Something Wonderful

It is my experience that when something wonderful happens in life, it is often followed by something distracting, and even distressing. It is as though the gift received in childlike trust and joy is not allowed to linger and be savored. Ones belief in something real and life-restoring is immediately tested. One longs to savor what was received, to believe this joy will not be lost. One wants to realize what was offered, to expand upon the revelation and encourage it to grow. One's hopeful child-self cries out: Please! Please let it stay a while... 

My something wonderful happened on Saturday. I opened my doors to an old friend and artist who has taught art for most of a lifetime at Mississippi State University. Brent is retiring, but his farewell course is based on my father, Walter Anderson, and he was bringing his students to the Mississippi Coast to experience Walter's world up close. They had been to Horn Island with my brother, John. And to the museum where my sister shared her perceptions. Out at Shearwater, they enjoyed seeing the pottery showroom and Walter's cottage. And they followed the path to my door where they were thoroughly greeted by Lumen, and welcomed into my world, which on this day gave off the fragrance of cookies just out of the oven.

I had no expectations except I am always glad to see Brent and Debby, who have been special soul friends almost forever. I did not know how easy it could be to have all of these creatively inclined beings wandering around the room I have gradually filled with my own creations. They were at home, yet also in a state of wonder. Grateful to be in a place where the making of art is a way of life. This is how it looks, I guess. What is not so apparent is the fact that as a woman, mother, and grandmother, finding time and energy for the creating has been a continual struggle. And most of what they see was done in spite of. I have fought for the right to express my self. Often while other selves clamored for my attention. Even so, as I stood in the midst of the evidence that graced walls and shelves, all the dances that floated unseen in the dusty, cobwebbed reaches of the ceiling, I was affirmed. My life affirmed... How could I not yield to requests that I dance and recite. How could I resist sharing Airth, the circular, balancing dance of breath and body. Brother John's, request... These lovely people stood in the grounding circle, trusting this woman to lead them through the never forgotten gestures that lead to freedom of movement and oneness...

The magic happened. I can't really begin to tell about the wonder of it all. But I know that I was back where I belonged, and that what has so often seemed lost forever had only been waiting. It always waits for the opportunity to share what is true. And what is true is stronger than any stressful distraction, any despair, any exhaustion, any perception of loneliness. 

I have barely mentioned the little dog, who was one with every moment. I gave him free reign, and he was a little dog-shaped angel, being his small illuminating self. He was available for hugs and kisses, but never imposing. And he sauntered around the Airth circle as though he was teacher. Or perhaps the teacher's assistant... I was amazed. 

I am still amazed. And thankful to know that I can't really lose it. It goes on and on. 

I did not take pictures, though others did. The dancer in red was on the easel so she is my blip. Two extras: an older photo of happy me dancing in the studio. I was wearing similar clothing. And one Brent sent of him clowning around me just before they left.