The Unbearable Lightness of Being

In the studio yesterday, Marci told me that she was turning her cell phone off more often. She was weary of the drama. She was happy glazing; excited about a new design. This, above all, I have wanted to impart to my teen daughter.

After some early success in the fine art world in my 20’s , I began making pottery. Fine art is so gravely serious. Works of light and joy were, at the time, viewed as useless fluff, and perhaps they still are. I was drawn to the silent thoughtless world of clay where you can be moved to an almost holy place just by how beautiful something is.

Today I ran across this quote. It is from the novel, The Unbearable Lightness of Being.

“she knew that she had become a burden to him: she took things too seriously, turning everything into a tragedy, and failed to grasp the lightness and amusing insignificance of physical love. how she wished she could learn lightness!”

I suddenly wanted to see lightness everywhere, to go outside and capture with my camera the light shining through leaves. To feel that lightness of being is to be transparent, thin of  negativity and judgment, and allow the light of Creation to shine through.

I’m going to do this more often. it feels good.

May Flowers: Poppies

Roxanna, of Illuminated Perfume, has organized a blogorama on the theme of May Flowers, as a celebration of May Day. Please join in the fun for daily reads from writers and artists coming together from all parts of the world with their own unique voice. I’ve chosen poppies.

Who has never marveled at the audacity of raging color, an invitation to abandon sorrow and give in to giddy happiness?

    Orange Poppy Bowl by MarciG
Who has never touched the delicate petals and thought of them as a  lace spun from the heart of magic?
 
         Icelandic poppy by TheFaerieMarket
Poppies are associated with remembrance, with war or peace, with the solemn sorrows of loss. And yet to me they are a call to awakening. And that beckoning towards an unreasonable intoxication, a joyful delight, is a kind of holiness.

         Felted Skirt by Ingermaaike
Each summer they open. No matter how harsh the winter, no matter how many died, they push forth and unfurl as if waving taunting bright flags. Death is not final! And sorrow cannot keep joy from showing it's face again!

rhodos

There is a special moment when I first see that the hard rhododendron buds have bubbled over into these impossibly red red flowers. I am so happy to merely live as a witness! And though my rational mind says no, it is not so, something larger in me takes these rhodos as a sign, an omen, a message that beauty and happiness are constantly renewing resources, that nothing is ever truly lost, but merely dormant. And so I think that if I do not attach my happiness to this one flower alone, a whole summer of loveliness, surprises, and celebrations is waiting. I will not mourn the tulips as they drop their petals, nor say that only the sunflowers smile. I will wake up and look with amazement at each new form that beauty has taken. I think it will be the best year ever.

Bee Happy

If you wander aimlessly in the yard, and stop to admire the first shocking purple of the crocuses that open their brave faces to the snowy cold, it is good to have a macro lens! My husband caught this little bee having a pollen party.

Don't tell me this isn't happiness! That its not buzzing in gratitude and praise; that it is not covering itself in grace, saturated in sweetness, savoring a sticky binge, perhaps a little drunk; like a priest who cleans up after communion.

I know there is some biological scientific dissertation on bees, but I don't believe it right at this minute. I want to watch the audacious little bee, and for a moment, drift in happy.