One World Flag- blog - Category: Dreams
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 A Challenge to Artists-- a Trilogy in Four Parts4 comments
picture 10 Apr 2008 @ 18:38
[upon releasing the "I am a Blank Slate..." article in DoingIt!, in September, 2006, I realized it was the culmination of a number of pieces intended to rally artists of every sort (with each of us being the artist crafting our own life)... raise the bar of their work, beyond what I have coined "The Age of Commisseration"-- similar to what Caroline Myss termed "woundology", not unlike the "Four Yorkshiremen" skit from Monty Python-- where we function more from a place of competing for the saddest story prize, and embracing and creating from the "illusion" of the misery of life...

... over the more spiritually enlightened perspective and place of accumulated wisdom, where we can each support and inspire us all on to the Truth beyond the illusion.

As a self-proclaimed "Cheerleader for Humanity", Pollyanna, seeker on the path for 47+ years, I have always felt I cried out for such from the wilderness, waiting for more people to climb on board. In past articles I have urged activists to be FOR more... than they are AGAINST. And with each successive year under our belts, I believe this is the same awareness that more and more of us are coming to.

Toward this end, please enjoy:

  • I am a Blank Slate on Which God is Painting my Life
  • including A Challenge to Artists
  • Healing the Tortured Artist
  • You're Only as Good as Your Last Day
 More >

 A Symphony of Recognition3 comments
picture 8 Apr 2008 @ 17:54
[excerpted from DoingIt!, November, 2005]

More and more I am looking into eyes that I recognize—familiar, diverse, joyous faces, notes from a distant (but yet not so) past, singing along with the words of tunes I’ve never heard before, stepping and swaying together through time that expands and contracts like the bellows of an accordion, always on the syncopated beat, playing my part, in cadence, on the instrument that is me.

More and more I sense the unseen Conductor carrying us like marionettes suspended from the tip of the baton, and leaving clues to follow, hiding there in the silent rests between phrases.

I see the Trickster behind the tune’s temptation, Pan behind the pain of the prelude, and feel refreshing cool counterpoint seeping through stanzas previously perceived as simmering over intense heat.  More >