No Time To Lose - A Book Review!

It's been a while since I've done a book review and in light of my exhibition of dharma-inspired artwork at the Oolong Tea House in Calgary this month I thought it would be suitable to review a bit of dharma* that has hugely influenced my life. 

My first forays into Buddhism began when I started seeing my psychologist. As someone involved in the Shambhala community she had a lovely balance of psychological expertise and common sense in Buddhist packaging. In many of our sessions she referred to Pema Chodron and told me that a lot of what I said and how I thought fit with her teachings. Eventually I caved and bought a Pema book: Start Where You Are. 

Reading Pema made me realise that I was a Buddhist, through and through. Her teaching style is clear and easily understood even without extensive knowledge of Buddhism. It really is common sense and she presents it in such an accessible way that I was soon hooked. 

I moved on to read The Places That Scare You and When Things Fall Apart and then I purchased this book:

I was fully prepared for more of the same, so imagine my surprise as I began reading and realised this book was not Pema's usual pithy instructions, but a commentary on a famous Buddhist text written in 700A.D.: The Way of the Bodhisattva. 

This was dharma - deep, profound teachings on Buddhism and how to be an effective, authentic, genuine human being. 

At the time I'd only been meditating for a few months. My grasp of Buddhism was weak although I was already aware of an unwavering enthusiasm I had for it. Here was a practice that asks us to work with our own minds, empowers us to be our own greatest teacher and teaches that the most difficult moments in our lives are the best for having a lasting transformative effect. 

But 'The Way of the Bodhisattva' is not exactly beginners Buddhism text. 

My first reading of it was a bit of a slog. I struggled through it but stoically stuck to it because at the time Pema's books were acting as a life-line. As long as I had a book of Pema's to read I felt like I could control my anxiety, keep an even keel and maintain a sense of sanity I desperately needed. 

Looking back I'm both proud of and amused by my efforts. I was seeking comfort in her writing and instead I was confronted with a scholarly text composed twelve centuries ago that asked me to do the work. 

This didn't phase me. In fact, as soon as I finished reading it I flipped back to the introduction and began again. I wanted to understand the words because I had found comfort in reading them - but not for the reasons I'd found comfort in reading Pema's other writing. 

There was something about how applicable The Way of the Bodhisattva was to my own life at that time, even though it was over a thousand years old and had been composed for a very different audience. I think this must have been my first glimpse of having an understanding of the four noble truths: 

Life is suffering. Suffering is due to attachment. Attachment can be over come. There is a path to do this. 

I began to see them beyond the simplistic Western view of 'Life's a Bitch' and understood that they were pointing at the fundamental ambiguity of being human: Life changes, inevitably, constantly, and this terrifies us. It has always terrified us. As human beings we really don't like the idea that we and everyone we know are impermanent so we scramble for something to hold onto in an attempt to feel better about the fact that we'll get sick, grow old and die. 

The Way of the Bodhisattva is teaching us how to live well by flipping our habitual patterns on their head. Rather than scrambling for ground, it's asking us to experiment with what might happen if we opened up to, accepted, and embraced this groundlessness. 

What would our lives be like if we didn't resist our experience? What would life be like if happiness was more than getting what we want and not getting what we don't want? What would life be like if we let go of an idea of how it 'should' be? 

I'm now reading No Time To Lose for the fourth time. It's been years since my third reading of it and my practice has deepened significantly since then. Now as I read it there is a familiarity with the language I lacked upon my first, second and even third reading. 

I've come to really value re-visiting teachings because with each new experience I have the way I work with my mind and the way I live in the world transforms, so each time I come back to dharma I've read or listened to before I get something different from it. I'm excited to see what I get out of this commentary now, after over a year of daily meditation, completing the first five levels of the Shambhala training and daily consumption of Buddhist talks and books. 

Even if you're not a Buddhist, this text in particular does hold some incredibly profound and pithy instructions. I recommend it very highly. Regardless of what your understanding of Buddhism is, it offers so much to make us see how every situation is workable and everything we experience has value. 

*Dharma is the word for the traditional Buddhist teachings/text. 

Re-reading Pema - a Book review

'Start Where You Are' was the first book I read by Pema Chodron. She is, by far, the most influential teacher in my life and I remember that reading this book was like having someone take all these jumbled ideas and thoughts and contemplations in my head and putting them down on paper. 

Recently I've found myself re-reading a lot of the Buddhist books I own as I've found a deepening of my understanding means I'm getting whole new levels of insight. 

To pick this book up again was amazing because in some ways I felt like I'd not actually read it before, like so many of the words hadn't really sunk in on that first reading five years ago. I know a lot of it probably has to do with my understanding of Buddhism. Whilst Pema writes in an accessible way, regardless of whether you practice Buddhism or not, she does use many Buddhist words and phrases in her work - which don't really make sense without reading or studying classic Dharma texts. 

But there was something else about re-reading it that made me feel like I'd simply not had an appreciation before. It was almost like the first reading was giving me a glimpse of the possibilities and on the second reading I could look back and go "Yes! Yes! Yes! All those things!" 

It's the difference between liking an idea and grasping is intellectually to actually just knowing and experiencing something first hand. 

I love all of Pema's writings and teachings but this book will hold a fond place in my heart simply for being the first. It was the first time someone who wasn't obligated to do so said, "You're fine just the way you are." 

It's powerful and very transformative to be told that right now, right here, no matter what is going on, you have everything you need to be a happy, fulfilled human being - because the very nature of your experience is the stuff of waking up and being open to life. 

Unfixated mind

“You’re going to have to hang out in unfixated mind,” Pema said.

At the time I was shaking with nerves and while I listened to her message I didn’t quite hear it. I was too amped up, too flooded with adrenalin. 

When the recording of the weekend retreat arrived I immediately sought out my question and her answer. I listened to it, wrote it down, and began to listen to the entire talk from the beginning. But things didn’t start to shift until I listened to Elizabeth’s talk – the talk I’d skipped because I was talking to Darcy. 

The talk I probably wouldn’t have appreciated anyway. The talk that shifted my perspective and made me realise how my scramble for an ‘answer’ or ‘reason’ caused me far more pain than it was worth. 

Accepting there doesn’t have to be a reason… life gives us experiences and experiences are the very thing we have to work with – that was what Pema meant by unfixated mind. 

So I went there. I sat in meditation and practiced dropping the story line. 

“How could she lie to me...”

Let it go. 

“But it hurts...”

Let it go. 

“She did this thing...”

Let it go. 

And with every letting go I got closer to my experience, closer to the rawness of the emotion. I felt anxiety, not as a storyline, but as a sensation. It’s tightness in the heart, fluttering in the base of the throat, fizzing in the stomach. 

I felt sadness: A dull kind of ache behind the eyes, heaviness in the heart, a sleepiness of limbs and shakiness of the whole body. Tender, raw, but also somehow gentle. 

I felt grief. Mourning is a wailing sensation in the lungs, the skin aching to be touched, the eyes aching for another’s to look into, hands aching to touch – palms seeking out a surface where there is nothing to hold anymore. 

I felt them and embraced them. I felt them and realised they would not break me. They could not break me. They were a part of me – part of my experience. But not mine because they are human experiences. They are not unique but universal and what binds sentient beings to one another. They are the source of compassion. 

And suddenly I realised that ‘doing’ was unnecessary. In fact it’s ‘doing’ which causes the most hurt. Because ‘doing’ involves a sort of resistance to experience, like something shouldn’t be happening the way it is and must be controlled so it will be different. 

Watching 24 Hours in A&E – a mother sits next to her four year old boy. His femur is broken and he’s in incredible pain. She strokes his head, holds his hand, tells him she loves him and he’s a brave boy. 

To the camera, in the interview, she says she felt helpless. She couldn’t do anything. She couldn’t help. 

But she was helping, immensely. She was present for him. She was showing him love, kindness, care. She was giving him touch and reassurance in the face of great pain. 

She was there. 

But we get it wrong. We think we have to ‘fix’ it. We think we have failed because we can’t perform miracles to prevent illness, injury or death. 

We do not realise that just being there – holding someone, listening to them, letting them cry or giving them space to vent, even being on the other end of a telephone – is enough. 

Heartbreak hurts the way it does not because of the betrayal or the grievances, the stories we tell about how they wronged us. Heartbreak hurts because someone who we wanted to be there for us isn’t there anymore. 

And it will hurt. 

This is one of the most painful conditions of the human experience. It’s this suffering we have because of impermanence. Suffering because we wish things weren’t impermanent. It’s a bit like being upset about gravity. 

All things are impermanent. Our state of mind is the only thing we have control over and the only way we can work with this natural part of being human – of being a living, breathing, mortal creature. 

It is not a source of further suffering to accept the impermanent nature of existence. When we accept and relax into something we stop struggling. We open up to the experiences we have. We open up and feel the suffering but know that it too is impermanent. 

It is not a punishment. It is not retribution. It is not the muddled mis-understood sort of ‘karma’ that’s about punishment or reward. 

It’s accepting that life is not black and white but multi-hued and chaotic. The nature of the universe by its very birth is chaos. And suffering will not cease when we accept this but we will take it less personally. We will see that viewing suffering as ‘mine’ and about ‘me’ isolates us. It restricts our experience by creating a focus on a single aspect. It’s like looking up at the sky through a straw and seeing only a tiny circle. 

But when we can move from ‘my’ suffering to ‘there is suffering’ or ‘we all suffer’ we stop looking at our pain as something special. Instead we see it as a fact of life, just as joy is a fact of life. Just as any emotion is a fact of life. 

And we can be happy just to be alive. Think about the absolute miracle of the existence of life. That this molten rock could cool and  change and become a source of sustenance. That causes and conditions could come together so perfectly that you and all other living creatures and plants could come into being. 

We can be happy to be able to have an experience at all. Take joy in watching a sunset or the way the moon looks through the phases or the seemingly magical qualities of animals we share the planet with or the fact that all things are made up of the same stuff as stars. 

Because the alternative is death and whilst energy cannot be created nor destroyed, we cannot know if consciousness survives after we are gone. Never mind about an after-life or reincarnation. What we can know is that right now, right here, this is the life we have. This is where we are. And we can choose to be present for it or we can choose to resist experience or have expectations about how things should or shouldn’t be. 

I have known many people who are open to life in this way, just as I’ve met people who have expectations about almost everything. They expect a certain job or a certain sort of behaviour from those around them. They expect the weather to turn out a certain way or a holiday to go exactly as planned. They expect so much from everything and everyone that they spend their lives angry, frustrated or disappointed. 

Hell is not some place to be found in the afterlife. Hell is something we create for ourselves by holding onto so many expectations so tightly. None of us are without the experience of Hell because we have all generated an idea of what should or shouldn’t be. 

Sometimes we are good at letting things go or being present. Sometimes we don’t have the propensity to be bothered by something that seems to really bother someone else. But that doesn’t mean we are unflappable or holding onto an idea with our fixed mind somewhere else in our life. 

I know what the Hell of expectation feels like and I have incredible compassion for others because I know how hard it is to let go of expectations. I also know how hard it is to even see how we create these Hells for ourselves. 

Being open to life can come easily when things are going well and fitting into our expectations. When we get the job we wanted or the person we like likes us back we can convince ourselves that we are incredibly open and embracing of life. 

But genuine openness and genuine happiness comes from ‘walking the walk’. It’s not enough to sit in meditation regularly but then not apply what we learn to life away from the cushion. It’s not enough to share that meme with wise words but then not live by or embrace what they mean. 

Genuine openness is being present for the sunset even when our heart is breaking. Being in awe of the brightness of the full moon even when our body is in pain. Being amazed at the age of a tree even when we are flooded with anger. 

To live well and embrace life is to accept all of life. To accept the pain and the joy. To not cling to either. To not be the martyr nor the saint. 

To live well is to ‘be’. 

And when you think you’ve ‘figured it out’ let go of that too. 

Words of Wisdom

When I began writing what would eventually become Wise at any Age I had no idea what would become of the words I was putting down. At the time it was more about recording my experience, the things I'd learned and where I could see I still had so far to go.

As it began to take shape I realised that what I wanted to write wasn't the specifics of the experience I'd had nor the catalyst that set me in the particular direction my life was going at the time - it was about the value I'd discovered in embracing the experiences we have and learning from them, rather than labelling them 'good' or 'bad' and clinging to the one whilst thrusting away or trying to avoid the other.

In the 'Thank You' bit of the book I acknowledge quite a few people by name but also mention the various other teachers of my life - the troublemakers and those I've never met but who's words of wisdom have spoken to me significantly and helped me or made me think and ask more questions. Pema Chodron continues to be one of the most significantly influential people in my life and now, after travelling to the Omega Centre in Rhinebeck, NY, she is someone I have not only met but been able to ask a direct question.

The experience, though shared with several hundred people in the room and tuned in via an Interweb link, was extremely intimate and not one I will be writing about here. But the catalyst of that seems to have provided me with yet another new and interesting direction.

One of the biggest things that has come from the experience is a renewed sense of creativity. I've been keeping busy with freelance projects - all things I enjoy immensely - as well as my new position as a Brand Development Manager, which leaves me financial secure and able to focus on more than just ensuring I have enough income to make ends meet.

I'm not entirely clear on the shape this creative flow will take but I'm going to review my big old binder of Everything I Ever Want to Accomplish in my Life and focus on the many ideas and notes I've jotted down for art projects. It has been a very long time since I've done a personal project just for the sake of it. Writing, illustrating and laying out Wise at any Age was the last and since its publication in the summer I've had to focus exclusively on getting my new career as designer to a place where it could support me financially.

This task now done and with the end of the year fast approaching I'm definitely in a place of embracing the general groundlessness of life and open to what I will work on next. I feel a renewed sense of interest in studying Buddhism, much as I felt when I first discovered that I was inherently Buddhist. All of this combined is filling my head with ideas for sculpture, painting, animation and writing.

Time to start taking notes.... or maybe it's just time to open up my art drawer and muck about, letting the results unfold as they may. 

Out breath

There is a meditation practice known as Tonglen. The idea behind it is a bit difficult to explain because so much has become lost in translation, but the principle is that doing Tonglen allows us to embrace our shared humanity and awaken our natural compassion. 

As human beings we don't really like feeling uncomfortable or distressed. Emotions such as anger, fear or sadness get labeled as 'bad' and emotions like joy, happiness and excitement get labeled as 'good'. 'Bad' emotions are considered unpleasant and unwelcome so the natural thing to do is reject them. We do any number of things to not feel bad. We buy stuff, we smoke stuff, we drink stuff. All of this might make the bad feeling go away for a bit, but ultimately it doesn't eliminate it. It just sort of masks it for a little while and we get a temporary 'good' feeling. 

When we feel good about something we hold onto it really, really tightly. And generally this makes it last half as long as it could. We get convinced that something was perfect so we try to recreate it so we can experience that joy again. We can become formulaic as we seek what makes us happy. And we can get quite greedy about it. When we find something that makes us feel good we can cling to it selfishly, as though sharing it might mean there is less for us. 

But happiness is unlimited, as are joy and excitement, glee and amazement, contentment and passion. There is more than enough to go around because it is limitless. But it doesn't last forever. And neither do anger, rage, fear, sadness, or grief. They are like passing clouds and every emotion is an opportunity for us to become more aware. 

The practice of Tonglen is about flipping our clinging and pushing tendencies around. Instead of doing whatever you can to get rid of an unpleasant feeling, Tonglen asks you to breathe it in. To sit with it, experience it and know it. It asks you to embrace it for the sake of every other being on the planet who has or does feel the same way. 

 But this blog entry is about the out breath. Because the out breath is when we breath out the pleasant feelings we would normally cling to. The idea is to share that feeling with the world in the hope that it benefits others. Often this out breath is accompanied with classic lovingkindess phrases such as 'May all beings feel this joy' or 'May all beings feel this contentment'.

And it can be from anything - the pleasant feeling that may arise when you have a perfect cup of tea or the absolute thrill you get from receiving tickets to see your favourite artist perform as a gift. The idea is that the experiences which give us pleasant feelings can vary but the emotions themselves are universally understood. What makes me happy might not necessarily make you happy but the feeling of being happy is the same. 

This is my Out Breath post. 

 A fog so thick I couldn't see the Thames. It filled me with a calm sort of awe at how absolutely beautiful the world is. The thick, white blanket of fog transformed a familiar view into a thing of mysterious beauty.

 May all beings everywhere feel this sense of wonder. 

 A patch of bright daffodils on the edge of Hyde park. They were grown in a square, their lovely yellow faces turned towards the spring sunshine. It made me want to skip like when I was a kid, giving me a sense of freedom and delight.

 May all beings everywhere find joy in small things.

The bare twisted branches of the trees spiralled up into the perfect, clear blue sky. The sun was warm on my skin. The music on my iPod was a perfect soundtrack. The breeze was a perfect accompaniment to the sun.

May all beings everywhere find contentment. 

The idea I like best about this out breath is that you can give these feelings as you would give a gift. This was my day and I offer it to each and every one of you.

www.CreativeLifeCoachLondon.com

Bodhisattva

I talk about Pema Chodron quite a lot on this blog. It was my psychologist who introduced me to her writing by recommending Start Where You Are. Since that first introduction I fell in love with her way of writing and sharing her thoughts with the world. Though we have never met I admire her spirit and the energy she shares through her interpretation of Buddhist teachings.

Another strong, inspiring woman my psychologist encouraged me to look up was Hazel Dooney. An Australian artist, Dooney is proof of what dedication to ones craft can result in. She accepts that she cannot help but be an artist and in doing so she accepts that it is her responsibility to make her life happen. She keeps a blog of her experience as a self made, self marketing creative. One of the reoccurring themes in her blog is her general distaste for art competitions.

Today my love for Pema Chodron's teaching and my respect for Hazel Dooney's convictions came together in what could have been a moment of utter frustration, the story of which started last year at about this time.

When I first arrived in London I was overcome with the abundance of opportunity. I had lived most of my life in a city who's population had only just reached one million. It has one museum, a small theatre block, a newly opened art space and a handful of art supply stores. Compared to London, home of the greatest theatre district in the world, over two hundred museums, countless galleries and dozens of art supply stores, Calgary is a wasteland. Don't get me wrong, I adore Calgary and it will always be my home, but London just has so much more! A trip on the Underground is a parade past posters, billboards, signs and video advertisements for music, film, theatre and art. I immediately began scanning and filing away the advertisements I was seeing, and thus I noticed the BP Portrait Awards. I looked it up and discovered a competition open to any artist over eighteen to submit a portrait which could be selected and displayed in

the National Portrait Gallery just off of Trafalgar Square. The deadline for entries was only a month off, however, and I knew rushing something just for the sake of submission wouldn't be a wise choice. Besides, it was a yearly competition so I could just wait until 2011.

Flash forward several months to the summer. My partner forwarded me an email regarding an opportunity to attend a portraiture painting class at the National Portrait Gallery. Hosted by Sadie Lee, it seemed like a wonderful way to spend a Saturday and without hesitation I paid the fee and signed up. I quickly discovered that Sadie was a past winner of the BP Portrait Award and that her painting had not only been selected for the NPG showing, but was used to advertise the event. She described the odd sense of uncomfortable pride experienced at seeing her portrait displayed on the back of double-decker buses and along the platforms of the Underground.

Her story renewed my desire to create a painting which could be submitted to the competition but I was still struggling with who I could paint. Inspired by Sadie's passion for female artists I focused my mind on creating sketches of inspiring women, putting any thoughts of portrait painting to one side. I figured it would come to me when it came to me and I'm a strong believer in not forcing creativity. As it happened, the decision of who to paint came only a few weeks later. I was sat out in the garden, enjoying the shelter of the pergola on an extremely glorious summer day. I'd been working on a few sketches at once, one being Pema Chodron. I finished the shading and pulled my camera out to take a shot for my blog. The more I looked at what I'd drawn the more pleased I was. Sometimes I create something so incredibly good I'm

stunned that it's actually my own work. I was feeling this and thinking this when it occurred to me that the ease I felt when drawing Pema came from the admiration I feel for her.

I knew that hers was a portrait I would love to paint.

I began my initial sketches in the autumn and have been working on the portrait ever since. I referenced several different photos of her to create my own image. I also explored several different techniques using both acrylic and oil to create an effect which focuses on her robes being the punctum of the portrait. The flatness and smooth sheen of the acrylic on her robes and in the background contrasts wonderfully against the texture of the oils I used for her face. The text fits with the theme I've chosen for my Buddhist paintings, where I choose a Buddhist quote and write my own re-iteration of it. In this case I have explored my feelings on the student/teacher relationships in life based on the quote:

"Believe nothing, no matter where you read it, or who said it, no matter if I have said it, unless it agrees with your own reason and your own common sense. "

- Buddha

The greatest teachers in my life have all taught me that I know the answers to all my own questions and that none of those answers are ever written in stone. Which brings me to today.

This morning I arose early, prepared my oils and brushes and set to work. I knew today was the day this painting would be complete. I always know because I get this feeling of contentment when I feel at ease with the canvas. There was very little left to do so I took my time, enjoying the earl morning quiet as I applied brush to canvas. When her face was done I set my brush to one side and pulled out my journal, which had notes I'd taken for the text. I began sketching the text out on a pad of paper, getting a feel for how the words would look.

Wanting to savour the moment I decided to go to the BP Awards page and look up all the submission details so I knew I'd have everything ready for the 2011 submission, the submission I'd been preparing myself for since this time last year. I read through the rules, satisfied myself that my painting was perfectly suitable, and clicked the online submission link. Halfway through the form I came across a tick box with a red asterisk indicating it as a required field. The text next to it read "I confirm that I have met the sitter".

I can't say that my heart sank, exactly. It was more a feeling of bemusement and mild frustration which took over. The rules had stated the portrait needed to be done from a sitting or study from life. I figured photographs counted as a study from life and I'd been covered. I didn't realise that the study from life only counted if the photograph had been taken with my own point-and-shoot.

The painting I'd been working on for months to submit to this contest could not be submitted to this contest. I wasn't quite sure how I felt and so I cried a bit, ranted a little, but ultimately I wasn't terribly upset. All my reactions felt more like what I thought I should be doing, when really I was quite calm about the whole thing. I wasn't even particularly frustrated with myself for getting it wrong. And that was when I understood Hazel's comments on competitions and galleries. When I truly appreciated what she meant when she said a competition takes away from the abilities of the artist.

It is inarguable that art is in the eye of the beholder. If art can only be defined by the artist or the person who appreciates the piece, how can we possibly judge one piece of art against another unless they are identical studies? I didn't want to start over with another portrait just for the sake of having a portrait to submit. I hadn't painted this portrait for the sake of having a portrait to submit to a contest. I'd painted the portrait because I wanted to. I knew upon starting it that I wanted to give the portrait to Pema. I painted it to strengthen my skills. I painted it to show my respect. I painted it to put my feelings down on canvas and offer them to the world to admire or hate or feel indifferent towards. I painted it because I'm an artist, and that's what I do.

I'm awarding myself the 'Portrait in oil and acrylic' award for this piece which I've titled 'Bodhisattva'. The award for having completed the painting is the opportunity to finally meet Pema Chodron as I intend to deliver it to her by hand.

Sneak peek at Pema

Her eyes aren't quite right. This has been the thing I've struggled with since I began sketching her out weeks ago. First they were too big. I adjusted this and on the weekend I thought I'd paint them in properly. Now her irises are different sizes. I still like the piece but it is frustrating me. What's frustrating me most is that I don't feel like I have enough time to work on it. I like painting in the cool light of day and by the time I get home the sun has set and the yellow light of my room is all I have to work with.

My intention with this piece? Well, besides doing it out of pure enjoyment as a tribute to a woman for whom I have great admiration, I plan to submit it to the BP Portrait Awards. When I arrived here in January they were accepting submissions for the 2010 awards. It was this competition that Sadie Lee was entered into so many years ago, which is how she has come to be an artist for hire through the National Portrait Gallery.

I don't know that the painting will get anywhere with this particular competition, but I figure it never hurts to have something to work towards. Either way it's challenging me to do a proper portrait and because of my respect and love for Pema Chodron I want to accurately capture her spirit with this work.

I long for a whole day of painting. A day when I know everyone else will be in their offices and my office can be wherever my easel is set up. I long for days where I can set up my paints, brushes and pallet and spend hours without a break, just creating.

Mighty Women - Pema Chodron

So I set out to write a blog entry about Pema Chodron when the 'E' key on my laptop (Which has been a persistent problem as of late) got stuck for the umpteenth time. In a fit of frustration I shut the whole thing down and proceeded to remove a small cat's worth of hair from the keys, pulling the 'E' from it's home entirely to see if this would help. I vacuumed the whole lot and even gave the screen a good washing.

I started the whole thing up again and ran a 'tweet test' for the 'E'. At first it seemed to be just as hopeless as before and my first thought was, "My computer is going to be the bane of my writing from now until some unforeseeable point in the future when I can finally buy the shiny, lovely Mac of my dreams."

Then I thought, "I should go to bed."

Then I thought, "I'll feel guilty if I don't write this blog entry."

Then I remembered Pema and I thought, "You're thinking too much."

I pretty much always have one of her books on my person. I read and re-read her with great satisfaction. She has an incredible wisdom about her and reading her writing is much like listening to her speak. This is a quality I admire in an author and one I hope to emulate in my own writing.

It also helps me to remember to be mindful. When I can hear someones voice applied to the words they've written it tends to stick in my head. Her writing sticks. She is full of compassion and has the same humble air about her as the Dalai Lama.

She is my unofficial Buddhist teacher and I am eternally grateful to my psychologist for suggesting I read anything she'd written.

She is also my next 'Mighty Woman' in the exploratory project I'm doing to capture and record those incredible female influences now and throughout history.

Fear

"Fear is a natural reaction to moving closer to the truth"

- Pema Chodron


My art supplies are not available to me right now and seeing as this is a year of great change and exploration, I've decided to try my hand at oil paints...finally. I went to Fielder's and picked out three tubes of paint, a few brushes and some cleaner/thinner. I felt completely out of my element, not knowing the first thing about painting with oils. I just knew that you need to be more aware of the materials required and that I'm often told, "Once you use oil, you will never go back."



There is something to be said for taking the plunge. I've got these tubes and I love all the potential held in a shiny, new paintbrush, but I'm still hesitant. I'm going to dabble, initially. I'll start on a small canvas, get a feel for it and see what the result is.


And yeah, I'm a little afraid. Which is awesome.


"When we are shaky, we are on the verge of something."

- Pema Chodron


It's amazing how we will let fear limit us. It's not about doing something stupid ie. Fear of getting eaten by a tiger is a good reason not to climb into a cage with one. But fear of facing something about ourselves, our inability to perform a task or take on a new adventure, that is where we can find so much chance for growth and change.

Using oil paints might seem insignificant to most. It's just paint...but it's paint with an entirely different set of rules to acrylic and water based paint. I've not used oils for the same reason I don't like drawing in pen. I can ink in over something I've drawn, once I'm certain the pencil lines are exactly as I want them, but just taking the plunge with pen to paper scares the crap out of me.


So I do it. I do it over and over until I face that fear of messing up, of doing something 'The wrong way' or risking that something might looking stupid and not like what I imagined. It's facing the fear of discouragement and it's about knowing that only through failure and through the lessons it gives us, can we grow.