Artistic Success and the Weather

Today's blog post originally appeared in April as a guest post at Betsy Lewis's blog. What constitutes success? It's a subject I contemplate often these days-- my definitions of it have changed over time. Here's what I wrote:


Earlier in my life my definition of artistic success was becoming a famous writer. I wanted that big outer validation and thought that being famous and successful would make me happy. When I was in my 20s, 30s and 40s my artistic successes took place in a climate of striving and struggle. The weather was often overcast, stormy or tumultuous. These days I agree with whomever it was that said, “Success does not bring happiness, happiness brings success.”

Over the years, I certainly have had artistic successes. I published a best-selling book on herbs (Gaea Weiss, Growing and Using the Healing Herbs), and many articles and poems in national and regional magazines, wrote and performed two-one woman shows and created several shows of voice and personal stories with other artists. I channeled my artistic impulses into environmental activism and supported some very worthy causes. I became a healer and with the help of others, healed some of my old wounds. I became a Buddhist and learned about stillness, openness and compassion. None of which made me famous. (Such a blessing—I was allowed to grow and flower without much fanfare).

For years I have explored the links between creativity and happiness. Creative expression makes me happy. I love creating a well-written poem or essay, a beautifully sung song, an inspiring or provocative story, a beautiful drawing. When something really works, I disappear as the expression utters or creates itself through me. These are moments of joy. Who is creating here?
We live in a universe filled with countless billions of beings, so it’s natural to share artistic expressions with others. But does artistic success depend upon being recognized or considered notable by others? Not really, though I find it delightful to connect and communicate art with others.
“I don't know the key to success, but the key to failure is trying to please everybody,” says comedian Bill Cosby. I have to agree. It can take a long time to find one’s voice and gifts, letting go of the need to please others. I took me quite a while. I finally know myself and am comfortable with myself. That allows me to be much more free to enjoy and share artistically. My artistic medium these days is the experience of aging.
It usually takes years of practice to become skilled in an artistic form, though some fortunate folks seem to have done their prep work in a mystery dimension. They arrive with their art fully formed. For most of us though it takes willingness to fail over and over and not lose heart but rather learn from each experience.

These days, after decades of struggle and striving over artistic expression and success, I find I’ve entered another territory. I love setting wildly improbable goals. I think what the heck, we create everything from nothing, so why not this? I enjoy the experience of creativity and sharing my art more than I ever have. And yes, the weather is always marvelous. Sometimes it’s chaotic and turbulent and sometimes gorgeous as a bright day on the beach. There are brisk days when the wind clears things away, making room for something new and days when I feel as if I’m walking through a meadow filled with flowers.
Artistic success-- like the weather-- is pervasive, fascinating and changeful. Like breathing it is completely natural and of the essence. When we relax into the experience of wholeness and rest in stillness — then whatever pours out as artistic expression is a gift and an offering to oneself and others.

For a Limited Time Only

"Come on sweetheart
let's adore one another
before there is no more
of you and me."

Mevlana Rumi

When Melanie gave me the photograph of this ancestral oak tree in North Carolina, she wrote a note that said the tree was between 500-1500 years old. That's old.

Old. A worthy state of being. Not only for trees, but for humans. "What's old sustains the heart somehow," as I wrote in one of the songs in my play A New Wrinkle. In his wonderful book The Force of Character and the Lasting Life, James Hillman notes that what's ancient or old evokes deathlessness. Ancient cities, old trees, ancient forests, old gardens, old statues. The depth of the mysteries of antiquity and oldness. I wrote about the value of reclaiming old in one of the first posts of this blog, and it's a subject I contemplate often.

I contemplate impermanence often, too. A natural subject for a Buddhist. And for an older human. I will not last as long as that beautiful oak tree has lasted. Like George Bernard Shaw, "I want to be thoroughly used up when I die."

I'm preparing for a house concert that's a week away at Melanie's place. Its title is The Wisdom of Lived Experience. I'm going to be offering spontaneous wordless singing that I call Ancient Voice because it puts me and the listeners into a more spacious, timeless experience. Is it because of the long breathlines, the absence of language or the qualities of the voice itself? I cannot really say. Others have to reflect back to me their experience for me to get a look at it even after more than 30 years. But I do know how rich, nourishing and powerful it is for me to give voice in that way.

I'm going to sing one of the potent songs of the Tibetan yogi Milarepa, too. And I will share a beautiful poem from the Gnostic gospels and two real life stories about synchronicity and the experience of divine presence that blessedly visits us humans at times.

Last night, I had a healing session with Valerie and Edeltraud. I have experienced the work of many healers over the years. To me their work is right up their at the top of my list. I wondered at the end of my session with them what it would be like for them to work with/on me just before and at the beginning of a performance gathering. What would the voice be like? What would emerge? I believe we are going to set the stage for this to happen. I'm sure it will be a very interesting experience for everyone involved. Healing and creative expression are very linked in my heart/mind.

Yesterday, I went to the open house of Kagyu Sukha Choling, a beautiful new Buddhist center in Ashland, guided by two American women who are lamas or teachers. When I arrived in Ashland over 30 years ago, I was the only Buddhist, period. I feel moved and very fortunate to have lived long enough to see such a flowering of Buddhism here.

Of course, too much happened outwardly and inwardly even in the past two days to write about it. I saw The City of Your Final Destination--wonderful. Talked with many friends, applied for consideration for an Oregon Literary Fellowship, mapped out the next steps toward producing my play. I sat with a friend who had a stroke a week ago. I read a book about the development of the English language. I put a prayer up on the fence near the garden of potted flowers and herbs. It says:

Friend,
May you be blessed.
May you be happy.
May you protect
and care for
all that lives and grows
in the garden of your heart.

What about When Life Serves up a Sandwich of Sprezzatura, Playing it Safe and Falling into Grace?

"A child loves his play, not because it's easy but because it's hard."--pediatrician Benjamin Spock

"Man is most nearly himself when he achieves the seriousness of a child at play."--Greek philosopher Heraclitus

Okay, so just let's imagine a sandwich made of sprezzatura, playing it safe, and falling into grace. And you may wonder about those ingredients, so I will tell you about them.

Sprezzatura (what a marvelous word!) is a certain nonchalance and ease in artistic performance, something that looks effortless but is the result of practice. Artistic performance in this case means not only singing or painting or dancing, but life itself. By the time a person reaches 60 and better, sprezzatura is certainly blooming. Could be it's related to the force of character, developed over decades, or you might think of it as the accumulated wisdom of lived experience. But if sprezzatura is still in the wings, it is probably because of playing it safe, which is hiding right in the middle of the sandwich.

As life coach and author Barbara Sher notes “When you play it too safe, you're taking the biggest risk of your life. Time is the only wealth we're given.” But tell that to the lizard brain when it is freaking out about new challenges, or fearfully reacting to your commitment to go deeper into profound, mythic layers of yourself and your gifts. No, no, no! the lizard brain is screaming. Don't! It's dangerous! Awfully, terribly dangerous. You will be ignored, ridiculed, upbraided, criticized and ground into the very dust if you go there! Play it safe, please!

What about if you manage to emerge to the other side of the sandwich and fall into a state of grace? It can happen. It does happen. In the state of grace, we feel renewed, sanctified, consecrated, embraced and supported by divine influence.

Now you may think this is a weird sandwich, one that will never make it to Luigi's Bistro. But it happens to be a sandwich I have been engaged in learning from. In the process, I have been contemplating what it is that brings me to those moments when I fall into a state of grace. Here's what I have discovered so far. Some things are reliable such as meditating, praying, stillness, singing, poetry and sex. Then there are the fugitive and surprising ways I find myself falling into grace hearing the wind harp, dancing, experiencing a certain architecture or music, a face.

I'm preparing to do a solo performance (sprezzatura!) at the end of June, and this sandwich is part of my rehearsal. Just saying. Grin.

And here we are, June 11th, and still not a day warm enough to go swimming at the hot springs! Ah...what kind of sandwiches are you concocting these days?

Jumping for Joy: Child's Play and Exuberant Aging

Today is International Childrens' Day. Where is this celebrated? I never have heard of it. But children are so worthy of celebration and care, every single day. Every one of us was a child once. What do you recall about your childhood? The things I remember with the most joy are picking blackberries with my mother and brother out in the country, lying on the beach in the sand and playing in the ocean, and walking in the fields near my aunt and uncle's dairy farm.

In ordinary life, it seemed to me that adults often paid very little attention, being weighed down by their various concerns and responsibilities. There was one adult who was different. We kids called her The Beauty Lady. When she walked down the street, she always seemed so happy. As she passed us in our play, she paid attention to each of us. None of us was accustomed to getting that level of attention often. She made us feel as if we were special, as if our world was thoroughly engaging.

Yesterday I was out in our small yard potting some flowering plants and heard two children on the other side of the fence. I'm sure they were looking at me through the fence slats. Then there came a friendly "Hello, we see you." "Yes," I responded, "that's because I'm here." "We found some pretty things on the ground," said a little boy's voice. We want to give them to you."

"Well that's nice of you," said I. And then I saw the fellow's hand and arm coming through a hole in the bottom of the fence. "Look, here they are. Aren't they pretty?" They were lovely-- small smooth ovals of glass, some clear white and others pale blue. "They are very pretty and I will put them in among my flowers," I said to the young chap.

"Look, here I am," he said as his head and shoulders appeared at the top of the fence. "Oh, look at you. You climbed up." He was totally dear. I never got to see his much quieter sister. And soon some other adult was shooing them away. "Get back where you belong," she said, constraining their enjoyment in a way that I remember well from my own childhood.

Children deserve celebration, love, and a world that supports the emergence of their unique gifts. They deserve a world that recognizes and appreciates their beauty and allows them to bloom and ripen fully. A Russian girl is jumping for joy in the photo that ornaments this post. May children jump for joy, and in their jumping bring joy to others.

I am still hobbling along mending my fractured foot bones. Even though I am not jumping for joy physically, I feel exuberant. Exuberant, a word whose roots mean abundant, fruitful, unrestrained. I am invisibly jumping for joy. Why? First, being alive. Then the blessing of passionate creative engagement. Piercing beauty everywhere. The transitory, finite nature of everything. And all this gives me a rather no holds barred style these days.

The other evening, I performed characters, songs and scenes from my musical play A New Wrinkle for a packed room. My collaborator composer Laura Rich presented with me. She sang Sex after 60 and Why My Grandma Belongs in the Elder Hall of Fame. I sang Hip Hop Elder's Rant and Baba Yaga's Raga and shared the lyrics to Are You Gonna Take it with You to the Grave? It was invigorating. I am looking forward to doing more performance events. So far, I have three scheduled, all in Ashland.

Performing is something I really love. I also love writing very much, but it is so solitary. Singing, chanting and storytelling is so different. Performance engages something very different in me. There is a wonderful energetic exchange that happens with the audience, too. I learn a lot from that. I know that performing is something I am meant to do at this time in my life and I'll write more about it as my performance schedule develops.

I feel fortunate to have the opportunity to do what I love. What makes you exuberant? What makes you jump for joy?

Portrait of the Artist at 69: The Happy Hobbler's Story

Yes, I am now hobbling without a wheelchair or walker. This is the 8th day. Someday I will be able to take a real walk or even a hike egads, but for now the marvel of being able to carry a cup of coffee upstairs or to carry a bag of groceries to the car is my celebration.

I had an appointment with Gary Einhorn, my business consultant at the Small Business Development Center yesterday. I've been acquainted with Gary for over 20 years. I started consulting with him in January when I realized I needed more support and business expertise in order to womanifest my dreams. Our 1-hour appointments are great fun. He reads the minutes from our last meeting and then I recite the litany of my current efforts, usually with many addendums and diversions. We have spirited conversations about art, people and growing a business venture.

I report that I'm getting ready to do an evening of characters, songs and scenes from my musical play on aging A New Wrinkle at Peggy Rubin's. (That's tonight!) My collaborator Laura Rich will present with me. She's bringing a drum and a guitar. We've never performed or presented material from the play together before.

Do I know who is coming? Well, the attendees from the
Center for Sacred Theatre workshop will be there for sure, and I hope playwright Dori Appel comes, and poet Robert McDowell, and dancer Robin Bryant who is supposed to be arriving with Julie McDiarmid, board president of the Arts Council of Southern Oregon. Angie Thusias, my old friend who invented Kentro Body Balance, has said she's coming. Otherwise, I have no clue. Gary says he thinks he will attend. That will be wonderful, I tell him.

No, I'm not nervous. It will be great.

Aside from that venture of this evening, there's the two choral pieces from the play. I want to get one of the local choir directors interested in supporting the rehearsal, recording and performance of those two gorgeous choral pieces.

Also, I am inventing fliers for 3 more performance gatherings I've scheduled so far in June and July. One will be at Melanie's at the end of June. It will include Ancient Voice, a form of wordless improvisational singing and sung poetry, transformational real-life stories, and a couple of songs or excerpts from my play. The other two events, in July, will be like the one I am doing with Laura tonight at Peggy's --They will focus on A New Wrinkle--one evening at Tangren's, the other Rob and Rochelle's. There's work to do to prepare guest lists for each of them.

No, I haven't heard from theater producer Peter A. yet with his feedback on the script. No I haven't heard back from Jim G. or Tammy M. yet. Gary tells me I need to find people to intercede and act as a bridge at times. He relates how he did that in his own natural foods business when people did not return his calls. Someone told me I had a hard sell/soft sell approach, he says. Just keep at it, he urges me.

There's a lot more to keep at. Raising $5,000-$8,000 to produce the play for instance. Finding other venues for performance gatherings in other cities. Doing a virgin voyage of a new workshop on creative aging. Checking out how to connect with Kickstarter.com and Fracturedatlas.com regarding raising money and finding a nonprofit status specially devoted to supporting artists.

The list-- like the beat-- goes on. Gary as usual looks at me with a smile and tells me "Well there is a lot going on!" He summarizes from his perspective the high points and main characters and sets out some action items he suggests I follow up on.
I'm glad to have this relationship as a support as I develop my work.

Metamorphosis. The progression from one stage or form into another. Change. Growth. Transformation. Emerging. Flying. Communicating. Sharing.

I'm looking at my little vision book, which is not yet half-filled. It contains images and words that encourage me. I've turned to the page where dear Carolyn Myers has written on a birthday card from 2009:

"Ride high! Write on! May all your pigs fly! May the ageist populace flee or convert!" On the opposite page is a rubbing of a hag who could be Baba Yaga riding a wolf.

Another person, Jane from my Artist Conference Network group has written:

"Gusto, humor. Sink your teeth into this potent, unarticulated subject and make us look."

These love notes inspire my momentum, especially when I feel a bit weary. This morning, I am not weary. I am quite happy, even though hobbling. I am looking forward to this evening.

The Sea of Life

It's impossible to go through a day without returning several times to thoughts of the oil spill in the Gulf of Mexico. Whenever I think of it, I return to my childish superheroine fantasies.

Because everything that happens is part of us. The devastating earthquakes in Haiti and Tibet, the suicide bombers, the child brides. What news. I am sure it was no better in the past, but people did not know as much as we do today. We are given so much news of the suffering of the world. Even if we have anesthetized ourselves, we each carry a bundle of grief over the condition of the earth and of humanity. What to do with that grief?

Yesterday I wished I was Superwoman. I could fly down there and without any heavy pondering, wondering or littering of the ocean floor with various unworkable equipment, I could just remedy the catastrophe. And while I was there, I would clear the water of the oil that already gushed out into the ocean, and magically clean the living beings under and above the sea. If only I could do that.

So far, these heroic notions have not worked. I meditate and pray. Not heroic, not like Superwoman's exploits. I do the practice of Tonglen, breathing in all the poison, darkness, greed, sorrow and struggle and breathing out radiant light. I pray for happiness and ease for all living beings and of the earth itself. I pray for the harmony of the outer and inner elements.

To be alive at this time is to be keenly aware of how utterly and deeply foolish human beings can be, and what immense repercussions spill out over us all. Deep breath in and out. Remembering the essence.

Meanwhile, personal life goes on of course. I moved from the wheelchair to a walker as days of rain turned to warm spring sun. Ahhh...

I'm still working on a song "Are You Going to Take It with You to the Grave?" and visualizing how to bring my play A New Wrinkle forward to production. I will share excerpts from the play at the end of May at Peg Rubin's house in Ashland. Peg is the director of Center for Sacred Theatre. She also has collaborated for many years with Jean Houston in seminars that Jean presents. I've always thought Peg is an exceptional human being and am really looking forward to sharing the play with others at her place.

I have realized how much I want to share via solo performance gatherings and soon I will start to present solo performances titled "The Wisdom of Lived Experience." My first two performance gatherings take place in Ashland in June and July. I'll write more about them soon.

Just finished reading My Master's Robe by Thich Nhat Han, a beautiful book about his first months and years as a monk during the Vietnam war. Just re-read The Tibetan Book of Living and Dying by Sogyal Rinpoche, which is one of my favorite books-- so juicy, inspirational and full of practical guidance. I'm also re-reading Myriad Worlds, a wonderful book about Buddhist cosmology. World systems and the cycles of time have fascinated me since I was a teen. Some things don't change much.

I hope that some things do change, and for the better. May a rain of blessings pour down on this earth. Breathing in and breathing out, I send you a smile.

Monday Mysteries of the Here and Now

"Developing tenderness towards yourself allows you to see both your problems and your potential accurately. You don't feel that you have to ignore your problems or exaggerate your potential. That kind of gentleness towards yourself and appreciation of yourself is very necessary. It provides the ground for helping yourself and others."--Chogyam Trungpa Rinpoche

Tenderness towards myself is my motif this morning. A cloudy morning after a night that found me thinking of my various artistic projects and my spiritual life. I was thinking of how much dedication and persistence it takes to develop and create things.

Carolyn Myers, one of my dearest friends, visited me yesterday. She's in the midst of developing with her friend Terry Baum a new venture, Theatre of the Crackpot Crones. "Two pioneer funny feminists in a theatrical revue of sketch comedy and improvisation," their pr material states. Carolyn has written award-winning plays and is a hilariously funny improvisational comedian. Incredibly talented. She deserves wide recognition and beaucoup bucks. I hope that happens for her.

She gave me a tarot reading with a new transparent deck. It was very positive regarding my creative work. But that didn't stop me from getting a bit grouchy a few hours after she left. Maybe I should blame it on spring fever and being a bit stir-crazy from my housebound life while my foot heals. I am out of the wheelchair and now using a walker. But I still found myself thinking about what it would be like to put things on hold and live in another country for a few months.

During our visit, Carolyn and I talked about our mutual friend Julie who just spent several months in Parphing, Nepal. I was thinking about how great it would be to spend time living in a culture where religious practice is a well-accepted way of life. I'd like to be able to walk around with my mala (rosary) and not have people give me dirty looks as if praying in public is some kind of affront. Which does happen here. There is a kind of religious oppression here, an insistence on the secular ethic. Which is quite odd for a country which was founded on religious freedom. Another friend spent months working in the clinic associated with a monastery an hour outside of Khatmandu. She talked about the mountains, the stillness, the monastic community and how peaceful it was to be there and be of service in the clinic, with plenty of time to do spiritual practice. In Nepal, people my age have the freedom to rest and turn within, focusing on their spiritual practice. It's built into the culture. Older people are not trying to engage in outer accomplishments the way we do here. I could go there and do that, too. Those were my thoughts last night.

"Tomorrow is another day," as my mother used to say when things got a big ragged. And so it is. I just had my weekly mutual coaching session with my friend Mouna, which is part of our Artist Conference Network work. In the session, I took a new stand. "I am real from the heights to the depths." It's good when being real includes tenderness towards myself, especially when things get stirred up, as they do at times. Being real could include a journey to Nepal to experience that way of life. Meanwhile, whether or not I take that outer journey, I continue to take the time to meditate, pray and drop into places of deep relaxation and healing right here and now.

I was inspired to discover Tao Porchon Lynch, a 91-year old who teaches yoga at her center in Westchester, New York. Her gentle way of being and joie de vivre are quite delightful. She provides a vivid example of health, balance and gladness.