April Showers, May Flowers

My front yard (zen garden)

"Again, you can't connect the dots looking forward; you can only connect them looking backwards. So you have to trust that the dots will somehow connect in your future. You have to trust in something - your gut, destiny, life, karma, whatever. This approach has never let me down, and it has made all the difference in my life."--Steve Jobs

 It's funny that I recently made a post about keeping things in balance, because even more recently all my calm, cool collected "balance" went right out the window.  It was like the universe decided to throw my words in my face.

 April brought storms--illness, injury, death, as well as dark times for several people I love dearly.  As if that weren't enough, my wife and I suddenly found ourselves in need of a new apartment after six lovely rent controlled years and a heavenly landlord.  Being pushed into the reality of a hellish San Francisco market was an eye opener:  not just how expensive things have gotten in recent years, but that there is hardly anything even available.

"Squee" and "Funger" at STUDIO Gallery SF

I allowed stress and resentment and fear to replace the open flow of love in my heart.  And selfishness, too, because in a relative sense my life overflows with blessings and abundance, and after several weeks of "one thing after another"--even a classic SF parking ticket moment-- I started feeling negative towards everything and nothing was bringing me any joy.  I found myself not "being there" for people in my life, and focusing on the loss of MY home, MY creative space, MY silly little "zen garden."  ME ME ME!!! Such an ugly way to be.


And yet there were plenty of "good" things going on in my creative endeavors.  I was honored to have two pieces selected for the SFetsy Team show at STUDIO Gallery SF.  Also received and completed a custom requests for a kitschy, cute Andy Warhol sculpture, and completed none other than the one and only GODZILLA!!! (I loved Godzilla as a kid, and "monsters" have been a big part of what I have done with needle felting/soft sculpture.)  

Godzilla, not the scariest monster of April, 2012!

But the EGO whined as other projects got shoved aside by necessity.  I resented the demands on my limited free time, and the daily open houses and apartment viewings started filling me with the doomed resignation that the only homes available in SF in our price range were cracker boxes opening to hallways reeking of cat pee.

 Things got better. . .flu went away, shoulder healed remarkably fast, friends and loved ones landed on their feet.  I did not get derailed from my work or my yoga practice, but I was not allowing them to ground me, and uncertainty about the future and my petty resentment about having to move left me feeling dark in a way I haven't really felt since I embarked on a path of intentional personal transformation just a little over three years ago. 

Warhol "In The Soup"

I always thought the saying "April showers bring May flowers" was about the weather.  May did bring some glorious warm sunshine, and stepping off the apartment-hunt treadmill for a moment and just laying in the sun seemed to help restore me a little.  Then during a heart-opening series at my kundalini class, I had one of the most intense visionary experiences of my life.  Finally, the next day while washing the shit and twigs from a several pounds of raw wool, I felt the clouds inside me break open, and real sun shine into my heart. I regained a sense of perspective, and simply felt present in the moment again, deeply aware that I have everything I need already: love, life, friends, family and an amazing wife.  Anything else is just a bonus.


Two days later, we learned we were selected out of nearly seventy applicants for a dream apartment (the only one of its kind we saw in four solid weeks of looking). . .one that had exactly what we needed for our personal goals related to health, diet, friendship and creativity in a way that our old apartment was not very conducive to. 


Well lighted spaces for painting and felting, a large kitchen to cook at home more and to start making our own kombucha, a better space for guests, perfect location for work. . . and while I'll miss my little sidewalk "zen garden" that I've nurtured, after expressing so much resentment at losing it, I'm utterly humbled that the universe has in its place given me an entire patio flower garden our new building owner is happy to let me tend!!!  It was as though I just need to get ME out of the way so good things could happen.


April's cumulative challenges were truly minor in the big picture of what can befall a person, and I dealt with them poorly--like a petulant child, really.  Life will inevitably bring bigger challenges in the future and hopefully I'm more able to be grateful for the showers while they are happening, trusting that inevitably they will bring flowers.

A Cup of Tea Before Leaving

Gong Fu tea service for Formosan Jade Oolong's

“Teaism is a cult founded on the adoration of the beautiful among the sordid facts of everyday existence. It inculcates purity and harmony, the mystery of mutual charity, the romanticism of the social order. It is essentially a worship of the Imperfect, as it is a tender attempt to accomplish something possible in this impossible thing we know as life.”  Kakuzo Okakura, The Book of Tea 

Long before I discovered the joys of felting and yoga as paths to mindfulness and a richer, more conscious experience of life. . .there was tea. 

Tea is so much more than just a beverage.  Sure, you can get it Mcdonalds and Starbucks.  You can dunk a bag of "tea" in water for a quick caffeine fix.  But that's not the point of tea.  Tea is a a beautiful ritual pause in your day where you take a moment to savor not just the wine-like complexity of flavor, but immerse for a moment in the act of making tea itself.  Brewing an amazing cup of tea can be accomplished in myriad ways, from the simple act of pouring good water over whole leaves in a pot, enjoying their subtle unfolding beauty, to the more involved act of coaxing layers of flavor from multiple steepings in a gong fu service. 

Everything can be approached as an art form, and something as basic and humble as a simple cup of tea has been my long time, constant connection to this state of mind.  While not a blog about tea, this magical elixer is real touchstone of my creative life and I will undoubtedly return to the topic. 

If you happen to be in San Francisco, or visiting, I highly recommend visiting Red Blossom Tea  and experiencing their amazing selection of Formosan oolong tea served Gong Fu style. . . and they also carry everything you need to make tea for yourself this way at home.  Learning something new is an adventure, and if you love tea, there are whole worlds of experiences to explore.

I leave you with one (of the many) poems I've written inspired by the sacred leaf, from a darker time in my life when my creative passions were slowly dissipating:

A Cup of Tea Before Leaving

 

My teapot has cracked,

the kettle leaked its whistle.

These leaves

that bring me subtle

strength, their essence

effervesced like youthful dreams.

It’s all just leaves of tea. The part

of me that was steeped used

to breathe with steam

and bergamot.

The fragile flower-etched

ceramic cannot repair.

I must pour

the little liquid quick

into my cup while

it's still there.

--PJ Church

Joy and Humility: The process of trying, not the result

"Om" (felted micro tapestry 5"x7")

Have made a few yoga related items lately, including this "Om" felted micro-tapestry for my yoga space.

Objectively speaking, I honestly feel I am somewhere between terrible and mediocre in my mastery of even beginning yoga asanas. At an earlier point in my life, this would have been a real problem.  I am competitive, and want to be "the best."  This characteristic is an asset when balanced, but is otherwise a terribly destructive force.

In my younger creative life, I tended to set myself up for defeat--indeed, not even trying after awhile--when I perceived that I could never "compete" with all the amazing talent out there (I wrote poetry and music when I was younger.) Perfectionism became a reason to not even try.  An inability to be the best at something made that something not worth doing.  It's like an over-sized ego finding a way to be lazy.

I have no natural aptitude for the physical aspects of yoga, which is compounded by how late in life I started, and by the utter lack of care I had taken of my body up to that point.  Three years in, I still wobble out of some single leg balancing poses.  But a desire to overcome chronic physical pain gave me the determination to stick with it.

Most things in life have come easily for me.  But being terrible at something and sticking with it anyway has taught me humility, and it has also taught me that it is the process of trying that brings growth and personal satisfaction, not the quality or result of the trying.

I believe we all start life with a desire to create. Yoga helped rekindle a long dead passion for creativity in me by bringing a sense of  "joy in process" as opposed to being hung up on expectations of a certain result.    Who cares that I still can't touch my forehead to my toes or do the standing splits?  That's not to say there aren't positive results from sustained effort: I am physically living in a different body than I was three years ago, but on any path--creative, physical, spiritual-- it doesn't help to be attached to any particular desired outcome  Goals are much less important than committing to a path. . . .and realizing you don't actually know where that path is going to end up.  Trying as hard as I can at things I love brings me into the moment, into the joy of the present moment.  It's only in the present moment that I truly find the joy in creation. 

Cthulha (female) in Vrksasana (Tree Pose)

Elemental Balance

"Chakra Blossom"

Am very excited to be featured in the SF Sunset Art Walk next week (February 17th, 6-9pm.) and have been working like crazy to make new pieces.  Have had little time to photograph anything, but I did take a picture of the new "Chakra Blossom" design, and am making several of these. 

Also, due to time constraints, I have decided to recreate variations of some of my favorite pieces that have long since been sold.  I've never done repetition before, preferring that every piece should be completely new and original.  I'm finding it enjoyable because I can make things much faster the second time around, it keeps me in the "working zone" and because of that I've had more new ideas than normal. . .like the Chakra Blossom for instance!

PJ@Baker Beach

It's hard to keep everything in balance while this busy, but it's always important to find time to kick back for a even just an hour.  And yesterday, we had GLORIOUS warm sunshine in San Francisco, and I couldn't resist popping over to Baker Beach for a bit.  While there I meditated on the nature of balance, and jotted this in my notebook:


ELEMENTAL

EARTH:
Physicality, material need, work and its fruits. Manifested in my life on a sweaty yoga mat; toes in the sand at the beach, cooking slow savory food with my darling; fingers working wool, deep in the soft, richly colored merino locks!

AIR:
The realm of ideas and intellect, of reason and flights of fancy.  Manifested literally in my life through clean salty breeze; swirls of fog under street lights; distant clouds.  Figuratively through books, film, good conversations, street art, galleries, museums. . .just this entire epic city of originality in art, ideas, and cultural diversity.

FIRE:
The source of vital radiant energy, of passions, of divine sexual star showers, manifested in my life through the literal fire of the sun on my skin, a burning Bikram studio, in Kundalini yoga, dance, music, tribal drumming--and with my divine lover, the white hot flame.


WATER:
Water represents the magic of romantic love, pleasure, sensuality, intoxication, the eternal feminine pulse of the planet.  I lap swim in a pale blue pool, kiss slowly fizzy champaigne lips, wade into the crashing waves of the cold Pacific ocean, try to BE water, to flow like the Tao.

Earth, Air, Fire, Water. . . the four classic elements, the four suits of the tarot, the four quadrants of the brain, and more.  Nurture all the parts of your soul, elementally balanced, elementally happy.  It's why the beach is my favorite place: it's a natural convergence of ocean water, sandy earth, freshest air, brightest fireball sun. The Earth whispers it's ancient pagan rhythms when you slow down and take the time to listen.

@ Marin Headlands

Not Afraid to Dye

Learning to Dye

Happy New Year. . .weeks into January.  And time for a self-indulgent meandering update. I will not stay on-topic.  Please don't read this.  It's going to be really, truly bad and full of Woody Allen-esque self-analysis. It will be more shoe-gazingly emotive than a teenagers journal.  It will be full of "I" and "me."  You might puke. 

Last time I posted was nearly six weeks ago with the adorably happy and uplifting story of Funger The Clown.  Hardly anyone committed suicide after reading it, but still, at least it made an impact!  Oddly enough, Funger was like some little lingering bit of doom flushed from my psyche, and I have spent the last few weeks playing rather than working.  Work is when you know what you are doing.  Play is when you are just goofing around at something you don't know how to do very well.  It's like the Fool card in Tarot, or "Beginner's Mind" in Zen Buddhism.  It's hard to keep that kind of openess and newness to things that you do all the time.

I set aside the wool for a bit, and picked up my guitar again, and played with clay, and drawing, took a deep inner journey, saw family and friends. . .even crocheted my mom a scarf  for Christmas (My, aren't you a good boy!).  Finally, I have started taking some different yoga classes, which are challenging me emotionally, creatively, and physically.

Yoga and creativity have become inextricably linked for me, even more so recently.  One of the studios I practice at was offering a once-a-week Kundalini class that I started taking in the middle of last year.  The old scientific-rationalist PJ of a few years ago would have scoffed at this particular branch of Yoga's costume-y new age trappings, it's complicated mantras and mudhras, and especially the almost church-hymn like singing of "Long Time Sun" at the close of each class. But my work on this path has done much to open up my right-brain, change the way I see colors and feel energy, and helped open up my heart, leaving me a less jaded and more loving PJ. (I still feel like an asshat admitting that, but I don't have any inner-editor or filters these days.) 

The Kundalini class was permanently cancelled in the middle of last month due to lack of participation--there just weren't many other regular students. I felt really sad, and I know that much of that was because I liked the teacher.  I mean, we have a Kundalini Center here in San Francisco, and I plan to start practicing there, but, well, it's like the TV show "Cheers". . . the place where "everybody knows your name" and all that.  You are always going to miss a familiar, smiling face that's genuinely happy to so you every week.  And having experienced a lot of personal growth in the class, maybe a part of me felt like that growth was in danger.

Going to turn this into Quetzalcoatl

The point of this mopey segue is that the one sad day I had in December helped me resolve to immerse myself in a greater diversity of yoga experiences, and this has subsequently helped me stop being afraid to dye.

What?  PJ's finally getting back to the exciting topic of wool, the topic that draws in millions of readers from around the globe? Yeah.  So, I've had a total block when it comes to dyeing wool for some reason.  I bought acid dyes, other ingredients, raw un-processed wool, and books on the topic months ago.  It was something I wanted to do, but I kept finding myself procrastinating.  I'm not sure why yet.  But in this recent whirlwind of playing, of the Fool setting out on a new journey, I just plunged into it.

LOVE LOVE LOVE IT!!!!  Love standing over the stove experimenting, part mad scientist, part witch doctor pinching eye of newt into a cauldron.  Not just single colors, but working on setting multiple colors simultaneously to get a gradient effect, without the colors just bleeding into one mushy shade of brown.  Finally, though I'm not ready to share pics yet, have been experimenting with ways to steam-set dye into pre-sculpted pieces.  Challenging, but interesting results so far.

On a final note for this New Year "catch up" post, it's 2012!!! End of the world as predicted by (independent from one another) Edgar Caycee, Nostradamus, Terrance McKenna, the Mayans, and the book of Revelation, and I just keep seeing Quetzalcoatl in my inner eye, feathers glittering like open chakras.  And whether December 21, 2012 turns out to be nothing at all, the dawning of a higher consciousness on the planet, or a literal doomsday of earthquakes, volcanoes and solar flares, I can say with absolutely no hesitation that. . .

I'M NOT AFRAID TO DYE!!!

Funger--The Saddest Clown in the World

FUNGER. . .THE SADDEST CLOWN IN THE WORLD

The circus had blown town years ago like a dust kitten scattered by a door slammed in anger.

Oblivious to the blackening sky, Funger walked slowly home from the corner store where he went every morning to buy a scratcher and a bottle of cough syrup.  He was thinking of the girl with the pencil tucked behind her ear who smiled a kind smile as she gave him change.  Funger loved her with all his giant heart.

Then, Funger’s normally downcast eyes were ensnared by the bright colors of a new “Cheerful-Tide Brand Detergent” billboard that showed a beached mermaid frolicking in the sand under a snappy dialogue bubble:  “Improved Cheerful-Tide Super Ultra Power Plus Detergent Washes Dirt From Your Clothes. . . and Love onto Your Lonely Shores.”  Funger looked back down at his own clothes, and sighed.

As Funger shuffled up to his tiny house with the boarded windows his eyes lighted on the neighbor’s rose bush.  He glanced around, and with the seed of a good idea blooming in his heart, picked just one.  Funger’s hands were encased like sausages in soft knit gloves, making his fingers feel like they were wearing blankies. The rose’s sharp thorns barely made his fingers bleed at all. 

At home, Funger carefully sat the rose down on the kitchen table and began removing his only clothes: a rumpled pair of baggie pants, an electric orange and green sweater jacket, and his cherished soft blue shirt.  He loved them so much he had never, ever washed them.  He couldn’t afford any “Cheerful-Tide Brand Detergent” but maybe—just maybe--pure water and anti-bacterial hand soap would be sufficient.

Wearing nothing but his gloves, shoes, and stained pinstripe boxers, Funger scooped up his outerwear and took them to the washer in the basement.  “I will be so clean for her!” He dreamily squeaked.

As Funger stood anxiously watching his clothes go round and round, first in the washer, and then the dryer, he thought to himself:  “I love her.  I love her SO much!!!  And when you love someone enough, they love you back.  They have to love you back!!!”  Funger believed with his whole heart that this is how love works.

As the dryer beeped and the tumbling stopped, Funger felt his heart beat faster as he imagined himself and the girl with the pencil behind her ear holding hands as they jumped from the high dive into a tiny bucket of water.  An almost-smile rose up deep in Funger’s heart and nearly made it to his face when he saw his only clothes, horribly shrunken.

“Oh no!” Funger cried, biting his still-gloved index finger.  “Please be okay. Please be okay!!!” He prayed over and over as he hopped and wriggled into the once baggy pants, finally snapping the brass button shut.  Funger strained and pulled and got into his shirt, and then his sweater jacket, so upset he didn’t even notice how soft and warm they were.  Funger hunched in front of his dusty mirror and felt his heart sink.

“But it will be okay.”  He thought.  “Because I love her!”   Before his courage could fail him, he grabbed the stolen rose and waddled out the door as fast as his clenched pants would let him.  He felt a cold splat hit his bald spot and he looked up just in time for the clouds to break open on his upturned face.  “OH NO OH NO OH NO!!!!”  Funger squealed and rapidly shuffled down the sidewalk, trying to make it to the store before the heavy rain could spoil his silky green locks of hair and further shrink his outfit.

Funger scurried under the store awning and was greeted by his reflection in the window.   His fish-white belly lapped obscenely out between shrunken pants and shirt.  His glorious green locks were plastered to his face, and the rose-- the beautiful gift of love--was missing most of its petals.  In the rain, he couldn’t feel the tears on his face, but the ones in his heart whispered “Go home Funger.  No one could ever love someone like you.”

Soaked and cold but safe at home, Funger quietly closed the door against the driving rain.  He dug around the kitchen drawer, found a razor blade and went to the bathroom.  He got in the tub fully clothed, and started carefully scraping mildew from the tile grout onto a plate.  He put the plate in the toaster oven, and when the timer jingled, Funger finished every bit of his humble dinner alone.  

Then, still hungry, Funger sank beneath his thick, soft comforter and cried himself to sleep, where he dreamed he was a dolphin swimming with the other dolphins in the sparkling blue oceans from which both man and clown had crawled millions of years before, searching. 

Blue Goddess

 
Playful blue goddess.  As consciousness continues to evolve, so perhaps do the archetypes.  Guardian and guide to the Noosphere, is she a physical manifestation of Gaia?

She also seems to resonate with Kali Ma, the dark hindu goddess associated with, among other things, kundalini energy and transcendent reality.

 Despite the visual kinship with Medusa (whose serpents might also be seen as a nod to rising kundalni energy) the blue goddess's tentacles represent energy, or the communication web, connecting all living things.

I can't help but ponder the curious increase of the archetypal blue alien-like goddess and the association with planetary consciousness, the most overt reference in popular culture being the Navi in James Cameron's "Avatar."

This image was created with merino and corrieadale fiber on painted canvas, embellished with a ceramic kenyan bead.