I Will Shrug Off My Cloak of Shame

This blog is supposed to be MY magic carpet, my musings on MY journey.  So…I’m going to summon up my courage and track an aspect of my journey in this public setting.  I want to be known.  I don’t want to hide anymore.  I want to become strong enough to speak what was truth for me in the past, what is truth for me now, and what is still growing in me and becoming truth.  For years, in the kind of intense Christian circles I was part of, I hid certain things, like my liberal political views for example, because they didn’t fit what I was ‘supposed’ to believe.  And now, in my artistic, creative circles of friends and fellow belly dancers and jewelry artists, I don’t feel free to talk about my Christian past or my journey to integrate that past with whatever I should call this present place I find myself in.

But I think I’m done being silent.  I don’t want to offend anyone, or tell people what to believe or not to believe.  I don’t want to make people I care about feel uncomfortable.  But I do want to shrug off the shame I feel in front of my current circles of friends and sister belly dancers and co-workers at CO Parks & Wildlife over having been for many years a missionary and a committed Christian.  There, I said it.  I was a missionary.  On the other hand, I also want to shrug off the shame I feel in front of my beloved Christian friends from my past years over who I am now.  I no longer think of myself as ‘a Christian.’  There, I said it.  Everything that the term, ‘a Christian,’ meant to me when I took that as my identity — I’m no longer that person.  I won’t pretend to be that person anymore.

What I will do, however, is I will lift off that cloak of shame and secretiveness, and I will write my story.

I want to write about two things in this post.  They’re sort of related.  But I don’t know what either of them means, and I’m not going to force any conclusions.  You are truly reading my chain of thoughts, unedited, right now.

One is about prophecy, and how gems/stones/crystals and the prophetic might just go together.  For my dear YWAM friends, you know that for many years, I was a prophetic person.  In those charismatic Christian circles, it was so normal to ‘get a word’ for someone.  The Spirit of God seemed to freely give gifts in the form of words to many of us to encourage and strengthen each other.  Sometimes these prophecies came to me as words or a phrase, and they could be about a person’s future or simply words of affirmation about some aspect of their character or their journey.  About a total stranger, it might be something like, “I sense in you a deep love of children, teaching them and working with them, and especially children whose lives have been traumatic.  You’re like a shining light in the darkness for them.”  (I’m making this example up, but who knows, it may actually be meant for one of you who is reading this.)

The other way that prophecy came to me was in the form of images or deep impressions.  I would see the person I was prophesying over, but superimposed on them would be a picture of something or an emotion.  I would just know deep in my knower that they were grieving or that they were at a turning point in their lives or that they carried an unspoken dream in their hearts.

During those years in Scotland, the giving and receiving of prophecy was a vital, life-giving part of my almost-daily experience, and I know that I grew in sensitivity to those ‘messages’ that came from outside of me.  But just a few weeks ago, I had a similar experience, and it had to do with gemstones and their energies.  For those of you from my past, I fear that some of you might think this experience was demonic.  Worry about me, if you will.  But my spirit has been so filled with joy in the past years, and I feel so led by the hand of the Divine, that it’s hard for me to imagine there’s evil in what I’m about to recount.

A few weeks ago, my belly dance sisters in Anam Cara Dance Co. commissioned me to make a special pendant for the birthday of one of our members.  I have dozens of cut stones, and I spread out them all out on the table and picked out a bunch that I thought might work.  I’ve learned to be sensitive to my inner voice as I design my pieces, and in this case, nothing really seemed right for this lovely woman.

Later, for some reason, I happened to be digging through a bunch of stones that were already either chosen and paid for by someone else, or at least designated for someone in particular.  I came across a gorgeous cabochon of a stone called sugilite — deep purples and browns — and I instantly had that same prophetic knowing that it was supposed to be for this special woman. But I did NOT want to hear it. I had that stone in my bowl of stones that were already designated for someone in particular because I’d been hoarding it for over a year, waiting for a design to come to me for a really special pendant, for ME. The only reason I hadn’t yet made something for myself was because I couldn’t get a design that felt right.

I went back to the stones I’d pulled out as possibilities for her, but nothing seemed right. Then, in the middle of the night, I woke up thinking about it, and I rationalized that maybe the prophetic message I was sensing was more general, and I was just supposed to be making her something with sugilite, any piece of sugilite, not MY cabochon in particular.  I got up and looked the stone up online and learned that people believe it strengthens mentorship and enables the wearer to release spirituality in others. Definitely the right stone for this woman!!! But I spent a couple hours in the middle of the night searching all my favorite online rock shops for another piece of sugilite, and dang it, I couldn’t find a single other piece of sugilite that seemed right.

So at about 3:00 in the morning, I finally gave in and decided it was hers. 🙂 The next morning, in about 5 minutes, I drew the design that I ended up using to make the pendant.  And of course, as all good stories of prophecy go, she loved it and it was perfect for her.  As she or my other dancer friends would express it, the energies of the stone are exactly what she needs right now.

My other story is from tonight.  I am still reeling from the experience I’m about to describe, even though it was an hour ago.  I don’t intend to draw any conclusions — I just want to make my declaration that it happened to me.

I have several people in my life right now who have been deeply touched/influenced by/ministered to by the energies of stones.  For example, one of my dance sisters tells the story of being taken into a rock shop when she was a child.  She picked up a stone, and instantly felt powerful vibrations or energy coming out of it.  I believe she said she picked up a bunch of others, and each one’s vibrations felt different to her.  I’ve been in love with gems since I was a child too, but I’ve never felt anything like this.  But I can’t doubt the experience of a child who has no reason to make something like that up.

I’ve been reading a lot about moldavite, a gem formed eons ago when a huge meteorite struck what is now the Czech Republic, and possibly went straight through the core of the earth and out the other side.  The heat and force of the impact formed a substance that looks like bottle green glass.

Moldavite is supposedly one of the easier stones for a novice to feels its energies, and I happen to be keeping three pieces that belong to a friend who wants me to design a pendant for her from them.  So tonight I did an experiment.  I lay on my back, held a piece in each hand, and opened myself to whatever I might experience.  After a few seconds, my hands started to feel warm, and over the next 15 minutes, the sensation increased until they were throbbing with heat.  The heat felt like it was coming out of the stones at first, but then it felt like it was somehow being created in conjunction with my own body heat.  Like the stone was amplifying my own warmth or something.  I lay there with my eyes closed and chatted with Jesus, prayed to the Divine Feminine who I’ve been getting to know lately, and spoke blessings over some people I love very much.

The end.  I opened my eyes, and 17 minutes had gone by in a flash.  I got up and went and told Craig about it, and then I decided to write about it.

And that’s all…

Cynthia

Coming Full Circle: Rocks!

Do you remember those rock shops that dotted the American West years ago?  When I was a kid, whenever we drove past one of those when we were on vacation, I’d beg and plead to stop.  “Mom, can we go in the rock shop?  Please?  Oh please, Dad?”  The shops were all the same:  dusty, dimly lit, and crowded with mineral specimens and cabochons and tubs of tumbled stones.  I loved to put my hands in those tubs and feel the cool, smooth texture of the polished pebbles.

One summer, I picked up a bunch of smooth stones from the Oregon coast.  When they were wet, they were so much shinier than when they dried out, so I kept them in a plastic carton filled with water…until the water reeked.

Then I begged for a rock tumbler, and it turned out our neighbors had one that they gave to me.  What a disappointment.  It took WEEKS of tumbling and tumbling before even the faintest hint up a sheen showed on the surface of those stones.

There was the library book on birthstones that I renewed over and over again, as many times as was permitted, then grudgingly returned, only to check it out the next time we went to the library.  There was my subscription to Rock & Gem magazine.  There was the kids’ jewelry-making kit and saving my money to buy poor quality faceted stones.

Recently, I asked my brother if he remembered this phase from my childhood.  Here’s his reply:

I remember you told me once that you “ were going to be a Rock Hound” I was super jealous, not because I really liked the rocks as much as you did, but because you were going to “be something” and that seemed really cool.

I’m glad I didn’t grow up to be a model railroader or anything…

Over the past five years, I’ve been excavating these deep childhood desires and learning to follow them.  A year or so ago, I started taking silversmithing classes. In my very first class of the very first session, I had the oddest sensation.  I felt like I’d been making jewelry my whole life.  The tools fit naturally in my hands.  The materials responded to my touch, becoming what I envisioned.

My technique still isn’t advanced enough to carry out all that I’d like to do, but I’ve come full circle, back to the little girl who knew she needed something that was hidden away in those dusty rock shops.

Cynthia

Odd Inspiration – South Main, Buena Vista, Colorado

In Buena Vista, Colorado, they’re building an old-fashioned town called South Main.  Every house is different, and the styles range from 1920’s Craftsman bungalows to New England mansions with turrets.  There are wraparound porches and wide streets.  Nostalgia abounds.  Fake old, with all the convenience of new.  I can’t decide if I like it or not…

But that’s not my point right now.  My point is the odd inspiration I draw from the wacky outdoor living room that sits right at the edge of the Arkansas River.  Public art for South Main.

Concrete and metal and tiles form a sofa, a high-backed chair, an ottoman, a coffee table with chess board, and an oriental rug.  The lamp really lights up at night.

There’s no plaque to tell who the artist is.  But whoever you are, bravo!  We were in Buena Vista last September, and I saw this work for the first time but didn’t think to take a photo.  However, the complete unlikeliness and creativity of an outdoor living room, the incongruousness of soft made from hard,  the pure fun of it, stayed in my mind for months.

I have no idea what the artist thinks their work means, but it really doesn’t matter right now, because tonight I remind myself that creativity is play, and my inner artist is a child.

Laurie Maves, the “Lolllipoppy Painter” — Live Art

A few months ago, Anam Cara Dance Company was invited to perform at a First Friday of the Art District on Santa Fe in downtown Denver.  It was close to Valentine’s Day, and the evening was benefiting the American Heart Association’s Heart Walk.  We dressed in reds and purples and pinks, and danced on a red carpet in a studio with a vivid red wall behind us.  Crowds packed in for each of our sets, and radiated their appreciation and delight.  We didn’t even ~really~ mind the guy with the foot fetish, who took photos of our bare feet all evening.  It was an evening of love, an evening dedicated to the heart.

The thing I didn’t know was that Laurie Maves, a Denver live artist, was busy painting us while we danced.  I love this woman’s work, and I love the concept of a live artist!!!!! You have to check out her website, Laurie Maves Art, but I’m not sure any website or video quite captures the experience of being painted by her in person.  Squashed into that  small, crowded, really hot studio space, we danced with so much joy that night.  And while we danced, Laurie turned each one of us into a lovely lollipop with a wavy belly dancer stick.  The painting captures a memory of that night, being part of something really special.  Belly Dancers With Love, she called the painting, and that’s what Anam Cara Dance Company is.  And Laurie became part of our troupe for that evening, part of our sisterhood.

(The image or the link above will take you to the Fine Art America website where you can see a bigger version.  It’s also on Laurie’s website, under her Shop.  It’s quite an honor to see Anam Cara Dance Company on the same page as The Fray and Phish.)

When we finished dancing and Laurie finished the painting, she had each of us sign our lollipop stick.

I wrote in a post a few days ago about the icons and talismans in my own personal space.  Belly Dancers With Love is one of those icons for me, holding all the joy of dancing with this special group of women.

Laurie dares to make her art while people watch.   She dares to paint as a live performance.  And I’m touched and inspired.

Talismans and Icons

A talisman (from Arabic طلاسم tilasm, ultimately from Greek telesma or from the Greek word “telein” which means “to initiate into the mysteries”) is an amulet or other object considered to possess supernatural or magical powers.

An icon (from Greek εἰκών eikōn “image”) is a religious work of art, most commonly a painting, from Eastern Orthodox Christianity and Catholicism. More broadly the term is used in a wide number of contexts for an image, picture, or representation; it is a sign or likeness that stands for an object by signifying or representing it either concretely or by analogy.

For years, I’ve gathered objects around me that have meaning and power.  My own art and the art of others.  Pebbles collected off the beach of Iona when I went there for a personal retreat.  A fountain that spills water out of two terracotta pots.  An Uzbek tea set that I received as a gift.  My office/study/dance studio space is filled with them.  And for some reason, it’s time to tell their stories.

On the same bulletin board with the calendar for my writing stickers, there are two objects that inspire me daily.  One is part of an ad ripped out of a magazine and given to me nearly ten years ago.

My best friend taped it on my bedroom door when we were flatmates in Scotland.  “Enjoy the exciting life of a published writer.”  Those are prophetic words to me — I WILL enjoy that exciting life one day.  I WILL get published in the real world, by a real publishing company with a real editor. I WILL find my books on the shelves of Barnes & Noble and the local independent bookseller.

The other is a scrap of paper with a quote from Angela Cartwright, in which she says, “I call myself an ‘unruly artist’ to remind me that letting go is a big part of the process.”  Have I been unruly enough lately?  Have I splashed with abandon into the pool of my artistic endeavors?  Have I experimented with anything?

Tomorrow I will work on my novel some more, and begin summoning the courage to send out a query letter to a certain agent soon…very soon.  Tomorrow I will be an unruly artist and experiment with cutting gauntlets out of supple black leather.

Tonight, I will go to sleep as the fresh night air wafts in our windows.

Love,

Cynthia