Dog days of summer have descended in Riverside. By mid-day heat embraces me like cling-wrap when I step outside. Physical activities slow. But while my body conserves movement my mind picks up the slack. I find I'm more introspective than usual right now.
Along with thinking cool thoughts, I'm working through some aggressive physical therapy for adhesive capsulitis-- also known as frozen shoulder. And I'm making progress. At first I thought a skin flap would bond my arm to my side. It seemed locked in place. Now I can lift my left arm away from my body enough to put on deodorant. Woo hoo!
Anyway, back to aggressive physical therapy. My sister, who is a physical therapist (PT) prepared me for the work comparing it childbirth. She was right. The differences:
1) I know the pain of a session will end a lot sooner than labor.
2) Instead of leaving with an infant in my arms, I walk out with a dark and growing reputation: the woman who continues her exercises and what looks like arm-breaking manipulation while tears stream down her face.
I do faithful work at home too. I REALLY want full range. No residual stiffness for me, thank you. While pushing myself through exercises, my mind ranges to metaphor. Funny perhaps, but the mental exercise distracts me from the discomfort of physical exercise. In metaphor mode I see a direct link between my desire for physical freedom and my desire for greater personal and spiritual freedom.
The process of moving into my identity as an artist is a bit like my work to regain full use of my left arm. Difficult. Taxing. On the artistic journey I still hear voices of doubt -- those stiff, limiting, fearful voices -- whispering in my head.
These voices can be especially daunting when my next step as an artist is a mystery. You see, while I love painting furniture, conjuring clever cards, or generally spinning straw into gold, I really feel called to more. Greater creativity AND greater service. Since I don't have a clear idea of how to move toward this, I keep doing what is in front of me. Baking, listening, painting, thinking, cleaning closets, praying. Waiting.
The mix of uncertainty and whispers of doubt create a cocktail of despair. This lure of this deadly drink seems strongest while waiting. To resist the negative brew, I meditate, drinking in more refreshing thoughts. I stretch my mind by embracing thinking that, while calming, often goes against the grain of a competitive culture based on merit through production and power, and worth calculated by income and influence.
My mantra:
Waiting (church folks might add, on the Lord) holds value.
Being is enough.
Doing what is in front of me is my calling.
Moving into mystery need not be fearful.
Stillness and reflection honor my purpose.
I release stiff, limiting beliefs.
I am set free for freedom.
Just as I want more from my left arm (I WILL swim again!) I want more from my art and my life. So I stretch. I wait. I sway and listen to the divine music that sets each of us free in the improvised dance of life. I say a huge YES to stretching, both physical and spiritual, so I can dance with greater freedom and delight.
How are you stretching this summer? What, perhaps difficult thing, have you said YES to as you dance? Please share below.
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2 comments:
I am in the hormonal throes of menopause this summer. Instead of denying it, stuffing it, fearing it, hiding it, or holding it at arms length, all of which I am well-practiced at, I am trying to let it be what it is, in all its roller coaster-like glory. Not to inflict it on other people, but honor my body's passage into its golden age. Making sure I have enough quiet alone time to process what comes up. Thinking through and journaling so I don't lose the lesson or forget it. Eating well and doing exercise I like to keep my body strong as it goes through this process. Being open and honest (and brief!) with people about what is going on and how it is affecting me, and how I am changing my plans and commitments to give it space. Trying to appreciate the learning process in all its frightening, honest, wrenching glory, and then to listen and act on whatever I learn. Ugh! and, Yahoo!
oh tracy, thank you.
your wisdom, honesty, and generosity in sharing this comment leave me almost speechless. thank you for responding in such a personal AND inspiring way.
what a loving and realistic navigational strategy for a very stretching period of life. my time is coming and i will remember your winsome voice when it does.
holding you in the light as you "honor [your] body's passing into its golden age." with love, rebecca
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