“There are two types of minds - the mathematical, and what might be called the intuitive. The former arrives at its views slowly, but they are firm and rigid; the latter is endowed with greater flexibility and applies itself simultaneously to the dive”~Blaise Pascal I am obviously of the latter. I am neither firm nor rigid in my beliefs and enjoy diving deep into the deepest, darkest, crevasses of the mind... I am not afraid to taste pain or to explore the deepest, most remote places of the heart. I don't need a sedative or to self medicate via alcohol, drugs, narcotics but I have a healthy respect for people who do.
My mother and my grandmother Mona left me this gift: the gift of expression. It has become my saving grace. It sustains me. It heals me. It nourishes me. Sometimes, it gets me into a lot of trouble - especially when my writing is written on the cuff or in the height of my emotions... It can be an overwhelming endeavor and it would take an intuitive mind to see past my words and to read past the emotion and to understand my soul.
Doing so is an investment. Therefore, understanding this - I invest in myself and I invest wisely. The way I see it, I know, someplace deep in my soul, that I am a beautiful-unfinished-work of fine art. Only someone who has an eye for it can see past the "dirt" and the "grim"... the years of neglect.
Watching my father oil paint and growing up in a household filled with contradictions has given me the ability to see that just because someone does not put there artwork on display, for everyone to see, it does not diminish its relevance or its beauty.
I took a ladder once, while my father was out of town singing in Australia, and went into the attic. I had watched him, going in and out of it for many, many years, wondering what he had up there. I wouldn't reveal all of his secrets but I will say that what I found up there was stunning.
He stored away some of his best artwork. I gently ran my hand across the canvass to feel its texture and to get a sense of what is is about them that made them so wonderful and so beautiful. So delicate.
I mean, here he was, this great big 6'1 or 2" inch man, easily over 200 lbs. and built like a linebacker who never played any traditional team sports in high school, that I am aware of, who sang and painted... He couldn't even dance... and had a temper like a grizzly bear and a very heavy hand... painting flowers!
What I found out was that despite his fierce, overtly protective nature... his heavy hand... his inability to accept me growing up- becoming a woman and having children,... that in his own way, he was expressing love.
He saw "flowers"...All the while, cautioning me not to look at the world through "rose colored glasses". He painted his and stored them in the attic... in a cool, dark, place in the skeleton of our house where he thought no one would notice. No one would ever see. No one would dare to crawl into and find out.~
I think I could sit here for hours and delve into these places in my psyche but the sun is out and I want to go soak some of it up. So I will continue this another time... There is not great hurry here. It's like going out on a dive to see an old wreck or a sunken treasure... All one has to do is to suit up, get the coordinates right, and dive in.
12:18:35PM Hidden Treasures: The Direct Path to Enlightenment
"...The lotus flower signifies the wonders of the mystic law- wonder of your life. Realization of this is the king of sutras, the direct path to enlightenment..." Found this while gutting Aaron's files... The amazing thing is that the image I choose for my blog is a Lotus and that Aaron had this note. I suppose anyone who seeks knowledge and is open minded eventually takes a similar course but I am deeply moved by this small, seemingly insignificant finding that might have otherwise been tossed in the trash had I not been my brother's keeper.
