“I have given everything I see in this room all the meaning that is has for me.” – A Course In Miracles: Lesson 2

Journal, April 17, 2012 • A fitting lesson to dowse in the Course, as I look around me. From room to room, I see boxes stacked wherever there is a spare space. Some holding 36 years of marriage. Some holding the last 18 years of reconciliation.

I give them the meaning that they have. The objects inside are clueless to the purpose assigned to them. On a good day, they speak to relief and gratitude for the honesty expressed that made it necessary to pack them up. On a bad day, they speak to surprises and sideswipes. If I am the meaning-maker, which meaning shall I embrace today?

Yesterday, I made my first serious “pass” through the divorce papers while my husband packed up his “pieces” of the kitchen that was our kitchen – soon to be my kitchen. I am somewhat in awe as this process of acceptance and forgiveness unfolds. And I am grateful that I am journaling through this – writing under fire as it were – and know that I am benefiting exponentially.

Exponentially? Really? How do I know?

We are always choosing stories, are we not? Well then …
that’s my story and I am sticking to it!

Any other meaning-makers out there with stories to tell? What are YOU embracing today? This is the place to share!

The Messy Room and my Facebook Page are two ways that I share the “HOW” of it! Please join me and SPREAD THE WORD.

You CAN get here from there!

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Surrender • charcoal on Bernadette’s Pages substrate; page 63
by Bernadette Rose Smith

Ever listen to your thoughts and marvel at how persistently they weave into stories you tell yourself? Stories that do not serve you well? Especially in times of transition?

How happy would your dreams become if you were not the one who gave the “proper role” to every figure which the dream contained. – A Course In Miracles

I woke up this morning with a thought.

“Surrender that.“ whispered the angel.

“What?” I asked.

“That ‘My God, sideswiped again, I’m not enough’ story.” chuckled the angel.

“Oh? You mean the ‘How could I have missed this, how dense am I that it took another eighteen years of marriage to figure this out, I’m alone again‘ thought?” I snapped.

“My dear, you had so many more thoughts attached to that one. You didn’t notice the storyteller revving up? You were on Chapter 14 before I could get a word in edgewise.” announced another angelic chuckle.

“How can you laugh?” I asked, somewhat irked. “You were around in ’94. Don’t you think this is a little ridiculous for two people to be this far off base with each other?”

“What? Ridiculous to forgive? To accept the things you cannot change? To move on amicably? To still love and support each other as you embrace your new lives?” A wing fluttered by.

“Well, yeah, that’s a view. But I was more concerned with looking at the part where I am a middle-aged woman who lost herself again – even after she swore she wouldn’t. And how this is not a time to be starting over. I should be reaping the harvest.” I said, feeling somewhat diminished in my position.

“How do you know that, dear?” asked the angel.

“Know what?” I asked back.

“Any of that? Or the thousand thoughts you had to support that novel you were writing before the sun rose? The one that has you frowning so.” continued the chuckling.

“Well, I don’t see your point. Besides, you are an angel and what do you know about what it is like to be in a body with a body of concerns? If you are so smart, tell me which of the thousand thoughts to surrender then. You obviously heard them better than me.“ I harrumphed.

“Lets start with ALL of them.” beamed the angel. “You will be contacted as to which ones will be of service to your new life.”

“Well, then what am I supposed to do with today?” I wondered out loud as the cats eyed me for promise of breakfast.

“Tell no stories. Surrender your thoughts.” whispered the angel.

“How do I know what thoughts are stories?” I whispered back.

“Lets start with ALL of them.” said the angel.

“You said that already.” I retorted.

“I know. And you retell your stories, dear.” fluttered the wing. “Just for today, see all thoughts as a story and know that you have the power to edit. So pay attention or you will miss the life you are meant to have while you are writing that novel.”

So, tell me I am not alone with this penchant for storytelling. (That would be a story, right?) Any storytellers out there struggling with stories that don’t serve? Share them here if you like! Or just share your storytelling experience.

The Messy Room and my Facebook Page are two ways that I share the “HOW” of it! Please join me and SPREAD THE WORD.

You CAN get here from there!

©2006 Bernadette’s Pages: An Intimate Crossroad

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Lately, I find myself thinking about “they says.” You know, those statements that we encounter in life that are spoken as truisms. Perhaps meant to be helpful guides like …

Once a cheater always a cheater.

Hmmm. How helpful is that?

The date of my last post – June 24th – hits me right between the eyes with another “they say.” They say that a blogger should never leave their blog unattended for a long period of time without making an official “I am on a blogging hiatus” statement. They say it’s bad business. (They also say “right between the eyes” is a cliché and writers shouldn’t use clichés.)

Well, I say:
What if I didn’t know I was going to take a hiatus?
What if life happened – as it so often does – and I just got caught up in living it and wasn’t in the space to write about it?
What if I just wanted to BE in the experiences? (Some of which were very cool, by the way, and will be shared here.)
What if I’m not a writer and just a gal with a messy room?

BESIDES, who are THEY anyway? And where do THEY get their information? I mean, they must really get around because they have a lot to say. I’m guessing their information to be inspired by past experiences but whose past? Yours? Mine? Anybody we know? (Oops! They say don’t ask too many questions without offering answers.)

Well, I have no answers but I do have a project idea. If you are reading this and presently grappling with a “they say” that doesn’t serve you, dump it here. Debunk it here. And give me a “What if” or a “So what” … OR, if you have a “they say” that is helping you now (there are a few of those around) feel free to share it here and we’ll give you an “Amen” !

Here’s one to get you started:
They say it is better to give than receive.
What if there were no receivers?
Would it still be better?
Or frustrating?
Or frustratingly better?

Is there a “they say” (or two) floating around in your day-to-day life that you’d like to share or clear out? This is the place to do it …

I don’t care what they say!

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Inspiration is unpredictable. That’s what makes it so magical. When it strikes it has that first time freshness – like falling in love – that defies the dull, deadening impulses of the mundane.

We might yearn for inspiration. Even create an environment that encourages it. But, in the end, inspiration will not be bought nor controlled. That we might take delight.

As a street photographer, Juliette finds her inspiration is often right around the corner. We seem to share a muse because what inspires her frequently inspires me. Her comment and blog link on Shoeboxes and Found Objects inspired an ephemeral muse-fusion that we are collaborating to capture. That we might share delight!

“Bernadette, you can find interesting ephemera on the streets! Check out this collection of odd, artistic, far out street stuff on my blog … okay, well some are ephemera anyway!”

Many Angry Eggs

“From carved out, psychedelic-colored, old refrigerators to creepy skulls hanging from a tree, here are some bizarre things found on the street that makes one stop and think, “how did that get there?”

Winter Seating

BIG ephemera that certainly fits my definition. With photo captions like: Skull in the Yard • Lost Bed • An Old Make Out Place • Psycho Fridge • Welcome No One • Claustrophobic Artist • Lost in the City • Suddenly a Wall … how can you NOT click on this link? Visit Juliette’s blog and see more of her street story shots.

(And don’t be shy. Let her know you visited. Even a simple “hello” inspires a blogging muse!)

Check back. Juliette is one of my Visiting Muses.

You can get to know Juliette better and see more of her work on this post: Bilingual Chick with a Knack for Creative Stuff.

HEY! To the poets out there who visit the Messy Room: Do any of her shots inspire you? A “Messy Poet’s Corner” could fit quite nicely in The Messy Room. Email me if you are inspired to join Juliette and me in our muse-play.

To follow other Visiting Muses: Click Here

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I’m pulling this one out of the archive closet. It really speaks to this newly purposed blog format for the Messy Room. And it also speaks to journaling the journey!

•  •  •  •  •  •

Original Entry: April 5, 2007

Those of you who signed up for our manifestation series will know what I mean when I say I am working on the first part of the formula. Got to walk the talk, right? So, I want to share a fun awareness that very quietly slipped into view last week – between the waxing moon and full moon.

Something interesting – or should I say someone interesting – has reappeared. My artist self. It took two layovers in Atlanta, a week apart, in one particular bookstore – wandering the aisles and killing time between Feng Shui appointments – to finally notice her presence. (I live a good ways from Atlanta so I consider these kind of layovers a real treat.)

Anyway, back to wandering the aisles, sipping coffee, and scanning the usual shelves. (Self help. Interior design. Philosophy. Metaphysical.) On my second visit, I found an angel card deck by Doreen Virtue that was not sealed and treated myself to a mini-reading. That must have been where my artist self saw her opportunity to sneak in because immediately afterward I landed in the art section, specifically the craft section, pouring through pages and pages of how to’s. Papermaking, hand-bound journals, altered books, collages, artist trading cards. Art decorated with found objects given a new purpose. Bits and pieces of God knows what from God knows where. The funkier the better.

Guess I got a little tipsy because the next thing I knew I was in the checkout line with a book on art dolls. That is when my artist self tapped me on the shoulder and posed an interesting question, one that I have not been able to shake:

What kind of artist would you be today if you stepped back into your art, Bernadette?

Stepped back into my art? I wasn’t aware that I had ever stepped out.

Since then, she has gently led me past my formal training in two-dimensional art and design to the little girl who drew paper dolls, designed their wardrobe, cut them out, and played with them. To the mixed media child who covered shoe boxes (inside and out) with aluminum foil and colored tissue paper and then glued bits of ribbon, broken pieces of jewelry, scraps of netting, plastic flowers (Yep. I’m a survivor of the tacky plastic flower era), rocks, seashells, and any other fair-game-found-objects into her little shadow box world. A world that was often integrated with religious themes; her favorite being those that incorporated a statue of the Virgin Mary from her mother’s dresser in a grotto-like setting. (As grotto-like as you can get in a box covered with aluminum foil.) She especially liked to attach little handmade cards with a poem or verse – or better yet, the promise of a novena and gift her creations “To Mom.” Creations that only a mother could love – and a blessed mother at that!

Viewing my intrigue for funky, mixed-media expressions of art these last couple of years as an anomaly, her reappearance assures me with a sense of continuity and leaves me with a distinct feeling that, when my life supports a little more time for creative expression of the visual kind, she will be the artist that gets to play.

Why? Because what she finds enthusiasm for is symbolic and rather plentiful in my life right now. Collage-like days that reflect bits and pieces of experiences combined not so much for the purpose of an obviously finished masterpiece but for the pleasure of an obviously unfinished process. Snippets of inspiration. Of this and that pulled together. Magical creations. Mixed-media expressions of a multi-dimensional spirit. Past. Present. Future. Revealed in the spontaneity of the moment. Clip it. Paste it. Throw a little glitter on it. What a wonderful meditative practice her art form could be. I find myself thinking about the kind of workshops she would want to give. Messy ones that tap into and somehow express sanctuary, spirituality, and the goddess – a la Mary and the grotto; prayers included.

So, my awareness in this first cycle? My artistic urges to gather fair-game-found-objects and hide them in shoe boxes in the back of my closet are, in fact, not an anomaly or a childish phase, but a clue. An answer. My artist self was there in the beginning with a purpose and has reappeared with a purpose – and I’m quite curious to see what we will be creating together.

Anybody else want to play? Pull out your shoe boxes and jump right in!

If you enjoyed this you might also enjoy: My Life as Ephemera

If you entered through the art gallery: Click here to go back.

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e•phem•er•a 1. something that is transitory and without lasting significance  2. a range of collectable items that were originally designated to be short-lived

I have a secret, long-time love affair with ephemera.

If you traveled back in time with me and rummaged through one of the bedroom closets from my childhood, we would find shoe boxes (neatly stacked, of course) filled with cast-offs and found objects.

Plastic flower pieces. (Yes, I grew up in the plastic flower era.) Broken bits of jewelry. Belt buckles. Assorted rocks and seashells. Coins from mysterious foreign lands. (Okay, Canadian coins from across the river.) Bits of lace and embroidery thread. Odd buttons. Aluminum foil scraps and colored tissue paper. And a clothespin or two.

If we fast-forward to one of my bedroom closets, say around the age of sixteen, we would find bigger boxes with cast off clothing.

Grandma Doll’s crocheted aprons. (Waiting to be converted to vests and halter-tops.) Mom’s 50’s pearl-buttoned sweaters and jackets. (Waiting to be worn with my favorite hip-hugger bell bottom jeans – the pair with the chessboard appliqué on the butt stitched by yours truly.) Grandma Smith’s Greta Garbo-esque satin wedding dress. (Too precious to cut up but a definite inspiration.) An older  cousin’s 40’s taffeta and organdy party dress. Gloves in assorted shades of white to ivory. A black Cossack-style coat. And a velvet hand-beaded by somebody in the family purse.

If we fast-forward just a little more, we’d find a freshly married Bernadette merging with life in the fast lane – a life that left her no time for the magical meanderings ephemera encouraged.

•  •  •  •  •

“The creation story portrays the love of a creative God lifting beauty and order out of the chaos.” – Sr. Macrina Weiderkehr O.S.B.

Now, lets visit one more Bernadette. The one who, when swept to the curb, scrambled to salvage bits of her broken dreams before they washed into the storm drain as her life and marriage shattered into the unrecognizable rubble that some might consider ephemera.

What a beautiful mess – to accept the invitation to see my life as ephemera through the eyes and spirit of the little girl who gathered treasures and placed them in shoe boxes to be re-purposed at a later time. She didn’t worry about deadlines (or speed limits) or what someone else thought about her little fascinations. She kept and categorized them so she could find them when their purpose was revealed.

So, Mr. Webster’s New World Dictionary, here’s two things I know about ephemera that you didn’t touch:

• That which the world casts off as something transitory and without lasting significance the artist picks up to give significance.

• Sometimes that which we cast off as transitory and without lasting significance God picks back up to give US lasting significance.

So, today, I’m full-circle it seems. When Ray left, I was a struggling artist trying to find my way back to that magical place of possibility and expression. When he returned, we found a re-purposed marriage and I, a new path working with people in their homes. Now, 16 years after my scramble at the curb, I find myself with shoe boxes (they’re clear plastic now) filled with ephemera as I embark into the world of mixed media and altered book art.

The difference today? My shoe boxes are out of the closet and I share my ephemera (inside and out) in this messy room and in Bernadette’s Pages.

So, of course I have to ask, any other ephemera enthusiasts out there? Where are you with ephemera in YOUR life and what are you doing with it?

Or, perhaps you would like to share as an artist-writer-musician-creative. What do you do with your bits and pieces?

If you like this, you might also enjoy: Awareness: Shoe Boxes & Found Objects

If you entered through the art gallery: Click here to go back.

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So, today was supposed to be a writing day for the Messy Room blog and I realized, about an hour ago after the “rescue-kitty” dominos fell, that my ideal for the day wasn’t going to happen. As I maneuvered through the maze of closed doors to make the cat introductions – again – and set the pecking order ground rules – again – I thought, “Why do I have this mess in my house?”

No, Ray hasn’t moved out. WE still own this house. I say “my house” because the drama between these cats in this house is mine. And their infringement into my writing consciousness is mine. (Ray is happily painting in the studio of his house  – with Reesie, our somewhat feral kitty.)

I’m sure there is a classroom in here but not so sure about getting a passing grade on this one. I don’t know that I will ever overcome my predisposition to be “distractedly” overprotective when it comes to cats. (All right, people too.)

After a few frustrated tears and lassoing Ray on his way to refill his coffee cup, it hit me; this is exactly why I re-purposed this blog. Exactly why it is now “Musings from the Messy Room.” I don’t have to wow you with insights and such. I just have to show up with my mess. So here I am.

If you have a moral to the story – or a mess of your own to share – PLEASE jump in! And don’t trip over the cats.

“Can You Say No To Too Many Choices?” Great question posed in this article written by Barry Schwartz who eases us into the idea that more choices do not necessarily give us a greater sense of freedom with his visit to a local market where he encounters

“… 285 varieties and brands of cookies, 75 iced tea drinks, 40 toothpastes, 230 soups, 175 salad dressings, and 275 cereals.”

What’s the big deal, you say? Studies are showing that more choices have not made us more happy. More stressed? Yes. More depressed? Yes. More anxious? Yes.

Humbling? Yes. This is not where we thought we were heading a generation ago.

Fine. Lets go back to food choices then. They’re easy. Right? That is, until your partner asks you where you want to eat on a Friday night after a long hectic week. Ever find yourself replying, “I don’t care. You decide.” Ever wonder, if you don’t care, why you greet their decision with a less than enthusiastic response more times than not? (There’s a great movie scene between Sean Penn and Christen Scott Penn in Hurley Burley that ends with them jumping out of the car and screaming at each other over just this.)

Food choices are easy – except for Sean and Christen – compared to phone service bundles, retirement plans, health-care plans, medical or pharmaceutical treatment options, stereo systems, computers, where to live, who to date. (Now, we even have speed dating. More choices to find that perfect mate faster?)

The article reflects on “how much better choice appears in theory than it feels in actuality.”

Many clients that I clutter coach will offer an ‘AMEN’ to that! In their struggle with too much stuff, the fear of saying no, of not considering or preparing for all the options, often paralyzes them. A phase that I maneuver them through with caution, compassion – and a lot of coaxing.

Here’s a tip if you are having trouble making decisions:

Let go of the need to research every possible choice. Research gives you more information – but more information is not always synonymous with more peace of mind. When you start considering your options, remember to set your goal. Choose peace of mind first and you will be led. The rest will fall into place.

Want to feel good and enjoy your life?

THEN – Live It Up and Limit Yourself!

YEP!  Narrow your choices down. Choose from less. And you’ll gain more of what really sustains you!

I’d love to hear your thoughts on when enough is enough for you …

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Chloe the Muse sculpted by Karla Zdroik

Sunday Scribblings #238 Writing Prompt: what do you make of curious?

What do I make of curious?

I am curious how, in attempting to coax out my visual artist, I wound up on a writing prompt site.

Was it the word “Sunday” or “Scribblings” that lured me in?

I am more curious at the thought that I am apparently going to post this and link it back to Sunday Scribblings as the prompt suggests.

I am wondering – oops curious – if this is just another stall tactic, if my writer is threatened by all the hoopla of late made by my artist.

What do I make of a curiously quiet house on a Sunday afternoon? A decision to treat myself while Theo helps Daddy sleep off his pneumonia. An intentional artist’s date, curled up on the sofa with Kelly Rae Roberts and her book, Taking Flight: to give your creative spirit wings. A “curious” flip to the back pages under “Resources: Places to Fly.” (That’s how I found you, Laini and Megg. In case you are wondering. It just happened to be Sunday.)

What do I make of curious? I am curious if I can use my writer to launch my artist. If they will ever make peace and learn how to share this middle-aged woman’s energy. (She has a plan – albeit loose – but a plan none the less.)

I am curious. Will I click “Publish”?

Hmmm. Do I put this under the category “Muses Among Us” – or “Growing Pains”?

For those wondering what Sunday Scribblings is – in their words: ”Sunday Scribblings was set up to provide inspiration and motivation for anyone who enjoys writing and would like a weekly challenge.” Click here to check them out!

Entered through the Art Gallery? Click here to go back.

“Those who are willing to be vulnerable move among mysteries.” – Theodore Roethke

I might be breaking some blogger’s code by pulling this post out of the archives but it tied so beautifully to the quote that I just found by Mr. Roethke and last week’s theme  (Writing Under Fire on our Facebook page) that I couldn’t resist furthering my point about how writing helps us map our way through whatever we need a map for.

The time this post was written is irrelevant. But the growth since that post is not. Growth TIED TO VULNERABILITY that appeared because I kept writing – in this case, out of my comfort zone.

Two years later, this post acts as evidence – a point illustrated.  For you, it may represent something entirely different – unique to your own map and journey. I would love to hear what that is for you. Pull up a chair and join me at the table?

Here’s the Original. Posted July 20, 2008

I am struggling with this blog. I am frustrated and disappointed because I have not been able to experience the depth of voice with it that I imagined I would have when I started to explore this medium of expression just over a year ago.

I am not a writer. Never wanted to be one. I journal.

I write freely in the pages of my journals. I have no cares. No worries about grammar or structure. My goal is simply to express whatever thoughts and feelings come to surface. To capture them on the page where I can see them. Contemplate them. Process them. And witness my growth when I read them.

It doesn’t matter if my thoughts are choppy or incomplete. If I trail from one topic to another. If family and friends don’t understand them after I am gone.

Journaling centers and grounds me. Fuels and focuses me. It is authentic to the moment. Within its process, my only responsibility is to myself.

But when I approach writing in this blog I am immediately confronted with a sense of responsibility to you. You, the observer, who somehow alters me, the observed, before my fingers ever touch the keyboard.

Where is the free-flowing intimacy I looked forward to when – based on the content of my book – my web designer suggested that blogging was a natural for me?

What irony. I journal my way into self-publishing and because of that I have a relationship with a blog that baffles me. I lose intimacy between the pages of my journal and this computer screen every time.

A natural I am not. I do not have the skill of a true writer. I am an artist. As an artist, I have talent. I have training. And yet here I am writing. Not painting.

What am I doing here? I don’t need this blog to market myself. Divine Source and word-of-mouth sustains me.

This blog does not fulfill some ego need to be perceived as important or an expert in my field(s). I know what I am and what I am not; insight that comes to me in the pages of my journal and through the wisdom of family and friends.

I’m not looking for ways to crank up my life, to escape into busywork, or to build a publishing empire. I am ready to play. To see where my creative impulse takes me. To be an artist again. And I have an awesome partner to do that with. (I love you, honey.)

SO, WHAT NOW?

I will keep sharing. And I will be sincere because this blog is an offering. A way to communicate what sustains and inspires me. To hear what sustains and inspires you. A porch light on a dark street.

It was probably crazy for me to think that I could simply be me, the unobserved, in this blog. You are here and I cannot let go of my expectation that this needs to be time well spent for both of us.

But I want more. More from this time I spend writing and more from me. I ache for a shift in tone even though it may be imperceptible to anyone but myself. A tone that leads me to the place where I make my meaning. A meaning you cannot give me.

That is why I am writing this. And that is why I am posting this. Writer or not, I am responsible for the satisfaction and meaning I find in my own creative process. Kudos from outside is nice but fleeting at best.

So, there you have it. No resolution. Just me out of my comfort zone.

The porch light stays on.

So, that is the end of the original post. Please stay and make your way to the bottom of the original comments and let me know that you were here. As I said before, I would love to hear where you are on your map and how you got there. And if you write, journal or scribble!

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