Before heading for bed I mentioned to a friend that an art image had started to come into my head during the afternoon. I mentioned it might include glitter. In all honesty the only clear thing about the image was the first two lines. My friend said to do it.
Art is very scary for me. I have no skill and the thought of throwing colour out and seeing what happens is a very daunting one. But I agreed to do this art. Experiment.
I got out paper. A sheet from a cheap A3 sketch pad from The Works. I got out some pens. And I drew the first of the two lines. It didn't look like the one in my head. It was the wrong colour. The wrong shape. I drew the second of the two lines. What was on paper was now a different image to anything in my head. For a start the two lines in my head were black. For a continuation they were closer together. For a finale they weren't quite that shape or form.
Two lines. And I had gone wrong. Completely and utterly wrong. And my total lack of skill in putting something from my head onto paper was displayed. I'm a failure!
I could have thought that. I could have allowed myself to be disheartened. I could have put the pens away and screwed up the paper and gone to bed unhappy with myself. All of that would have been very easy for a person such as myself to do.
But I didn't do that.
I decided I would play instead. I drew some more lines. And then drew some words. And then I wrote some words to fill some of the gaps.
I've played a little more this morning. And by half past seven I had this sitting on the table. Is it time to stop? Or should I continue to play? I haven't quite decided yet. There's a lot of scope for play. Lots of space to fill. But there's also a lot of wall in this room that needs to be filled. Maybe this simple image can help with the process, a call to me to play so much that there is nothing left to fill.
For now there is this:
Ruach roared, smiled, soared.
Uncontrollable, uncontained, undying.
Releasing love, her breath
Illuminated all the Stars.
In song, wilderness dance, and lyrical laughter.
In total, free generosity of ecstatic colours,
Stars gave birth to Worlds.
It's not going to win any prizes for artistic or literary virtuosity. But it's there. It's mine. It's part of my long trek into freedom and a place where the air is fresh and the earth under my feet sighs with contentment. And it's there at half past seven in the morning. I rise, and life - with all it's difficulties and all the thorns that wound from within and without - is good. So I learn:
Today. Ruach, Spirit, breathes life into me.
Today. Ruach, Spirit, breathes life into each one of you.
She breathes. Every day. Every moment.
We just have to stand with outstretched arms and receive
As her breath washes us from without,
As her breath rises, dangerously powerful, from within.
Then one day, filled, filled, filled again,
We will realise the truth:
We are that breath.
We are Ruach.
Then lightning will let fly from our hands
We will be the light and life of this world
And each day live as creators of the new worlds.
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