This week is turning out to be one of those periods during which our
front door becomes a revolving entryway for a myriad of guests who
happen to be in need of an LA pit stop in the midst of other journeys.
One friend here for a night before flying off to London; another
needing a place to rest and re-group between Santa Barbara and Newport
Beach.  The latter will be back here Thursday night on their way home;
the following day three new guests will be here for a long weekend of
what I know will be some of the most incredible girl time ever known to
the universe.  This is always my main goal with whatever home I happen
to be living in – to create a safe, cozy haven that can be filled with
beautiful art, good music, and plenty of wild laughter, lazy naps and
soulful dinner parties.  To be filled with travelers making their way
all over the world.

I continue to exist in a strangely soft, mushy, quiet space where I
look rather busy and productive on the outside, but on the inside I am
doing my best to let my mind wander freely so I can see where it wants
to take me.  The part of me that exists deep down in the caverns has
decided to come forward and do whatever it can to keep my head in the
clouds for as long as possible, knowing that once November hits, the
holiday freight train will propel me forward at dizzying speeds and I
won’t have a lot of time to explore whatever it is she is searching
for.   I have teeter-tottered between moments of incredible clarity and
a profound sense of inner peace and episodes of panic, wondering why I
can’t seem to snap out of this peculiar mindset.  I don’t even like
that term "inner peace".  It sounds so pre-packaged and self-help-ish,
but I don’t know how else to describe in just two words the feeling of
being able to completely shed my ego and false self – that self that
thrives on approval from others and lives in fear of judgment.
Somehow, some way, I have actually seen and felt the amazing gift of a
direct connection to the divine where all things are possible and I
have nothing – literally nothing – to worry about.  Ever.

I have lived with a heart-wrenching question for most of my life, a
question of why I was not/have not been/am not currently worthy of
someone’s love, effort, devotion, etc.  I have applied this question to
various people throughout my life, mainly those who I believe ought to
have given that love to me out of an objective sense of integrity
within whatever context they happened to be (usually family).  While I
have posed this question with regard to a number of different
relationships, it always ultimately goes back to one in particular, and
while I still sometimes struggle with the abandonment I experienced, I
have learned to embrace any number of very rational reasons why I need
not take it personally.

This has been perhaps my greatest angst among a long list of angsts throughout my life thus far, this feeling of not being worthy.
This feeling that another person experiences me and whatever I am
trying to offer and makes the choice to turn away.   As if it were
always a conscious choice.  As if it were at all personal.  As if it
had anything to do with me.

My rational self has gotten its best workouts from these issues, as
I have made the effort to build those "Don’t Take Things Personally"
muscles in many ways and over a long period of time.  So my rational
self knows very well that I am only creating my own pain when I give
these questions of worth in another person’s eyes any serious
consideration.  My emotional self has had a harder time, but there has
been something in these "spiritual glimpses" of late that are beginning
to show me the way to the most profound sense of healing and release I
have ever known.

In The Great Divorce by C.S. Lewis, there is a line about one of the characters in the book that says, "You exist as Michael’s mother only because you first exist as God’s creature."
What this says to me is that no matter who we are, what we do or
whomever else we might have a connection to in this life, our
connection to God exists above all of this.  While this quote does not
say this explicitly, it also tells me that I may not be able to ever
completely count on another person’s love, but I can always count on
God loving me, and if I ever lose sight of this, it will always be the
beginning of losing my way.  I will be totally honest and say my
glimpses into this Truth have so far been fleeting.  They are, in fact,
almost frightening, as this desire to completely let go and Trust has
become so entangled with Fear of Rejection that I am still getting used
to the idea that old rules do not apply in this case.  Still, as
fleeting as they may be for the time being, they are, quite simply, blissful.

I have never been a religous person, never gone regularly to church
and have rarely been comfortable discussing spiritual ideas.  I don’t
know why this is, but talking about God feels awkward to me.  It feels
so terribly personal and interior.  But as I write this I
wonder if this might be the product of an old, unhealthy model – a way
of existing and seeing myself in the world that I need no longer
embrace.  This is what my inner explorations seem to be all about right
now – questions of what premises and assumptions I am living my life
by.   What beliefs have I been carrying around with me that I need to
let go of, and what does this mean for my work as an artist, my role as
a wife,  and my existence as a woman?  If I don’t believe in storms,
where will I go when it rains?

I am exploring questions, but not necessarily looking for answers.
I am trying to solve a puzzle but know the pieces will soon change
shape in such a way that whatever image I come up with will transform
before I blink.  I am wandering through a world without a map, drawing
a picture with invisible ink, listening to the most beautiful music in
absolute silence.   I am floating, with my feet firmly planted on the
earth.