The World Depends on Our Participation
Oh joy, oh grief
oh sister-shifting-sands
where shall I stand?
And you say:
sit here
take my hand.
–Laurie Doctor
I had a different beginning to this post, but this morning I first want to acknowledge the grief in this world. It is easy for me to feel overwhelmed and at a loss for what to do. I remind myself that there are many ways to participate. We all need water and food, and beauty. I return to the resilience that comes from the practice of making, the resilience needed to restore hope. As makers our calling is to bring our focus close in, to repair the part of the world we can taste, see, hear, smell and touch. As makers, we are called to hold vision for the world, no matter the circumstance. So much is required of us now.
The Third Thing
This post is about the magic of number three, and how it applies to makers.
My online class, A Grain of Hope, just finished. We talked briefly about the numbers 1, 2 and 3 — the unity of one, the duality of two and the possibility of breakthrough with three. I will focus on three, the third thing, and give some examples, but first I want to lay the groundwork with number two:
Two brings both relationship and the trap of dualistic thinking. Two deceptions that we makers, and probably most humans, fall into are perfectionism and comparison. That is, how trying to be perfect, or comparing ourselves with others, leads to endless unresolved spirals in the mind. In this setup, we are never good enough, or even when we are, it’s only for brief moments. These mind-weeds leave no ground for the third thing. We get stuck in the thicket of good-bad, right-wrong, and pretty-ugly tangles in our mind. It is tiring. These mind-weeds stop us in the studio and at our writing desk.
What follows are some examples of puncturing duality with the third thing.
"Come, let's stand by the window..." — Danusha Laméris
Each morning after meditation when I head down to my studio, there is a process of re-orientation. I used to think that after I had been painting this long I would walk into my studio and know what to do. This hasn’t happened yet. So I begin with my opening ritual — a way of re-orienting a mind in chaos. I take a glass from the altar and fill it with clear water. I light incense and ring a bell. Above the altar I have pictures of my guides, friends and family. I express my gratitude. An old greeting card is also posted on the wall, with a child’s drawing of a train climbing up a hill with the caption yes you can, yes you can, yes you can.