles

Everything in life changes and it may also recycle to present a similar learning opportunity again unless I learn from my journey. During times of stress when the changing causes a little chaos in my thoughts and I don't find my way to the art supplies - it is good to do some form of self nurturing to care and keep my spirit well. I think I will make a good cup of tea and while enjoying that tea, I will ponder the things I am grateful for instead of feeling adrift.

Gratitude lists seem to be so healing. Perhaps gratitude attitudes and lists are a creative act in themselves. Those actions towards gratitude for the abundance of life (rather than it's more obvious difficulties) help to ammend how one is feeling. Gratitude promotes well being.

Creative tides

The urge towards creating can be conflicting sometimes. When I am creating, my mind will pester me about the things I am not doing. When I am doing the things I must do for living, my mind pesters me about ideas and creating.

Paradox. Synergy. When I make jewelry, I see paintings. When I make paintings I see jewelry.

Sometimes, the urges to make something is like a rising tide behind a sea wall. An invisible presence pushing and growing to achieve fruition. It is tangible and can be uncomfortable. During times like this, if I can't paint, I will write. If I can't write, I will draw inside my journal or sketch book. If I can't do any of that I will work with the tools of my creating. Brushes, colored pencils, tactile beads and silver wire all bring comfort. I will neaten their containers,rearrange their storage areas and listen to the whispers of promises of what they will become. The peace of knowing they are there, ready and waiting for the creating gives me peace.

Mayan Dreams

During the beginning of 2006, I made a journey to Guatemala. There I visited the Maya people in the mountains in the west, Lake Atitlan, and the ruins of the great city of Tikal in the northeast. Forever moved by the temples and the art of the Mayan people, I have a strong yearning to return. The scribes of the Maya people really resonate with me.

The Mayan scribes created pottery, standing sculptures, books full of illustrations and story and much more. Sculptors, painters, historians (they could be called a spin doctor today), astronomers, and record keepers, they lived within the city, received great educations but were often killed if the governing body they belonged to was overthrown. They were the keepers of knowledge and made art that endures and is beautiful today. Sadly, most of the written histories and myths were destroyed by invasive cultures. I crave to talk to them about their lives and beliefs especially their system of time keeping and calendar but I'll have to be a time traveler to do it. This trip still inspires me today.

A gift from a dream.

Where do we get our inspirations?

This one came one night during a dream. Struggling with subjects of a series for an upcoming show, I couldn't think of a direction I wanted to paint. Meditating about my desires for the series, I drifted off to sleep. That night, I dreamed of a huge red grizzly bear that gently whispered in my ear "Remember the Medicine Wheel." When I woke, I felt very inspired and used the medicine wheel as a basis for the series.

My painting is the result of listening to my inner bear (who is also in the painting). After the painting was done, I named it "Turns to the West". It is created with acrylics and stands 2' wide by 3' tall.

Only upon completion did I discover the bear would watch you no matter where you were in the room. After my show it journeyed with its new owner to Oregon, then while exploring art online, I ran into it again! The bear is in an on-line gallery originating from Canada. What an extraordinary red bear! It took up its own life after leaving my care.