Worth Writing

More what?  I don’t know.  Maybe what I’m suffering is from too much, not too little.  I have been assuming that my desire to hole up in my bed for a couple of weeks, venturing out only to eat and bathe, was because I don’t have enough willingness or desire or…reason to do so (how sad).  But now I wonder if the don’t-wanna-get-out-of-bed is a symptom of Too Much. 

Not Too Much to do so much as Too Much to think about…Too Much to care about too much.  I joke about the hilarious dreams I’ve had lately - including everyone from Mary Kay to Meatloaf to God-or-someone-like-him - but I’ve also been dreaming every night for two months about people who are accusing me of doing something horrible, something I did not do.  That old idea that artists are sensitive people is more than a silly old idea. 

In the interests of being able to advance from my wounded hidey-hole with new art to offer up on the altar of public opinion, the new art will consist of altars and shields, my Creative Armoury.  The altars are to remind myself of what I have to offer, what I am willing to sacrifice, and what I need to hope for in order to survive this hell I’m in (for now).  The shields are to remind myself that I am not defenseless, that I need not feel so powerless and vulnerable as I do.  Not all weapons must leave wounds. 

For instance, a friend told me recently that I should carry a knife with me at all times for the purpose of “cutting through the bullshit”.  She said nothing of needing to kill the bullshitter with it.

More later…

Stephanie K. Hansen

Worth Works

241 james north

worthworks.com

I’ll explain it some other time, but I no longer have to worry about commuting to the gallery from my beloved former 2,500 square foot home in mild-mannered, small-town Dundas.  I needed to tell you that so that everything I write from here on in makes any sense at all.  Beautiful big home…gone.  Steph-children and husband…gone.  Left…boundless opportunities to redefine relationship, life, career, and self.  Translation…nothing left of former life but am working on willingness to see that as somehow positive.  Further translation…”working on willingness” means that contrary to my wishes my eyes opened this morning and I was still alive and still not in my (former) beautiful big home and therefore had very little choice but to get up, put on the kettle, and start cleaning up my life. 

 Little something relevant for you:

Before enlightenment, I carried water and chopped wood; after enlightenment, I carried water and chopped wood. 

 If even something as powerful as enlightenment doesn’t make the chores of living go away, then I have to assume that the impermanent feelings of sadness and loss aren’t going to spare me from having to find ways to pay my bills and rediscover the simple pleasures of life.