After I titled this blog Processing Life in Paint, I began to ponder - of course.
I am not saying that I am processing life, surely it is processing me.
In fact, in a very real way, it is processing me right out of the room,
leaving me as a quiet pulse of human being,
with or without a paint brush in her hand!
I've made a few attempts to see if I could change the title.
Glad to let it go, to let it be, not to get it right.
It doesn't matter what I call this blog.
I'm glad to have it to express and share what happens to me as I enter this conversation with myself, with the unknowable, with my true self.
What is true in me doesn't look like the painting.
The painting is given its freedom to be itself in the process,
and this is also the gift of the process to me.
There is a simplicity in this.
True self is beyond ideas of great or grand.
It is just real.
There is no mistake in whatever we are called to do, in love.
It will undo us,
drawing us closer and closer and closer to the truth of ourselves,
in and as each unfolding moment.
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