Author Archives: A Painterly Life

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About A Painterly Life

living a small, slow life in a small, slow town and loving every minute of it...please join my journal about aging, overcoming c-PTSD, living with chronic illness, and being creative in spite of it all.
Jun10

Are you all in?!

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So, since I have recently been through yet another health crisis (tired of reading about it? WOW, am I ever tired of talking about it!) I have been researching natural healing modalities. And spiritual healing for my symptoms, particularly auto-immune diseases that affect the eyes. And my YouTube feed, ever trying to find something to sell, has suddenly evolved to include spiritual healing channels. Another AI generated video caught my attention today. It doesn’t seem to have anything to do with the eyes…but my spirit has been trying to teach me to “fall apart at the SEEMS” for years now.

One of the secondary issues with spending far too much time incapacitated is that my tailbone hurts. My back is stiff and the aches and pains seem to make a rotation throughout my joints. For the most part I ignore them. They are not the source of my dis-ease, and I want to get to the source – because I want a cure. But my tailbone is painful. I have to carry my little donut cushion around with me if I want to sit.

Now, don’t get me wrong, I think medicine is full of miracles, too. I am still going to see a rheumatologist and may end up taking the heavy hitters, the biologic injections. Meanwhile, I will begin here, with all the natural self care steps, and continue my quest for healing on all levels.

When my son was diagnosed with Hodgkin’s Lymphoma as a teen, I wanted him to do all that medicine had to offer. One of the reasons that Hodgkin’s has a high success rate is because they treat it so aggressively. Surgery if possible (which he had) followed by maximum chemo and radiation. They bombard the body with all the poison it can possibly handle. He still lives with some of the negative side effects – but he’s LIVING.

At the time, my sisters fundamentalist church offered him a healing prayer session. He took it, of course. We were asked to attend a service on Sunday and to stay after to meet with a group of practiced prayer healers. Standing at the front of the sanctuary they encircled him, laying hands all over his upper body and praying quietly. But apparently one of the prayer leaders had left the room immediately after service. And suddenly he walked back in, walked quickly up to Steven as the group allowed him in, aggressively banged his palms onto Steven’s chest and let out a roar. Steven said he felt the cancer leave out through his back. And that was the moment he knew he was cured. He KNEW. He still went through all the grueling treatments. Because healing is not an either/or, half-assed attempt at life. It’s all or nothing.

Jun9

you don’t have to live like a refuge

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“If you feel insane in an insane world, it means you are sane.” – Rudolf Steiner

I don’t usually watch an AI created video like this one. They tend to give me the willies. But something (perhaps the artwork) compelled me listen this morning – and it’s message, while not new, is succinct here. I’m in the wrong world. I have felt this way since I can remember, certainly since early childhood. I’m guessing that if you are reading this blog you do, too.

The good news is that my soul has never fallen back to sleep (not for lack of trying.) The bad news is that my soul has never fallen back to sleep. Just kidding; I’ll always choose my soul and all the pain and heartache I feel over complacency and robot-itis. I’m a rebel no longer in disguise.

Turns out Steiner gave this phenomena a name: anthroposophy. The Oxford dictionary describes this as “a therapeutic, creative system…seeking to use mainly natural means to optimize physical and mental health and well-being.” I call it self acceptance.

Yes, my world view is idealistic. Deal with it. And this is the thing: I think it comes with age, and perhaps also emotional maturity (which has nothing to do with age.) Or as I’ve been telling my gaslighting family for decades: I choose my crazy.

Jun5

…and smoke.

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Petrichor and lilacs…and smoke. The rain let up yesterday evening, and today we have had to close up the house. Despite delightfully cool temperatures, the air is thick with the smoke from the Canadian wildfires. I have gone from loving the smell of the rain and blooming lilacs to an air quality advisory. Now the weather report includes the “smoke map.” The stars are no longer visible in the night sky.

“Sensitive groups, such as those with respiratory issues, are advised to take precautions.” Like what?! Stop breathing?! Suddenly (or not) the world has become a scary place. I don’t say that lightly; it is not lost on me that it long has been for many people. Let alone nature. God help us.

It is five a.m. as I write this. Later this morning my air conditioners will be installed and run – not to cool the house (the current outside temperature is fifty degrees) – but to filter the air. Many people here live without air conditioning as it isn’t frequently needed. Or, I should say, wasn’t. Again, the privilege not being lost on me. It’s the wildlife I’m most concerned with. Especially the birds. Especially the migrating birds, heading north this time of year to summer in Canada. Where do they go now? I fear that I sound ridiculously naive, and perhaps I am…perhaps I am…

And so, fear triggers in me a reminder to pull back. Pull my energy back into my body and focus on the present moment. Remember that each breath is a sacred gift. If again I sound naive, so be it. I am reminded by Tiokisin Ghosthorse that it is not so much my lungs that I should be concerned with. It’s my heart. My heart hurts.

Jun4

petrichor and lilacs

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My son says, “It is always a Michigan June in heaven.” It’s been a chilly spring. The heat is running this morning in the first week of June. We had dramatic thunderstorms last night and it’s still raining. But I keep a window cracked so I can smell the rain soaked earth. And the lilacs are blooming.

The lilac shrub out back is half the size of the house. I suspect it was planted around the time the house was built, which was 1955. It was traditional at that time to plant lilacs next to the driveway to welcome guests. The driveway has since been moved and the lilacs have flourished. They are spectacular.

I am in bed this morning with a vase full of them on the nightstand, coffee and my laptop, writing to you. Finally, having again been chronically ill for the last few weeks. I am better, but not well. This time I cannot avoid the doctor’s argument that I need to travel to see a specialist. I can cope with pain, but my eyesight is at stake. And let’s face it – the most qualified and well intended medical professionals still don’t have much to offer. The rheumatologist recommends I take a biologic. It is a treatment for symptoms; I want a cure. I’m stubborn like that.

But this morning I lay here breathing in the smell of rain and lilacs. The well fed fat cat is trilling and rolling around upside down on the floor. My son is here making blueberry pancakes and bacon for breakfast. Don’t tell me this isn’t heaven.

May12

treat the world like a scavenger hunt

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“God is in the details.” – Mies van der Rohe

Our creativity got hijacked. I would maybe say that differently: mine got kidnapped and held for ransom. However, I am ever more reminded how it does not go away; it lies quietly dormant waiting to be joyously and exuberantly remembered. Treat the world – LIFE – like a scavenger hunt. Because it is.

Susan’s Scavenger Hunt for you today: find these 5 things: 1) something you are proud of, 2) something you would happily do again, 3) five consecutive minutes of peaceful thought, 4) a stream of light where you didn’t expect it, and 5) a gentle sound from nearby.

AND, one extra: find the color of your eyes in something today.

May11

everybody worships

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It isn’t news to any of us that there is a fine line between self-aware and self-absorbed. Statistically social science tells us that we all think we are more self-aware than we actually are. That makes sense, of course. We all have unconscious blinders, aka childhood and cultural conditioning, that prevent us from seeing ourselves accurately. That’s why we are here in this clutzy animal body inhabiting our life as if we understand what’s going on here. I don’t know about you, but I feel increasingly clueless. Not for lack of trying to grow and become more conscious. It is, after all, the only dance in town. The unexamined life is not worth living, as Socrates said.

This blog has saved my life too many times to count over the years, both my physical and mental well-being. I cannot find words to express my gratitude for your readership; it is a huge privilege. But I struggle every single time I sit down at the keyboard to spill my guts here. It feels so self indulgent. My constant hope is that you each find something useful or insightful for your own well being. And I know that I repeat myself a lot. I find it near impossible to believe that I have anything interesting to say. I wish you’d all ask questions or comment about your interests.

Today I’m feeling particularly vulnerable. So I will revert back to sharing an old video I’ve shared before. I watch it from time to time just to remind myself that this is all sacred.

May10

and I just ain’t got the time

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“A bird doesn’t sing because it has an answer; it sings because it has a song.” – Maya Angelou

Recently I wrote that my mojo was missing like Car 54…and then I wrote nothing for weeks. I had nothing. Crickets. Where does it go, the muse, the inspiration, the energy…life? In the barometer of my body it feels to have dropped…way down deep inside. And it feels like death. Well, not that I know what death feels like, although I’ve been close a few times. But it feels something has stopped breathing. It’s hibernating. It can’t be prodded or cajoled to surface; I have to wait until it – she – crawls out from under the covers. It’s always tentative at first. Shy. Vulnerable. Immature.

Music is often the ladder I climb out of that dark womb back to the misty surface of the early morning light. Many years ago a friend told me I have a musical heart, and I think I always have. I come from a family of musicians. I don’t seem to have any talent there, but I often dream in song.

The first time I heard Stevie Winwood’s haunting voice my soul recognized a fellow spirit. That’s what good art does. It wakes something hiding deep inside. How many times did I experience Stevie Winwood in concert? Spencer Davis Group, Blind Faith (at the Grande Ballroom?) Traffic at Joe Louis Arena – The Low Spark of High Heeled Boys tour in 1972 (the year I graduated high school.) I went to hear him. Not Eric Clapton, or Ginger Baker.

Sing to me, Stevie. I’m all alone in this cage, and somebody holds the key…

May9

the devastating effects of OPD

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Last month was a blur. I spent the month in bed with pneumonia. Last week I had a clear chest exam. This week my OPD has flared up. No rest for the weary I guess. For those of you who don’t know, OPD is a spectrum disorder. Most of us have some degree of it. You might be surprised to learn that it is only slightly less prevalent in women than men, and that your risk is 37% higher if you live in the United States.

The symptoms of OPD (Obnoxious Personality Disorder) cause more harm than previously recognized here in the states, and are more easily identified in European countries frequented by American tourists. The expat population is currently being studied for their seeming immunity. Although one must wonder, if they didn’t somehow suffer the adverse affects of living around OPD, would they have moved abroad in the first place?

Symptoms often include an inflamed sense of entitlement, frequently followed by “the Karen effect.” One of my first clues of the flareup came around the need to wash dishes. Housework is often a trigger for me. I shouldn’t have to do it. Then there is the dilemma of having to cook for myself, but recent improvements in meal delivery options have helped with that.

The biggest trigger for me is the lack of high quality entertainment on the television. I subscribe to a dozen or more self-help streaming services and have thousands of movies and television series available to watch. Yet I am so picky that I can seldom find anything satisfying to quell the symptoms. I am frequently irritated, even at inanimate objects.

If you, too, suffer from the crippling effects of this disorder, know that there are resources available. Dial 1-800-I-BLAME-U, or try pulling your head out of your behind after a long, warm bath. This Netflix series will also help:

May9

rebel rebel

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Phew. Well, I must say I wish I’d thought of this before now. And this is why I have always said, “remember, ultimately it will be the artists who save us.” They are the akashic librarians of the human experience. We don’t evolve without them, and conversely our evolution is not recorded without them. A hundred years from now – a hundred million years from now – who we were and how we transformed through time will only be told by the artists. It will be all that remains of us.

But more importantly than that, the remnants of their reports of our time on earth (so far) inform us today about our why. Would we be here without the artists, the creatives? Personally I don’t believe so. Creative innovation solves our problems, heals us, finds a way out of the dark. A way. Through the keyhole of time and space…

Apr22

tick tock

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This might be one of the most difficult posts I have written in the 13 – 14 years I’ve had this blog. I’ve lost my mojo. I am taking a class to get it back. Seriously, a class. Maybe group therapy would be more accurate…for aging women like myself who can’t seem to find their way. It’s called Wayfinding. I’ve missed the first of the six weekly sessions already. This past week it’s pneumonia trying to take me out; but isn’t it always something?! So, I’ll have to keep you posted. I have catch-up homework, and I don’t mean that metaphorically.

Suffice it to say my motivation took flight with my self worth somewhere back near the beginning of winter. Okay, maybe right after the election last November. And life hasn’t felt the same since. You never imagine you are going to live through the things you studied in high school history, like pandemics. And brutal fascist regimes. Life was so….so….mmmmm…not easy by any means…maybe the term I’m searching for is naively optimistic.

But here I am, in my seventh decade, feeling somewhat ignorant and defeated. Before you ask – thanks for your concern – yes, I’ve consulted my doctor. Switched antidepressants. Tried generic Adderall. Yuk. Therapy. Then no talking. Eating more meat. Eating no meat. Giving up sugar along with my will to live. “Mojo…where are you?” It’s gone like Car 54.

If you’ve read this far, I’mma sume you are experiencing some of this yourself. Congratulations. We made the shift to hyper-space. It feels like we left our soul back in the previous galaxy when we came through that wormhole. Like not all our particles beamed up in the transporter. I want to posit something for your consideration here: maybe – just maybe – we actually left behind every molecule of ourselves we NO LONGER NEED.

Now, nobody dislikes a Pollyanna more than me. I’m a supreme skeptic. But what if – and I know I’ve said this before, but really – what if we are right where we need to be doing exactly what we need to be doing? Because I didn’t come this far just to come this far.

Let me say that I am unequivocally uninterested in re-inventing myself. Been there, done that, got a closet full of those tee shirts. But this is different. You feel it, too. THIS. IS. DIFFERENT. All that psychobabble about 3D to 5D reality aside, you hippies…WTF does this mean?!

It means we drop the pretense. Pretense being anything and everything we pretended was real. Or significant. Drop who you think you are. Let yourself fall apart at the seems.

Let’s try an experiment: question everything you thought you knew. Everything you thought you knew about yourself, about who you are. Who you were, where you came from, why you’re here. Why that family? Why this country? Why that interest? Don’t assume anything. Dig deep. Where did that belief come from? Why do you think that? Draw the line at this boundary: Do I trust that I know right from wrong? Start there and come back to this exact moment in time. Question everything up to now.

And now answer this: what do you want? What do you want?