ZOËLAB: THE LIFE AS ART BLOG
The Story of Inside/Outside Ping Continues
Ping used to be a city dog, and so was I. He went on regular walks on hard side walks—sniffing the other dogs’ messages. He was cooped up all day in our apartment, and tried to escape every chance he got, and succeeded several times, creating heart-pounding adventures for us, and for him. Once, he was able to sneak into our upstairs’ neighbor’s apartment and finish their left over chocolate birthday cake, another time he ran across the street, a main highway in Oakland with very fast cars and ended up in trapped in someone’s backyard.
Ping used to be a city dog, and so was I. He went on regular walks on hard side walks—sniffing the other dogs’ messages. He was cooped up all day in our apartment, and tried to escape every chance he got, and succeeded several times, creating heart-pounding adventures for us, and for him. Once, he was able to sneak into our upstairs’ neighbor’s apartment and finish their left over chocolate birthday cake, another time he ran across the street, a main highway in Oakland with very fast cars, and ended up trapped in someone’s backyard.
In 2009, Lucas and I packed our 1980’s Toyota Land Cruiser (which waited until we arrived at our destination before it literally collapsed and was never driven again) with a small percentage of our enormous amount of belongings, as well as Ping, and with our unborn son in my belly, we drove down the Baja Peninsula from the Bay Area, to meet our uncertain destiny. We had some savings, a piece of raw land that we didn’t yet own, and some used camping gear, and that was about it.
Ping adjusted to country living quite quickly, and soon found his true calling as at the best watch dog in the world. He has a skittish and serious nature that lends itself well to barking at anything that moves, including pieces of dust and figments of his imagination. We live on a homestead that is one and a half acres in the middle of what is called a Tropical desert. In the summer it’s like living in the tropics, we are prone to hurricanes, loads of bugs, heat, and humidity, but also the desert turns bright green, and wildflowers bloom all over the valley. During the winter it is cool in the evening, and warm and crispy dry, during the day, but the landscape is brown and crusty. Nature makes sure to deliver a gift with every loss, and a devastation with every gain.
Since arriving in Baja, Ping is free to roam the land, smelling and exploring whatever he wants. Barking at whomever he wishes to bark at (real or imaginary). His beast nature is in alignment with… well, nature. This arrangement is blissful for him, as well as for us, but it also has its down sides. Being a country dog means he is covered in dust, fleas & ticks—this made him go from an inside to purely outside dog. He was no longer an inside dog. I really missed that part of my relationship to Ping, as inside tended to be way I had mostly connected with him. He is my first dog, and as a child, I feared dogs, not understanding that barking was a form of communication and not an aggressive act meant to destroy me. When Ping first barked loudly at me, as a puppy, out of frustration, I cried, I was afraid he was going to bite me. My husband laughed at me. But since, I have learned to trust him deeply—and happily stick my hand inside his mouth, whenever necessary.
Two summers ago, there were a lot of lightning & thunderstorms. We live at the foothills of the Sierra de Laguna mountain range—and are prone to all sorts of mountain weather. The sound of thunder, as is true with most dogs, often triggers a flight response in Ping. Sometimes he cowers in the corner, shaking, but many other times, if he can, he runs with no thought to where he is going. He runs straight for the highway, as fast as his long legs can carry him, which is very, very fast. This happened a few times when we were not at home, and he got hurt—once being hit a little by a car, luckily only a little graze, and another time, he had ripped the pad off of one of his paws. The sight of this was unbearable, as you can imagine, but he recovered.
We realized that if we wanted to keep Ping alive, we would have to turn him back into an inside dog, or rather an inside/outside dog that has to be locked up when we leave the house, just in case thunder comes, and he runs. This shift has meant yet another major quality of life increase for Ping. He now officially has the best of all worlds. The comfort and coziness of the indoor human lifestyle, mixed with the sheer raw freedom of beasting around outside. (This is what we all have, if we take advantage of it. Emilio, now 6 certainly does.) Ping’s updated status has benefited me, as well. We are closer again, and I am more aware of his presence, and our relationship. I admit it is my habitual nature, of being a city girl for 35 years of my life (though I spent most summers in the countryside), to be an inside person. We live in such a gorgeous spot of raw nature, and yet I spend most of my time indoors. I really do forget to go outside, if I don’t have to. We live half a mile from the beach, but I can’t even remember the last time I walked on the sand. Fortunately, we have set up our homestead in such a way that it requires leaving the house. We have two buildings (and a third guesthouse is currently in construction, more on that project in a future post)—a kitchen casita, which is one main room, with a small kitchen, living and dining room. (It also includes a space that has evolved into a music practice space and recording studio. More on that later as well.) And then the other building is our bedroom—2 bedrooms and a bathroom. (Another side note: Emilio just spent his first whole night sleeping alone in his bedroom, with the help of a brand new Star Wars Bad Guy Cozy Blanket). We have an additional bathroom, just outside the main space—adjoining the front patio. This requires leaving the front door to go to the bathroom. This might sound inconvenient to some people, who are accustomed to a different lifestyle. But it is so great that I must leave the house in order to change clothes, take a shower, or go to the toilet. At night, during my short walk from the living room to the bedroom, I always make sure to pause and look up at the sky, and it always reminds me of why we live here. So that we will never forget the stars. So we will never forget that we are nothing with out nature, and that nature is within us, as well as around us. I forget this every day of my life, but everyday, something always shows up to remind me.
Last week, Ping received his first treatment for Heart Worms, which is a parasite that can affect a dog’s heart—causing to enlarge it and make it work extra hard. His treatment went well, but now he has to be kept from getting excited for 2 weeks. This means no roaming free, no running & barking after dogs or cows or mosquitos. This means being back on a leash for peeing and pooping. So today, I took Ping on his first morning walk. I was impatient—trying to rush his process. Not letting him check every scent he wanted to check, not letting him take the path he wanted to take. It was the busy time of the morning, and I had to get Emilio ready for school. I had to drink my coveted coffee. I had to get back inside. After a short walk where he peed/made his mark a few times, I took him back in the house so I could continue with my indoor morning routine. I took Emilio to school and when I came back Ping was barking politely at the door. Lucas said: “He needs something and I have to go, can you take care of it?” I said” “He doesn’t need something. I already took him out, he just wants something.” I took him out again, grumbling. Once outside, he insisted on walking down the deep slope towards the arroyo (dry river bed) near our house. He stopped several times to sniff, and continue his peeing/mark making. Then after several minutes of walking, he found his spot to poop. Then I started to relax more—realizing that this is his usual outside routine, which happens while I am “busy” with my inside routine: writing emails on my computer, or fretting about some imagined event in the future. I had a moment of deep compassion for him, remembering that he is a beast, and he needs to do his thing, outside. And then I thought this is yet another blessing of something that could easily have been dismissed as “annoying” or “inconvenient,” but really was a wonderful opportunity to get out of my head, and observe the isness of nature. It’s always there, we just usually ignore it. But animals, they can’t ignore it. It’s necessary to them. And I believe it is necessary to us too, after all, are we not animals as well as human beings?
Do you have a story where an animal or other aspect of nature taught you or reminded you of something unexpected, or took you out of your unconscious routine?
p.s. It also must be noted that Mexico is Ping's third country of residence. He was born in Taiwan, and was rescued from being lunch by a woman who flies all over Asia rescuing dog's from being eaten, and then flies them back to the US to be adopted.
Who am I and what am I doing here?
It has never felt right to use traditional or singular words to describe myself: musician, artist, therapist, teacher, writer, coach. I can be all those things, but it's not just any one those things that I am trying to be in the world, but really a combination, a synthesis. An integration. I believe this is the new way to be in the world. I think specialization is becoming antiquated, and so are traditional career paths. The leaders and trailblazers of the new earth are pioneers, warriors, multi-passionates, transparent and vulnerable sharing their message through owning their personal story.
How do you describe who you are or what you do to someone who doesn’t know you or to someone who thinks they know you?
This is one of the hardest things to do, especially if you aren’t sure, or if you know that in your most authentic version of yourself you defy traditional categories, or if you feel you are a complex and ever-changing combination of contradictory patterns, ideas, feelings, thoughts and experiences, or if you are in the process of manifesting something new in the world that belongs to your destiny that is continuously unfolding before you.
I am always practicing to clarify what I do (or who I am) in words, so that the next time someone asks me at a cocktail party (I don’t get invited to lots of those, but the next time I do, maybe I'll be ready), I can tell them what I do in a brief paragraph that captures their imagination, with out having their eyes glaze over in confusion or boredom. It has never felt right to use traditional or singular words to describe myself: musician, artist, therapist, teacher, writer, coach. I can be all those things, but it's not just any one those things that I am trying to be in the world, but really a combination, a synthesis. An integration. I believe this is the new way to be in the world. I think specialization is becoming antiquated, and so are traditional career paths. The leaders and trailblazers of the new earth are pioneers, warriors, multi-passionates, transparent and vulnerable sharing their message through owning their personal story. This is my unfolding path, and I believe this to be true for many others all over the world.
The other day I had a glimpse into a possible bio to put on the front page of this blog for someone who doesn’t know me personally, and has never visited before. If my goal is bring more strangers into my web of inspiration, which it very much is, it feels important to create a quicker way for people to understand who I am and what this blog is about.
What I wrote is not that brief, but it is as brief as I can possibly make it at this moment in time. It's not perfect, but I think it will do, for now.
Zoë is a rock-n-roll poet, heart & soul revivalist, integrative philosopher, champion for the inside arts, student & teacher of the Self, art healer, child of the 70’s and mom in the process of reinventing motherhood. Her mission is to create an enchanted life of meaning, synchronistic with the manifestation of her unique soul and to inspire others to follow their own extraordinary journey.
Zoë's greatest loves, besides friends & family, people in general, especially children & even certain dogs, include: passionate & clever indie rock, dance of all varieties, comedy, improvisation, social practice art, fashion & graphic design, true deep stories, sad songs, mythology & Jungian psychology, children’s books, Fisher Price toys, tarot, embracing duality, inspiring documentaries, the open sky, wildflowers, hugs, creative collaborations and elegant theories that connect everything in the universe.
Brooklyn born and bred, she and her California redwoods born husband have transplanted to a stunning piece of raw desert in the foothills of the Sierra de Laguna Mountains, overlooking the Pacific Ocean, on the Southern Baja peninsula of Mexico, where they are pioneering both a homestead & careers that suit and engage their idiosyncrasies, while raising their wild & kind-hearted Mexican-born son. Eschewing the needs for comfort, ease and certainty, in order to embrace a do-it-yourself life in the desert, with lots of tools (digital & analogue), inspiration and bugs. They are continuously in the process of building & growing a life from scratch, that is freer & messier, slower & simpler and yet, more complex.
This website is a testament to the love & creativity, truth & beauty that continuously flows out when we are present and engaged with everyday life, when we are listening both to our inner world of intuition & heart, as well open to the feedback that our environment provides. It is also a record of the creative byproducts of life fully lived. It emphasizes process over perfection. Compassion over judgment. And love over fear. It is a celebration of nature & culture, and their fascinating exchange. It is a form of integration of Zoë's many selves, including especially, the more vulnerable shadow—giving space for expression of both darkness and light, the deepest longings and breakings of the heart.
Zoë is here to live out her soul’s code--Creative Magician of Self—and to share the inspiring tools that will help you awaken yours.
It is never too late to be who you already are.
Secret Powers, a short conversation with Emilio
A conversation between Lucas and Emilio, who just turned 6 the other day:
A conversation between Lucas and Emilio, who just turned 6 the other day:
Emilio: Your secret power, Dada, is your funniness.
Lucas: Oh, and what's mamma's secret power?
Emilio: Sadness. And laughter.
Lucas: What's your secret power?
Emilio: Fart balloons.
Me: And observation.
self & other
The paradox of humanity is that we want to be ourselves and yet we want to connect with others. We are taught to believe we cannot have both. We come to feel that in order to be ourselves we might risk losing the other because the other is afraid of our otherness. And if we connect, then we must say goodbye to that which makes us totally unique--our point of view. Connection & Separation. And so it is a dance between the two as we evolve.
The paradox of humanity is that we want to be ourselves and yet we want to connect with others. We are taught to believe we cannot have both. We come to feel that in order to be ourselves we might risk losing the other because the other is afraid of our otherness. And if we connect, then we must say goodbye to that which makes us totally unique--our point of view. Connection & Separation. And so it is a dance between the two as we evolve.
But what if we got conscious enough so that we changed society simply by being different—by being more tolerant of difference, by being more compassionate towards ourselves and others? By being whole within—our society would become whole without. It is the light of consciousness that helps us find the way, and yet, it is the hardest thing to do because it means feeling our darkness. Acknowledging and then reclaiming our shadow is so threatening to the ego because we must face that in us which we have judged as distasteful, unacceptable, shameful. Shadow work requires courage and courage means feeling our feelings--not shrinking, not puffing up--but hanging around with our fear and our uncertainty and our desire.
When we get more comfortable with our feelings we get better at connecting and when we get better at connecting, we feel more comfortable with feeling our feelings around others, which leads to deeper & more meaningful connections. And this is how society changes. One connection at a time. First to the self and then to the other.
What if we used our power and our love and our creativity to change the way are with ourselves, and with each other? What if each of us was committed to caring more? To sharing more? What if it wasn’t something to make fun of or be embarrassed about—caring? What if it were natural to treat each other as family, as if, we truly belonged to the same thing? What if we could truly feel that at the deepest level we were inseparable? And what if, at the same time, we also celebrated how different each of us is? What if we delighted in difference and saw it as a perfect manifestation of diversity? What if we could embrace both at the same time?
Ourselves and each other.
Unity and diversity. In mystery.
Can you picture this?
Flow on Faith
I’ve been going through a thing. I don’t want to call it a block because it’s not a block, exactly. Block implies to me that you are blank, with no ideas or nowhere to go. What I am experiencing is just a different phase of the creative process. As Lena Dunham’s character Hannah, in Girls says in her unapologetic, yet defensive way, when she is struggling in grad school : “I’m more in a pre-writing phase.”
I’ve been going through a thing. I don’t want to call it a block because it’s not a block, exactly. Block implies to me that you are blank, with no ideas or nowhere to go. What I am experiencing is just a different phase of the creative process. As Lena Dunham’s character Hannah, in Girls says in her unapologetic, yet defensive way, when she is struggling in grad school : “I’m more in a pre-writing phase.”
I am doing research for my story that I am writing. It’s my attempt to make sense of my life up until this point in a way that might teach something about what I have learned about the the path of human development, the spiritual path, the path of the artist. I have written different versions of this story. It was an 8 part blog post. It was a self-revelatory performance art piece in grad school. It’s in the lyrics of my songs, my poetry. It was countless starts of essays and monologues. It was the start of a feature-length script. But none of these quite got at the live wire inside me that needs to be plugged in.
What is the story about? Simple. It’s the story of how I learned to do the things I thought I could not do.
Including, most especially, how to tell my story.
Last month I saw a psychic for the first time. Her name was Althea. She told me that I needed to focus on this writing project, (which will include my songs and will end up as a performance as well as a book or some other art form that hasn’t been invented yet) and that it would be done in two years, and then after that, everything would easily flow out of me. In two years I will be 43. I can wait that long to be plugged into myself. But it will be hard because I tend to be very impatient with the creative process. This is why I teach the creative process—to help me to slow down. To help everyone to slow down. Althea told me what I already knew but absolutely needed to be confirmed by someone who wasn’t me, who didn’t know me, but is gifted in the other kind of knowing. She was. She also said I lived in paradise and that I had finally found peace after many years of suffering. Also true.
And so I see that this is my moment to weave my webs, make my connections, bare my soul. It will be hard. It will be painful. It will challenge me on every level of experience. But I see no choice in the matter. It must be done.
And in the meantime, I am fretting about here, my blog. This space I have created to share my process. To make contact. To check in. To record. To reflect.
I keep wondering how can I keep this up during these times that my words aren’t quite ready to come? When I don’t have my own words to share. And then I remembered: I can share the words of others. I have been reading & listening voraciously and I love sharing other people’s words when my words are still cooking.
Here is what I have been reading and listening to:
How Should A Person Be? A novel by Sheila Heti
The Art of Asking An audiobook memoir by the artist/musician Amanda Palmer
The Hero Within A Jungian self help book about archetypes and human development by Carol S. Pearson
Handling the Truth a book on writing memoir by Beth Kephart that my dad lent me.
The Life Changing Art of Tidying Up by Marie Kondo. A surprisingly inspiring audiobook by a Japanese woman who has made being tidy an art form and has given me new hope for putting my life in order.
Not exactly on purpose, but sort of, I am reading only women writers.
It’s all research. Research for the many ways we can tell our story. Eventually, and possibly quite soon, I will be teaching this to others. This storytelling thing. It’s not a decision. It’s a way of life that I am growing up into. It’s, as Tara Mohr refers to callings, an inner assignment.
Everything I read turns me into a kind of chameleon of voices. I try on different voices which leads me deeper into my own point of view. It is a process of discovering one’s own voice through trying on other's voices. This is what many singers do. There is a whole book about this process called Steal like an Artist by Austin Kleon. I will post quotes from it soon, even if the writer is a man.
What I just learned about chameleons in the terrarium/aquarium basement of the Pittsfield museum where I went last week with my mom and son, is that they are falsely believed to change color in order to hide. But it is not really the reason. They change colors in order to reflect their social intentions or responses to temperature change, in their own reptilian limitations: to express themselves. Trying on others’ voices is my way of figuring out where I stand. It’s the process that happens whether I want it to or not. I am newly embracing my particular processes lately. That is the joy of being an artist—embracing your way of doing things, using instincts to get you where you need to go, and above all, trusting the process.
Something in changed in me about this process of writing recently. I realized that what was missing was my faith. But I had no idea how to get it back. I find faith to be the most important ingredient to art. I lose it and find it constantly. What brought be back to faith this time was a conversation with my husband who, with out training, is a great art coach. I learn a lot from him, rather than the other way around. We decided together that coaching can only be as good as how well you know the other person. Coaching, like therapy, and teaching, and parenting, is a relationship above all else and it must acknowledge the special and unique truths of the individual’s (coachee’s) needs, goals, limitations and gifts.
I started this post thinking I had nothing at all to write. And where do I find myself now? Having written something true about where I am really at. And I will leave you with a quote, as I promised I would deliver one:
This is from A Hero with a Thousand Faces by Joseph Campbell, which I read last summer as primary research for storytelling. I started a few blog posts about it, but never published them. This book is mind-blowingly important for the survival of humanity. I will revisit it over and over. I will share.
“Man in the world of action loses his centering in the principle of eternity if he is anxious for the outcome of his deeds, but resting them and their fruits on the knees of the Living God he is released by them, as a sacrifice, from the bondages of the sea of death. 'Do without attachment the work you have to do… Surrendering all action to Me, with mind intent on the Self, freeing yourself form longing and selfishness, fight—unperturbed by grief.'"
Here, on this blog, I lay the byproducts & fruits of my alchemical experiments, the labor of my gifts, at your knees.
Take them or leave them, either way, destiny is within & without.
What is Zoëlab?
Let’s change the world through our uncertain/heart-based faith in love and creativity. Together, let’s live in presence, imagining a future that lives up to our human potential as unique individuals and our interconnectedness humans living in a natural world. Let’s revive the dying living room arts of friendship, conversation, storytelling, letter writing. Let’s restore the arts to their proper place in culture—woven into the fabric of our everyday lives.
I have been trying to write an About Page for this site that encapsulates and describes what I am doing here and why. It's one of the hardest things I've ever had to write because it means so much to me, and it is so hard to describe complexity.
Here is my second attempt. My first attempt is on the first version of ZOELAB 365. I have also been working on the My Story page, which is an internal biography. Its not quite there yet, but it's getting there. I welcome constructive feedback from you, my beloved readers.
Part of my intention with this blog is sharing how I learn and how I teach. How to be an artist, how to develop one’s voice, how to be more honest, more compassionate with self and other, how to be more balanced, how to be integrated, how to be a parent, how to have harmonious relationships, how to improvise, how to create the life of your dreams, how to create meaning, how to sing, how to meditate, how to create useful & beautiful things, how to heal the split, how to understand one’s self, how to mirror, how to heal narcissism, how to integrate male and female, how to stand up for what you believe, how to be authentic, how to be vulnerable, how to be human, how to draw, how to create regular practices, how to achieve major dreams, how to listen to intuition, how to share one’s soul, how to incorporate disparate parts of self.
Here, I share what seemed unsharable to my previous self. Here, I track my process of stepping courageously out into the world with uncertainty, and faith. Faith in love and creativity. Faith in the human spirit to elevate us into our evolutionary destiny. Faith in human potential. Here, I share the uncertain & revelatory process of spiritual awakening, while integrating what I have learned from my failures, successes, studies & self-taught adventures in: performance, improvisation, dance, theater, film, photography, drawing, poetry, comedy, meditation, graphic design, hair design, clothes design, expressive arts therapy, psychology, spiritual philosophy, songwriting, singing, playing music, creating a life off the grid, pioneering, confronting death, integrating parts of self, working with the unconscious, true storytelling, daydreaming, travel, desert living, Baja, DIY projects, how to learn, rock-n-roll, cultural criticism, holistic health.
I am in love with learning, transformation, truth & beauty. I am in need of healing and I am in need of connection. A mysterious path unfolds before me. It’s like a giant puzzle, and in short intense spurts the pieces of that puzzle appear before me, and I place them in their context. My destiny is not completely clear, but I know it has to do with this blog, public speaking, travel, creating an artist residency/retreat center, performing storytelling and music, being a champion for the everyday arts as well as the shadow of our Culture: namely: the feminine principle, shit, garbage, emotions-especially fear & shame, the heart, imagination, shame, play, children, the spirit realm. My destiny also includes: videos, children, social practice art, being a voice of inspiration and revolution, rock-n-roll, poetry, bringing the teachings of Jung & the expressive arts to the mainstream, being an aesthetic bridge between new age spirituality and artists/intellectuals, writing about philosophy, inventing new forms of art and ways of being, synthesizing the arts, psychology, education & spirituality. I know it's a lot. But I see no choice in the matter.
As I chronicle the process of building a life off the grid, in Mexico, motherhood and its stages, developing my career, I also work on larger projects. Much of what I share is the material for larger projects: videos, books, albums, live storytelling & talks. Each project emerges out of my synthesis of my ideas and needs for healing and growth. As I learn of a new calling or aspect of my callings, I learn how to grow myself up for the task required. This has already happened several times in my life. How I went from being a shy, quiet girl who was rejected as a child actress—to a trained performer and teacher. How I went from being someone who couldn’t sing to someone who could. How I discovered and developed my ability to write songs. How I went from a person who hid out of fear of criticism to someone who transparently shares my failures and vulnerabilities and struggles as equally as I share my dreams and gifts.
And it is here that I chronicle my everyday challenges & learning, as I also share and manifest my dreams. It’s a space of integration of all parts of self, and all parts of the human experience. A space of non-judgmental awareness, humor, fun, play & emotional expression. I invite you to bring your whole self here to meet me. Share your comments, questions, wonderings. Email me. Dare yourself to be vulnerable and authentic. Let’s change the world through our uncertain/heart-based faith in love and creativity. Together, let’s live in presence, imagining a future that lives up to our human potential as unique individuals and our interconnectedness humans living in a natural world. Let’s revive the dying living room arts of friendship, conversation, storytelling, letter writing. Let’s restore the arts to their proper place in culture—woven into the fabric of our everyday lives. Using art for its true purpose: to celebrate & elevate humanity. To give voice to soul. To create soul. To connect. To return to individual & universal wholeness. Let’s acknowledge and celebrate the larger truth that unites us in aliveness.
Jardin de Niño Diaries, Part Four
And then one day Vanessa asks me—maybe we can use the money to buy paint for the school? Of course. Why did I not think of that? I buy paint for the background, for the mural and for the classroom.
We break for summer and I decide that when school starts again in August, I am going to start the mural project. This will require planning. This is not my strong point. I have never painted a mural before. Here's my idea: to paint a jardin de niños literally. I want the mural to be a garden of children who are half kids/half trees, cactus, flowers and plants. The wall had been painted again and so I already have a good background for the mural. The first plan is to trace the kids bodies in the form of the plant they want to be. I use a permanent marker. I write their names on each outline.
Then hurricane odile hits Baja. When we check out the school we see that the entire roof and one of the walls to the outside classroom is gone. There are papers and books and garbage everywhere. I look at the other wall. The paint is gone, and so is the permanent marker outline of the kids bodies. Not a big deal to re-do, but it is a bit shocking what wind can do. The building got a power wash.
The hurricane pulls the rug from under us. Everyone is in shock. We continue to live in fear of the next one. Or the rain. Any rain. Slowly the creatures come out of hiding and I want to reach through the isolation. I decide I am going to start hosting the first Mariposa Night. The theme is "Stories of the Storm." I start to ask people to share their stories. Again, reaching beyond my shyness into connection with others. It starts out a bit clumsy. I am unpracticed after being a holed up hermit all summer. I wonder if people are ready to come out of hiding. I want to draw them out. I want to draw myself out.
Lucas suggests I try to raise money for to rebuild the Elias Calles school. Then I think of Vanessa, the teacher—how she could share her story of the hurricane and her experience at the Elias Calles school. She is shy too, and very young and inexperienced, but she knows it will help raise money.
On Mariposa Night Lucas picks her up on the way to Todos Santos. She is all dolled up, with makeup and her hair down. She looks beautiful and nervous when she arrives. We buy her a margarita that costs more than her weekly salary. Then I wonder if she is old enough to drink. I am nervous too. We tell our stories and Vanessa is last she shares her concern for her “pollitos” little chicks, expressing a deep affection for the kids and the community in Elias Calles. They have taken her in, even though she lives in La Paz. We raise 1800 pesos. About $130.
The money sits in a jar in our house for months. My classes start at Cuatro Vientos, and I don’t have time to even think about the mural. And then one day Vanessa asks me—maybe we can use the money to buy paint for the school? Of course. Why did I not think of that? I buy paint for the background, for the mural and for the classroom. The week before that Vanessa had asked the parents to come and clean the school yard. It had not been cleaned since the summer weeds grew, turned to grass, nor since the hurricane.
I arrive with Emilio and Lucas. Vanessa is there with her husband and infant son. A few other parents are there. I walk over with Emilio. I bring garbage bags to pick up the garbage that is scattered all over the school yard. The men are carting large amounts of cement rubble and dried weeds by wheelbarrow to a dump pile in the open field behind the school. We sweep, we throw away all the destroyed books. After a few hours of working in the twilight, the yard starts to look decent again.
The next week Vanessa informs the other parents that we will be painting and some of them show up that day. I have bought yellow for the inside of the school. The room is quite narrow, but big enough for this group of 4-10 kids (at any time the amount changes.) It was built to be the bodega of the school but the kids have been using it for their classroom. We paint the outside wall: blue for sky, green for grass, and brown for earth. The mural will be added in parts over the following weeks.
The following week week I ask the kids to choose if they will paint a flower, cactus or tree. Then I ask them to form the shape of their plant with their body, and I trace an outline in the wall in pencil.
What I have learned from my involvement with the school is how to be flexible. I often don’t know what’s going on, and I have little understanding during the meetings. Vanessa cancels class last minute when her baby is sick or she has some teacher related meeting she has to attend for her training. I have learned to absorb patience and humor when all else seems out of my hands. One time Vanessa forgot the key to school in her home in La Paz and the kids had to climb through the window for the entire week.
To be continued...
Life as Art Manifesto, First Try
When living Life As Art, we are not prescribing any dogma or adhering to any hierarchy. The one universal truth is is the universe itself. The totality. In this way, we acknowledge the source of our longing and the object of our longing is the same. We are simultaneously subject and object of our experience.
We have faith in love & creativity as the underlying forces of evolution. We are at a crucial moment in time—a crossroads, where humanity is in grave danger. We can allow humanity to self-destruct, allowing the baser aspects of humanity: apathy, greed, violence, addiction, control to win over the elevated parts of humanity: compassion, creativity, passion, connection, joy, kindness or we can make the hard choice to take responsibility for ourselves, as individuals, and see the underlying truth of universal oneness. Within and without. We can start to awaken the truth behind our collectively accepted delusion into the idea that we are separate. From the place of separateness we compete, and create hierarchy and inflict deep suffering on our ourselves and each other.
We have inherited a split and fragmented world that is reflected in a split and fragmented psyche on the individual level. There is a fundamental flaw in the way we approach life, this is learned, and not part of the essence of humanity. The split. We tend to see things as either/or. We force ourselves to choose, over and over, between self & other, male & female, republican & democrat, east & west, power & love, mind & body. Creating, at every turn, a hierarchy of choice. Instead, we must acknowledge that a balance or overlapping of two opposites is the space where truth resides. The list of splits is infinite in itself. For every truth its oppose is also equally true. However, true love is whole because it contains everything within it. The opposite of Love is not Hate, but rather, separation. Underlying so much suffering in this world are feelings of fear, loneliness, shame, and inadequacy. This does not have to be so, but it requires great emotional risk to allow ourselves to connect, to belong to each other. This is a process that can happen only one moment at a time, one relationship at a time.
When living Life As Art, we are not prescribing any dogma or adhering to any hierarchy. The one universal truth is is the universe itself. The totality. In this way, we acknowledge the source of our longing and the object of our longing is the same. We are simultaneously subject and object of our experience. We see the two sides of everything, but we do not take sides. We compromise between the two. We balance. We soften our hearts to allow for both. We acknowledge the ego, we can even love the ego, but we do not let it rule. We see it is as the smaller or unique self that plays an important role—it becomes a mirror for the universal spirit. A celebratory expression of god. The unique individual is soul’s expression of spirit, if we can allow its whole truth to shine forth, with out judgment. Judgment, used here, refers to value. Non judgment acknowledges that all experience is subjective, and therefore, no experience is intrinsically more valuable than another. Any experience is fodder for our art, and through art, we create our life. Through our life we create our art. This is the language of the soul that must be included, woven into our culture. We do not choose rationality over emotion, but rather, we allow them to co-exist, honoring their dual greatness and necessity for living. Even hate or violence—if it exists, we acknowledge it—we do not turn away from it—as then it would surely try to make itself known in a far more dangerous way. We learn to express hatred and violence instead symbolically—through storytelling, or games, or any art form or our choosing. This is how it is done in traditional cultures—the shadow is integrated into the rituals and rites, instead of being acting out unconsciously.
Living life as art, we celebrate the all of life through ritual, storytelling, & artmaking of all kinds. We acknowledge both our darkness and our light and locate ourselves at the center. We create space and silence for our creativity. We know ourselves, and make highest use of ourselves. We reach for our destiny through integrating our past. We exalt the beauty of life as it unfolds. We acknowledge our fears and bravely transmit our hearts.
Last Day of Kindergarten
Yesterday was Emilio's last day of Kindergarten. Surely a day of mixed feelings for me. This day marks the end of early childhood, and the beginning of middle childhood.
Tadeo, Itzel, Jocelyn, Vanessa (La Maestra), Emilio, Marcito, Haide, Maria Jose, Antonio, Angel y Gralya in front of the mural project I did with the kids all year. Vanessa and I finished the mural the day after and added their names.
Yesterday was Emilio's last day of Kindergarten. Surely a day of mixed feelings for me. This day marks the end of early childhood, and the beginning of middle childhood. From the Freudian point of view, he is moving from the Oedipal phase that is marked by intense emotions, especially towards the parents, and a focus on the phallus (Freud was male centric) and into the Latency phase, which is more social, connected to the world of friends and people away from home which lasts until puberty. This new phase is the one I have least experience with as a teacher, a therapist, and a nanny. As with the end of every phase of parenting, I have mixed emotions. At first, when the realization hits me, I have a profound sense of loss where I cry cathartically for an hour, then I quickly recover, and feel a new sense of freedom and excitement about the unknown next phase.
I think for Emilio, who hasn't developed nostalgia yet, the day had less significance. Though he will be participating in a graduation ceremony in a few weeks, which is quite exciting due to its promise of sweet and a performance by the kids. Vanessa, the teacher, had requested that all the kids wear their uniforms the second to last day of school so we could take photos of the kids. The kids were supposed to wear their uniforms everyday. But as the year wore on, us parents stopped bothering to put their uniforms on the kids. Seeing them in their uniforms again, reminded me of the first day of school. Emilio had a great year in Kindergarten, and made great progress with his Spanish. He had extra help from our Peruvian neighbor and friend, Silvia, who is a very animated and fun teacher. She and I also do Spanish & English conversation once a week.
In Mexico, the Jardin de Niños includes both preschool and kindergarten, 3-5. At 6 the kids start primaria. In September, Emilio will be going to the primary school in Elias Calles, which shares the school yard with kindergarten. It is a two room school house--the kids, age 6-12 are split into two classrooms, taught be two teachers.
I started shooting photos of the kids in their uniforms, but then I realized Angel was missing. He is considered the rough kid, but I have a very special place in my heart for him. He has an artist's eye. I found Angel hiding in this tree. He was trying to avoid being in the photo, because he was the only kid with out a uniform. I pleaded with him to join the photo, but he was ashamed. Marcito's grandmother put a white playera on him, while he wiped the tears from his eyes. It was heartbreaking. But he did make into the photo. There he is below: second row, far right. Emilio is far left.
Gralya, first row, far left, didn't want to be in the photo either. But I have no idea why--she is pouting and separate for the photo on the top of this post, but now she is in the photo, but still pouting. She will be graduating along with Emilio.
Marcito and Itzel. Marcito will be graduating, but Itzel has two more years.
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Parenting Breakthrough
I recognize that, with parenting, just like everything else, the areas we struggle with the most are opportunities for healing, growth and transformation. In other words, parenting kicks my ass and Emilio is my greatest teacher.
Being a parent has its ups and downs, just like everything. Sometimes, I feel amazed by the brilliance of my son. I sit in awe of his exuberance, his strength, or his ability to name his emotions, as I secretly allow myself to a little bit of credit. Other times, I find my son's rowdy energy to be annoying and disrespectful, triggering the hurt little girl inside who felt disrespected and attacked by the group of boys (including my brother, my cousin, and family friends) I spent time with as a child. I recognize that, with parenting, just like everything else, the areas we struggle with the most are opportunities for healing, growth and transformation. In other words, parenting kicks my ass and Emilio is my greatest teacher.
This thought occurred to me yesterday, during a particularly trying day. My husband and I have designated two days a week to be "Mommy Days": days that I stay at home to take care of the house, and spend time with Emilio. These days are also often the days where I am in the flow of my inner life--I am often deeply called to write, to draw or play music. On those days I feel pulled in three directions: between house work, time with Emilio and time spent with my rich inner life. My hope is that blogging will be a way to tie all of them together. But it isn't easy.
Yesterday I found myself giving up on the overwhelming pile of house work and just pulled just in two directions. What I just noticed is that every single thing that I love to do is just exactly the thing that Emilio has no tolerance for. I am in the house with Emilio, he is deep in imaginative play with a guitar capo that he has turned into a character with a funny voice, and I suddenly have a brilliant thought that I must write down immediately before I forget. Just as I sit down at my computer, Emilio appears before me struggling to climb into my lap, trying to block my keyboard by pressing random buttons. Or Emilio is outside banging a broken piece of cement with a shovel, and then I grab the ukelele and practice my new song, and after a few strums, he is suddenly inside the house, glaring at me with his angry face, saying: "no!" Or later on, when we do a project together involving fun things like blowing out the insides of eggs and decorating them, I get inspired to do a blog post, and start taking rapid fire photos of the process. He blocks the object I am trying to take a photo of, and I get angry and storm off like a little child. We make up, but I realize that he doesn't want to let me do anything that fills me, only what fills him. On some days I have an easier time accepting this reality of parenting, that we are to prioritize the needs of ours child over ours. Not always, but often. But on this day, I feel more resistant to this idea. I am tired and I have ideas that need to be expressed. I want to create. I want to daydream. We are at a standstill. Later, I come up with a compromise. I want to read for 20 minutes, while he plays. After that, I promise I will play with him. I set a timer, and get back into reading Not That Kind of Girl (for the second time). He plays by himself, but very near to me. We are both lying on what we call "the couch" (which is really a narrow cushion from an old camper we no longer own that we keep on the floor.) It's barely big enough for the both of us. When the timer goes off, Emilio is outside playing and he doesn't hear it. I don't say anything and keep reading. Eventually he comes in and I bring up that it's time to play. I don't remember how exactly it happens, but suddenly we are in a live game show and I am speaking in a loud, showy voice with a very bad English accent, and I am announcing Emilio as the contestant that will be sharing his experiments with the live audience. I respond to everything he says or does with an over the top reflection of how amazing he is, repeating his full name and imploring "the audience" to give a rowdy round of applause. It turns out to be a sort of interview--about his work in his laboratory in Elias Calles, and how he is going to share his experiments with world. This process draws him out. He is beaming. He plays along. He starts to take on the same bad English accent. The next trick of the show is him sharing his best Kung Fu moves. "The audience" and I gasp in amazement. This acted out play goes on for a half hour or so, and after a while I start to lose steam. I tell him I need to pee and take a break. He wants it to continue. "Mommy, do that voice." "I need to rest. I'll do some more later."
That voice--that's the actress me. The trained improvisor. The performer. The kid who loves to play. It's also fed by the wounded healer. The part of me that instinctively knows what the soul needs to heal. This isn't his healing, it's mine. My healing needs co-mingling with his immediate needs for play and attention. I am giving my child the very reflection that I so deeply needed as a child. I wanted desperately to be drawn out. This is my gift for others. So it turns out there are some art forms and desires that Emilio will allow me to do, but the trick is not going off into a corner and doing them by myself. The trick is to draw him into the arena with me. To reflect not just him and his shiny self, but to include my own. And in this way, we build relationship. And this is the lesson I am re-learning, ever deepening into. Parenthood is about relationship. Self and Other. This is the model we want to give our children: compromise--by acknowledging both self and others needs. Modeling is one important way that kids learn. The other is play.
Recording "Rock-n-Roll Thing," First Try
I am ready to take the plunge, and share the process of making music.
Okay, it's time to return to my first blog post of the month, where I listed subjects of blog posts that I would write if I didn't care what people thought. One of the items on that list was sharing my music (and bragging about it.) This is one the most vulnerable of things for me to share, and yet, I know it's time. I have been pouring my creative energy into writing songs, singing, playing guitar and (more recently) ukelele every day for the past two years. I am ready to take the plunge, and share my songs and the process of making music.
This is the summer that we record my newest songs. I have 10-20 songs never recorded and most of them never performed in public. I don't know what you will think of them, but I love them.
Lucas and I have had a living room band, called Garafön for ten years. Lucas is an amazing multi-instrumentalist. For Garafön, he plays drums, bass and sometimes writes catchy & beautiful unfinished rock/pop songs. He also plays: piano, guitar, accordion & penny whistle. We will be doing the recordings together on Garageband. The last time I recorded (in a real multi-track way) any music was 2003, in NYC, with my all-lady band, Social Service.
I am going to share with you one of my most recent songs, which Lucas and I performed for the first (and only time) at Mariposa Night in February. Mariposa Night is a community multi-arts performance and guerrilla gallery event I launched earlier this year through Art For Life, my community arts organization & business in Southern Baja.
The title for the song was inspired by Emilio, who told me he was a rock-n-roll thing way back when he was 3. He's almost 6 now. His latest favorite song is: Ring of Fire. The kid has taste. We listened to it together this morning in the car.
This was our first recording of Rock-n-Roll Thing. Just a test. A first draft to check the sound. We will be re-recording it very soon and adding more instrumentation. I would like to speed up the tempo, and the vocal performance could be better. I am sharing this with you to show the process of making music.
Here goes:
Zumbathon
Zumba is all about learning steps and moves. I want to love Zumba because I love to dance, and I love to dance with others. But instead, I feel like I am spending all my energy trying to follow the moves instead of dancing and expressing myself.
For the past five months, twice a week, I have been teaching a dance class of my own creation called Dance Lab. It's been one of the most positive & thrilling experiences of my life. And it's gotten me in really good shape. I created the class based on a variety of influences in my life--my extensive training in acting & improvisation, my dabbling in modern, ballet, tap, swing, salsa dance, my grad training in movement & dance therapy, my longtime practice of pilates, yoga & meditation as well as my deep love for making dance playlists and holding dance parties.
Before I created Dance Lab as a class, I did the same practice in my living room. And before that, I occasionally went to a Zumba class taught by an incredibly vibrant woman in her 60's named Jan. Jan is a powerhouse full of love of dance. I hadn't been to Zumba for a long time because I now have my own practice, but my friend Dominique invited me to join her on Friday for a Mexican Zumbathon at the Eijido Building (a community center) in Todos Santos. When we arrived to the giant space, there were 40 Mexican ladies in spandex leggings and neon tops waiting to dance. And then off in the corner was a group of 4 Gringas, including Jan, and her daughter (also a Zumba teacher) in the same type of outfits. In another corner were 3 Mexican men, wearing matching outfits--all in black. Dominique said she felt like the Sharks were about to fight (or have a dance-off with) the Jets. I laughed in recognition. Then we burst out into song "I want to live in America." But we were the outsiders, living in Mexico.
Finally the music started, and one of the Zumba instructors (pictured right with the Don't Walk Dance T-shirt on) began dancing in the front. She had so much dance pizazz, it was amazing to watch. And then every one followed her moves, everyone, that is, except me. Now here's the point of my story: although I have always been a dancer of some sort, and am often the first one to get the dance party going, I have never been very good at absorbing dance routines. Trying to figure it out puts me in my head and out of my body. I suddenly can't tell my right foot from my left. It's frustrating. And it's no fun. This is why I created Dance Lab, it's a space where you don't have to learn steps, but instead you can create your own (taking inspiration from particular dance forms, but with out having the pressure of being correct.) Zumba is all about learning steps and moves. I want to love Zumba because I love to dance, and I love to dance with others. But instead, I feel like I am spending all my energy trying to follow the moves instead of dancing and expressing myself.
I was reminded of this once again at the Zumbathon. But this time I tried something different. If the moves were easy to follow, I would follow them. But the moment they got too complex for me to follow, I just did my own dance. And through doing my own dance, I felt my body come alive again. It was inspiring to watch the six different teachers-- Gringas and Méxicanas & Méxicanos do their moves with such confidence and joy. What I loved most about the experience is just the feeling of being around a lot of people dancing. The energy is infectious. And there I was, in the back row, sometimes dancing with the crowd, sometimes doing my thing. My very own one-lady Dance Lab.
Cowboy Photoshoot
Mio promptly got dressed into his cowboy outfit, and posed very cooperatively for Lucas for twenty minutes.
Last week Mio came into the house out of breath.
Mio: Can I have a special present?
Parents: What for? For what occasion?
Mio: Just because I want one.
Lucas: That's not a very good reason. What if I just asked you for a special present?
Mio: Okay, I would give you one. What do you want?
Lucas: (thinks for a moment) What I really would love is for you to put on the black cowboy hat I got for you at the Segunda (thrift store), jeans and cowboy boots and to let me take pictures of you.
Mio: (who usually resists us when we want to take photos of him) Okay. (And he never even asked for something in return.)
Mio promptly got dressed into his cowboy outfit, and posed very cooperatively for Lucas for twenty minutes. I came out with my camera to get another angle on the momentous occasion. Ping, our dog (who was imported, not by us, from Taiwan) was drawn in to the photo shoot as well, but he forgot his cowdog hat.
THE CASE OF THE KALEIDOSCOPE AND THE PLASTIC JEWEL THIEF
Emilio loves to collect what he calls jewels. His jewels are made of different materials, some are plastic, some are glass or stone, but what they all have in common is that they are translucent and brightly colored.
Emilio loves to collect what he calls jewels. His jewels are made of different materials, some are plastic, some are glass or stone, but what they all have in common is that they are translucent and brightly colored. One day he noticed that his kaleidoscope contained an enticing assortment of jewels. He then promptly took a hammer and smashed it open so he could steal the jewels. I admit I didn't at all stop him, but watched his quest with amazement and fascination. And then I photographed it on top of our refrigerator (we have a chest fridge. )
Art is there for us to make beauty out of the human experience.
There is anger in me about something. It is the split between art and life. It is the split between artists and non-artists. That art is somehow reserved for the special people in life, and the rest of us, well we just drone through life, asleep. I refuse to accept this piece of culture that we have inherited. I am ready to change culture by magnifying, elevating the beauty of the everyday experience into art.
The thing that I have always wanted more than anything, is to be an artist. To make work that is of value to our culture—so that it can show culture what it misses about nature. I see it as my duty to share the shadow of my particular experience, instinctively knowing that it reflects the experience of others. Maybe not everyone. But at least a few thousand or maybe even millions of others. That is still a very small percentage of people who live on this planet. I can’t move forward through life with out needing to make something out of it—on some mornings I feel anger, and then underneath that, a deep wounding. A feeling of being misunderstood, small, as if I am turning into dust. And then a need to turn that feeling into something beautiful, something that suggests the mystery of its wholeness—its beauty and struggle. A poem, perhaps. A song. On some days I want to propel myself into the spotlight—letting a certain rowdy energy flow through me in the form of song, rock-n-roll abandon. A voice that carries with it the repressed rebellion of my teenage years mixed with rage for growing up female, and almost never feeling seen for all that I really am. Sometimes the scientist shows up, and wants to explain away this feeling—to understand it and put it in its proper context, to measure it. To find a solution. Sometimes I want to track something until it becomes just another aspect of nature’s design.
Sometimes, I want to sit in a deep and fulfilled silence. Opening up to the sensual information that permeates my entire body. I want to let this happen, while images-- me lying face up in the a sea that is filled with the disintegrated words and thoughts in my head. This too, is art. I am coming to see that all experience of humanity is art when we open our eyes just a little bit wider, and we let wonder back in. When we let the child’s eyes, and the woman's instincts, and the man’s power, when we let all of our experience back into our awareness, we are moving into life as art. When we make choices about our awareness—what we want to put our attention on in any given moment, we are living life as art. When we soften into, even just for a moment, the inexpressible longing that emanates from our heart. This too, is art. For when we engage in the soul, as Thomas Moore writes, we are creating ourselves. The transient & elusive material of the soul is unreachable, except by through art. Jung saw this process as alchemy, though he did not think of it as art. I do.
There is anger in me about something. It is the split between art and life. It is the split between artists and non-artists. That art is somehow reserved for the special people in life, and the rest of us, well we just drone through life, asleep. I refuse to accept this piece of culture that we have inherited. I am ready to change culture by magnifying, elevating the beauty of the everyday experience into art. Everything can be art. Who believed this? Andy Warhol. I believe he was very misunderstood. Many people forgot what a humanist he really was. His message of art was that we are all artists—and that is what he attracted to him—underdog dreamers who wanted their first chance to be elevated. The mistake he made, and they made, was that his ego got in the way, and he didn’t empower his followers. He didn’t tell them that it wasn't his duty to make them a star. It was up to each of them to find the star within themselves. This mistake cost lives, even his own. In religion, it has been the same way, but to a much higher degree of destruction. The greatest artists, just as the greatest spiritual teachers of humanity, knew the secret was in all of us. And yet, our culture cuts us off from seeing that only that special person over there is gifted, and we must worship him in order to be free. That is absolutely incorrect, and I know this with all certainty. The true message of those heroes that we adore, that we feel inclined to worship, was that god is everyone of us. The art that flows out, that is god. The love, that is god. Our essential nature is all the same. The way it looks, and the way we access it, the way we express it—there are a billion ways, a trillion ways. But we are all artists, or can be if we choose, all we have to do is realize that this is so.
Learning about instinct from Björk and Andy Warhol
She said that her goal in her art is to return us to our instincts. She uses her own instincts, which are highly developed because since she has been an artist since she was a young child. She has never stopped being an artist. I think this is why her art is so magical, so unreal—she trusts that her instincts will take her where she needs to go.
Photo credit unknown
Last night, I watched two documentaries about two fascinating art heroes of mine. Andy Warhol and Björk. They reflect both sides of my artist self— shy, clever, design and dramatic, emotional, performance. Björk is my hero because she is a brilliant artist in everything she does. She is courageous, she is deep, she is alive. She respects her own art intuitively, and she teaches us how this is necessary. She makes use of her own arresting image to talk about her human experience, she does what expressive arts therapy does—she uses the material of her self, her culture, her identity, her experience of humanness, her childlike nature, her masculine & feminine energy to create new territories of culture. She combines, she tears down boundaries, she brings the dream world and the world of reality into an altered third plane that is all her own. To me this what great music does. This is what all great art does—creates something that didn’t quite exist before. It is a feeling of visiting a newly discovered planet, that is also relatable—built out of something recognizable. A planet we have never been to before, except maybe in our dreams.
Polaroid Self Portrait by Andy Warhol
Andy Warhol did the same thing, in his way. He took a careful, critical, but most importantly, celebratory look at culture, at what culture was in the process of becoming, and created something brand new out of it. He got out ahead. He put up a gigantic mirror. He dared to show us our narcissism, and his own. He made use, too, of his own body, his own wounds, his own childlike nature, his femininity & masculinity, his belief in the beauty of humanity. These are also my goals as an artist, but it seems I am much slower to arrive. Perhaps this is because I am so multi-modal, my development in each form has to be slow. It’s also because I often get stuck in my own self-doubt as an artist. I, too, want to turn everything I do into art. I too, want to make use of my masculinity & femininity & childlike nature. I too, want to break down boundaries—I too want to celebrate humanity. I feel like I haven’t quite stepped fully into my artistic voice & body, but rather than waiting, I am starting to put my voice out there before I am fully ready. This blog is for that purpose—and it is what I believe may be revolutionary about it—to expose my process, the messy process of becoming myself. To highlight my process of transformation (which happens over and over again) in the hopes that I might help illuminate your path for yourself.
I don’t believe I have all the answers, I am just willing to share my questions and my quest. I have some answers, or rather, I am in development with some answers, and those I am also willing to share—particularly in my labs and in my counseling/coaching sessions. We already have so many voices on the internet who tell us that they have the answers, the secret to humanity. (Nearly everyday I listen to inspiring TED talks, or master storytellers.) My intention is to reveal the process of getting there. (As if the process ever ends. I don't believe it does.) My intention is to expose my failures as exciting lessons. To reveal my emotions, so that it makes it safer for you to feel yours. My goal is to keep myself inspired, and in turn, keep you inspired. I want to inspire you to never give up on your dreams, to never give up on you becoming your whole self.
The word that emerged in both documentaries, but particularly from the one about Björk, was instinct. This word is not a word I use often, but now it has come happily, fully to my attention. There are a few nuanced definitions of the word, but Bjork used it in this sense: “a natural or intuitive way of acting or thinking.” (Oxford) She said that her goal in her art is to return us to our instincts. She uses her own instincts, which are highly developed because since she has been an artist since she was a young child. She has never stopped being an artist. I think this is why her art is so magical, so unreal—she trusts that her instincts will take her where she needs to go. This is the expressive arts ethos as well—we move into a deeper well of our experience in order to express the non-linear, less conscious part of our human experience. Andy Warhol used his very-well developed instincts too—his art reflects the instinctual human response to mass culture, to advanced capitalist culture. What it turns us into.
Lately, I have a similar way of looking at the purpose of art, but the word I have been using is nature. My goal being: to help human culture be more connected to nature. The nature that is already within us. Both our humanity and our animality. I am now seeing that instincts are the function of our human experience that allows us to connect to our nature. What I am also seeing now, for myself, is that it’s not enough just to have instincts, its about trusting those instincts. It’s about not doubting ourselves. The only way we can do this is to stop being self-conscious, which is to stop wondering what other people will think. To not let our projections of others' perceptions be a factor in how we move our raw material into the art space. How we shape our personal response to our unique experience. This is, by far, the greatest thing that holds me back as an artist, and I know that I am not alone. But how do we do this? How do we let go of our fear of judgment by others? How do we stop worrying about how our art will be received?
There is no simple solution, or rather, there are many solutions, and this is the question that guides how I set up my classroom laboratories: how do I create a context that helps people be free to open up to their vast creativity? One thing comes to mind: it’s about where we put our attention. If we put our attention on our experience, we are self-aware. When we put our attention on others' experience of us, we are self-conscious. If we stay focused on what we are doing, and what we are trying to express, then we won’t be thinking as much about how it will be received. Getting deeply into the work is what evaporates self-consciousness. It isn’t easy to do. I struggle with it every day. But I also work on solutions. Quitting Facebook was one of my solutions. So is writing this blog everyday. Meditating is another.
What are some of your solutions?
The Authenticity Mantra is the Cure for a Vulnerability Hangover
"Authenticity is the daily practice of letting go of who think we’re supposed to be, and embracing who we actually are."
One of my newest heroines is Brené Brown. She is a social researcher, a story teller and listener, author, and a Texan. What she studies mostly is shame & vulnerability. Her excellent, exhaustive research has led her to conclude that our experience of shame, and our inability to talk about shame is one of the main causes of most of the social problems we see in the US today: addiction, isolation, crime, suicide.
She also teaches authenticity, as an antidote to shame. This is her definition of authenticity:
“Authenticity is the daily practice of letting go of who think we’re supposed to be, and embracing who we actually are. Choosing authenticity means: 1) Cultivating the courage to be imperfect 2) to set boundaries and 3) to allow ourselves to be vulnerable. Expressing compassion that comes from knowing that we’re all made of strength and struggle. Authenticity demands wholehearted living and loving, even when it’s hard, even when we’re wrestling with the shame and fear of not being good enough and especially when the joy is so intense that we’re afraid to let ourselves feel it. Mindfully practicing authenticity during our soul searching struggles is how invite grace, joy and gratitude into our lives.”
I took the above quote from her 6 hour talk called The Power of Vulnerability. If you listen to it, it will change your life. In it, she also shares her authenticity mantra, which I use all the time, and tell to everyone who will listen.
"Don't shrink. Don't puff up. Just stay on your sacred ground."
I am sharing this because this blogging project is all about my new found commitment to authenticity. It's not an easy path I am now on, and I am suffering from what Brené Brown calls a vulnerability hangover. At times I feel a bit raw, and alone. But I also know that if I want to be a trailblazer, which I most definitely do, I am going to have to tolerate the discomfort of vulnerability. If I want to be a leader, I need to go first. This month of blogging is me going first. When I feel afraid to risk being myself, it always helps to have a hero in mind. Brené Brown is my hero of the day.
I made my dramatic statement about leaving Facebook on Facebook today. And now I feel like I left the party. But I also know that I can create my own party, on my own terms. This reminds me of one of my own mantras that I use when I feel a need for external validation, but then remember that self-validation is really what I am looking for.
"I'm where the party's at."
Facebook feels like a popularity contest that I'm losing
Facebook is a place where we re-confirm what The Culture says is acceptable about us, and where we continue to hide our shadow, which grows bigger and bigger, underground.
The other day, I went on Facebook after writing my blog post about how I am done apologizing for the collective shadow, and the first thing I saw was a link posted by an old friend to an online magazine who had done some sort of exposé on his fancy country house. He had received a ton of comments and likes, everyone complimenting his house. One part of me sees that there is nothing wrong with this. This is normal behavior, acceptable behavior. But another part of me felt envious, and underneath that, angry. Not at any person, just at the way Facebook makes me feel. Then I realized it. Facebook is a place where we re-confirm what The Culture says is acceptable about us, and where we continue to hide our shadow, which grows bigger and bigger, underground. For me, it exacerbates the ego's need to confirm itself over and over, but then I am left feeling empty. I rarely find authenticity in the realm of Facebook, most especially not in myself. And yet, since I live in the desert, in Mexico, and I am far away from much of my friends and family, Facebook has sadly become the main way of keeping in touch with people in my life. It is a very paltry way of communicating with people you care about. Nearly every time I go on Facebook, I leave feeling wounded, inadequate, ashamed, disconnected & profoundly disappointed. For a long time I have wanted to share more of what I really think and feel on Facebook, but I have been afraid to tell the truth. How could I not be afraid of being myself in front of (what feels like) an unpredictably random assortment of 500 people I know or used to know, including: grade school best friends, people I've never met, dead relatives, clients, bosses, co-workers, ex's, therapists, teachers. On Facebook, in front of almost everyone we've ever known, our social connection is reduced to momentary reactions to fleeting images of people with whom we've had every kind of relationship imaginable. People's behavior has been reduced to the simplest gestures and statements that fall in the category of that which can be commented on in a few words, clicked in less than a second or more often, ignored. On Facebook I have the feeling that I need to express myself as generically as possible because I have no idea who I am actually communicating with. This feels like the fear of being judged in middle school and high school when we were first developing an identity. I don't want to go back to that trapped-in-silence feeling again.
I say:
FUCK FACEBOOK.
I typed the above statement last night into my computer and it felt just right. I decided I am going to leave Facebook and see how it changes my life. I am moving my comments to Twitter (which is new to me) & Somewhere and maybe I'll discover a new social platform that feels more welcoming of my full self. But of course, most of comments will be here at the zoëlab HQ. I am always available by phone and email. Those older technologies seem so warm now with Facebook out of the way.
I might give myself a little time to adjust to this new idea. I am still contemplating whether or not I want to leave up my Art For Life page or leave Facebook all together. Right now I feel like slipping out the back door. Tomorrow I may feel a need to make a slightly louder exit.
This idea feels a little thrilling, strangely. Writing this post certainly has been thrilling, and I almost didn't post it. Almost.
(I confess this blog post took longer than 15 minutes. But I had a lot of fun, so it's okay.)
There are no mediocre blog posts
For me, blogging is foremost about honesty--it's about revealing the little details of the clunky, messy, exuberant process of life. It is about developing a point of view, strengthening it daily, which includes sharing my point of view even when it is uncertain or has changed.
Okay, so here is a little window into my process.
I started this blog post last weekend, I was inspired, and excited to write for the first time in a while. But then I didn't finish it, and then I started to avoid it, and then I felt really blocked.
My frustration with this block is actually what inspired me to start this blogging daily for a month thing, and to give myself a time limit, and to challenge myself to risk bringing more of myself here.
This post is really what inspired the two previous posts. Tonight, I decided to share the abandoned post with you. I spent an hour waiting for the slow internet to upload my website, and then I copied and pasted my unfinished blog post here, with a only touch of editing.
[T]he speed with which an idea in your head reaches thousands of other people’s eyes has another deflating effect, this time in reverse: It ensures that you will occasionally blurt out things that are offensive, dumb, brilliant, or in tune with the way people actually think and speak in private. That means bloggers put themselves out there in far more ballsy fashion than many officially sanctioned pundits do, and they make fools of themselves more often, too. The only way to correct your mistakes or foolishness is in public, on the blog, in front of your readers. You are far more naked than when clothed in the protective garments of a media entity.
But, somehow, you’re liberated as well as nude: blogging as a media form of streaking. I notice this when I write my blog, as opposed to when I write for the old media. I take less time, worry less about polish, and care less about the consequences on my blog. That makes for more honest writing. It may not be “serious” in the way, say, a 12-page review of 14th-century Bulgarian poetry in the New Republic is serious. But it’s serious inasmuch as it conveys real ideas and feelings in as unvarnished and honest a form as possible. I think journalism could do with more of that kind of seriousness. It’s democratic in the best sense of the word. It helps expose the wizard behind the media curtain.
Last night I was feeling down about my blogging, because of my continuing struggle to reconnect to that delicious creative flow that I had felt my first year of blogging, which was everyday. I had written a post that felt a little rushed, and I was concerned that it was mediocre. Whenever I struggle with these types of problems, or really, any problem, I turn to my husband who is the wisest person I know, even wiser than I’d like to think I am. He deserves a vicarious honorary degree from my every experience of learning since we've been together. (This July it will be 12 years.) His ability to know and understand and reflect me is magic. He mirrors me and reminds me what I already know, but forgot, because I can get lost within certain aspects of my personality. When I struggle with feeling whole, he helps reflect the parts of me that I have forgotten.
“There are no mediocre blog posts.” he said. And then explained why this is true. And he was right. He helped me remember that a blog is a log. “A log is an official record of events during the voyage of a ship or aircraft.” (New Oxford American Dictionary). A log is a record of life, as you experience it. Preferably daily. To me a blog is both science and art. The art is pushing oneself into new forms of expression. The science is the tracking of life.
When I brought up my feelings of disappointment about not offering more polished or thought-out writing, he reminded me this time what a blog actually is and what it's for. It's for sharing a process. For his example--he referred to one of his favorite internet reads: Andrew Sullivan's blog, The Dish, which disseminated, in February of this year, after over ten years of a wide readership. Sullivan has decided to leave it up as an archive to access.
This morning, I woke up ready to approach my blog in a new light—I checked The Dish and found the quote above--which Andrew Sullivan had written 13 years ago. I was so inspired, I immediately came here to share with you what I am starting to understand.
For me, blogging is foremost about honesty--it's about revealing the little details of the clunky, messy, exuberant process of life. It is about developing a point of view, strengthening it daily, which includes sharing my point of view even when it is uncertain or has changed.
For most of my life I have been a grand risk-taker. I have traveled far and wide. Immigrated to the desert. Lived in a tent through out most of my pregnancy. I have tried most of the things I am terrified of. I have challenged myself to take on seemingly impossible tasks. And yet, one of the risks that I have consistently stayed away from is sharing my opinion. Underneath this avoidance are three main fears: a) offending people, b) being called out on my ignorance or c) being seen as narcissistic or self-absorbed. This style of being has kept me apolitical, super nice and falsely modest. It has kept me quiet and safe, in the area of the mind and the world. I have stuck to subjects that I care deeply about and know: the arts, spirituality, psychology, education. I stay away from arguments, debates and certain kinds of personal truths. I am terrified to let people know how narcissistic I am, or how differently organized. I hide the truth of my metaphysical perspective. I have been afraid to share my failures and my pettiness. I have been afraid to reveal the messes in my mind and my life. I have been afraid to challenge others to think in new ways about their place in the world.
I realize that it is not my duty to reveal my thoughts and insecurities. Especially not on the internet. No one is asking me to be more honest or vulnerable or risky. And yet, it feels as if there is some force pushing me towards sharing more of myself with the world. If I think about it, there has always been this force daring me to do things I am afraid to. It’s an inner voice of challenge, it feels almost spiritual in nature, as if I am being pushed into my destiny.
When I hide my point of view, I feel like I am letting myself down. I feel a magnetic pull towards revealing myself. Not revealing myself in the ways I used to: through emotional vulnerability, sexuality, or insecurity, but now it is about sharing my truth, my point of view. This is about taking myself seriously enough to think I have something to say that is worth listening to. This is the hardest thing for me, and I know I am not alone in this. This is hard, most especially for women—to value our voice and our message enough to unapologetically offer it to the public. The unapologetic part is the hardest part for me. I have been trained by our culture to apologize for myself so much, that it becomes the feeling of apologizing for my very existence. This is not just about narcissism, about being seen, this is about engaging in conversation. This is about making use of my mind for good in the world. The potential good that I see is in sharing my mind are my insights into The Culture and how it it is eating away at our humanity. Sharing my opinion feels terrifying, because it means acknowledging to others that I value my own thoughts, ideas and beliefs. My life long dream has been to be a voice to & for others. This is what I wrote about in my college essay, which was, itself, quoted from a journal entry, which was written in response to watching Christian Slater nakedly & anonymously announce his truth on the radio in Pump Up the Volume. Here is a little piece of the Christian Slater-inspired journal entry/college essay:
"And now I know everyone needs a voice, each person has her own but she needs another to feed on. Another to accept hers and expand its possibilities, to go beyond what is expected. I know that no one at high school is that voice. Alexander [my older brother] is that voice. And even though I have discovered his voice is not always perfect, not always consistent, it is alive. It is there. Not everyone has, or knows they have, or knows they need a voice. A voice of love, of understanding, of influence. I know my own voice follows love; love of the abstract, the personal, the unique… I need a reason to be voice. It has to be person, someone to speak to me… a voice that speaks to mine… My dream is to be a voice. Maybe it is a voice that quivers or that is shy, sensitive, or silly, but it is a voice that communicates."
I am remembering now that what I had with zoelab 365, which I have been grieving over for the past few years, is that openness of mind. It was the first time in my life where I shared my point of view. The risk and thrill of it were palpable. It was like an extra source of high-energy food that I was living off of. Perhaps the kind of breathlessness that blogging every day (often writing designing or editing for up to four hours every night) required is unsustainable, and the year had to come to an end. But I am ready now to take on a new journey with this new blog. I am ready to challenge myself, yet again, to reveal more truth. To push my own boundaries to discover my own opinions. I want to invite readers to challenge me as well. To respectfully educate me when I am ignorant. To cry with me when I am sad. To laugh with me at my own narcissism or pettiness. To recognize your own narcissism and pettiness in mine. After all, the point of the blog is the connection between the blogger and the reader. This is the thrill of it. I am looking for conversations. I am looking to impact the world through challenging all of us to be more compassionate, creative, connected and honest. I am looking to risk my ego to share the larger truth of my humanity, including my flaws, vulnerability and criticism.
I am done with apologizing for the collective shadow
I find myself imprisoned by the critic inside that just can’t tolerate anything I write that seems self-absorbed, braggy, unresearched or confessional.
“There is nothing gutsier to me than a person announcing that their story is one that deserves to be told, especially if that person happens to be a woman.”
- Lena Dunham
Lena Dunham is the creator, director, writer, & star of the comedy/drama Girls and author of a book of personal essays entitled Not That Kind of Girl. She is one of my art heroines because she dares to tell her truth with no apologies--she is funny, smart, feminist and she shows up with her full, wacky, imperfect self. I also happen to have a lot in common with her: she has the art career of my dreams, and we share the same double alma mater. One of my (formerly secret until now) dreams is for one of my songs to be on her show. (One of my other dreams is to have a comedy show of my own, which I have been developing for years. More on that later...)
For 41.5 years, I have been far too apologetic. This is a female habit that I am ready to let go of. I am done apologizing for myself and for feeling shame about the parts of me that are simply just human.
This June Blogging exercise is an exercise in shedding my shame. It’s an exercise in letting go of the ego-driven perfectionist in me, so that I can actually just sit down and write some truths. Sometimes (and more often than I’d like considering that I teach and write about how to work with the inner critic) I find myself imprisoned by the critic inside that just can’t tolerate anything I write that seems self-absorbed or braggy, unresearched or confessional. I find myself afraid of three things most: 1) I will write something offensive to someone 2) I will reveal myself to be self-absorbed or narcissistic 3) I will be accused of ignorance, and will be asked to back up something that I have written, and I won’t be able to.
Looking at them plainly now, I see that these fears are gendered. That these are the things we women fear because we are brought up to:
- Be nice
- Take care of others, and to deprecate ourselves
- Use facts to support what we say, even if we naturally gravitate towards our personal experience as a way of knowing about the world
As an exercise, I went through a folder in my computer titled “Writing pieces: post ideas, essays, thought seeds” and I found 60 pieces that all started with great passion and truth, and not finished. They remain unpublished. Just like 99% of everything I have written. Withexception to the many pieces I have shared on my personal blog, (read by a handful of friends, family & therapists), the poetry that was published in my high school literary magazine (whose pages were graced years later by the writings of Lena Dunham), I have published only two pieces of writing in my life: one was when I was 11 years old. I had won a creative writing contest in New England, and they published my story and a photo of me holding my cat, Claude. And second, when I was twenty six years old. I had met an artist, whose day job was as editor of a porn magazine called Oui, who paid me $100 to write a pornographic story, which he published. I have at least three books in me, and I would like to publish articles. But for now, I am very happy to be blogging. Maybe my new style will attract more than a handful of readers. Maybe I’ll be more courageous about making my blog more visible.
I realize now that I never stopped blogging, I just stopped publishing. Reading through the unpublished folder of pieces now, I think: so many of these could be blog posts right now, with just a tiny bit of editing. As part of this 30-days-of-blogging-unapologetically thing, I will plant some of these seeds online and see what kind of plants they become. Maybe they will lead me into the voice I have longed to be for so long. The voice that upholds the shadow in all of us. The voice that was was first awakened by Christian Slater in Pump Up the Volume when I was 17. The voice that makes space for us (you AND me) to be oneself, which is to say, to be all of one’s selves. We all have male & female & child in us. We all have shame and heartbreak and yes, we all have to take a shit. We all need to belong. We all need to feel free. We all need to be seen and heard.
I have lost my tolerance for The Culture that disconnects us from our nature. It is time to re-invent culture. It is time for me to take a stand, in my own way. My own way is not in the political arena, it is not about fighting “the good fight.” My own way is not about pretending to be something I am not. My own way is to be myself, unapologetically, and to be a champion for creativity, the feminine, and that which we feel we should hide. My way is creating supportive contexts (creative classroom laboratories) where people experience their own true selves emerge. My way is to celebrate our longings, letting them lead us into human aliveness. My way is to use my rock-n-roll-poet-prophet-mystic-explorer-of-garbage-and-all-things-beautiful-and-true voice. My way is to be balls-out and heart-out. I want to give you all a heart-on.
Who is ready to join me on this crazy scary exhilarating path to self-actualization?
Comments?