Stone Age Music

The next time someone asks me what I do or who I am, I’ll say, “Woman”. I suppose that will sound rather primitive. I decided this the last time I went to a doctor appointment and had to fill out a stack of new patient forms. For the first time ever, on the line where I was to list my occupation, I drew a simple question mark. It hit me. I don’t know who I am.

I’m a wife but I live alone most of the time as my husband lives and works across the continent. I’m a mom but my children would rather me mother them from a distance, or not at all at this time in their lives. I’m not enrolled in any educational institution so I can’t really call myself a student, not officially anyway. I’ve never had a career outside my home. Worker, mother, daughter, wife, sister, friend, church member, student. I am all those things. But I’m not, really. That is me in relation to someone or something else. So what am I? Who am I? Just me?

Then it came to me. Overriding and underpinning all those things is the one thing that never changes. I am a woman. Yes. That is an occupation that I can be absolutely sure of that is constant and unchanging. Beyond all my relational titles that define me, I am a woman who feels most myself when I am engaged in things artistic: transported by a piece of music or a sublime piece of writing (my own or someone else’s) or a transcendent work of art. This is when I really know who I am in my deepest, most primal core and how I am connected to all that matters in this sphere of our existence.

I recently came across a picture of a Stone Age flute carved from the bone of a griffon vulture. It was eight and half inches long, had 4 finger holes with the end carved in a V shape to fit the primitive musician’s mouth. It was estimated to be 35,000 years old and was found alongside a carving of a voluptuous female nude statuette dating from the same period.

I find it fascinating that some of the earliest evidences of humanity are primitive creative expressions of beauty in the forms of music and sculpture. This means that long before humans figured out how to grow their own food, music echoed off the walls of an Ice Age cave. The creative impulse is not only what makes us human, but it is what taps us into the divinity within us. Art is the most primitive expression of humanity.

So, it gratifies me, in a primal way, to know that my primordial ancestors also discovered who they were through artistic creation and found transcendence from this existence through music and art. That knowledge connects me to the human family throughout all ages of time. It connects me to myself at the most raw and elemental core, when all other cultural accoutrements are stripped away.

The next time I, Woman (not unlike the voluptuous carved beauty found in the cave), sit in a concert hall listening to the likes of Mozart or Mraz, the ethereal tones of an ancient flute echoing through the dark hollows of an Ice Age cave, warmed by firelight and human artistry, will not seem so far away.

The Struggle For Happiness

In between my moments of ecstatic bliss, I often find myself struggling to be happy. Which has always mystified me because I think that I really do have a natural propensity for fun and happiness. So why do I have so much trouble accessing it on a consistent basis?

Was it Leo Tolstoy who said,”All happy families look alike. But all unhappy families are unhappy in their own way."? Perhaps that can also be applied on an individual level. I do think that happy people probably practice many of the same happy principles. Perhaps Steven Covey's book could be renamed The Seven Basic Habits of Highly Happy People............I do think that Happy and Effective are interchangeable because I think that effectiveness is a happy state of being. and I've often thought that maybe I'm not happy because I'm an undisciplined, ineffective person.

There are plenty of studies out there on Happiness as well as Unhappiness. Several years ago, I was intrigued by a Happy Study. I was drawn to the article in search of an explanation for my own unhappiness. It proposed that people have an inner "happiness setpoint." They found that some people are just naturally happier. And that when they go through life's traumas, they suffer for a time, then recover and go back to their high happiness setpoint. Whereas, less happier people suffer longer and then go back to their lower happiness setpoint.

This article gave me an explanation but it didn't give me a whole lot of hope. At least I now had a possible reason for my unhappiness, and I couldn't help it. That relieved some of the stress of unhappiness in a wierd way. I heard an interview with Michael J Fox recently when he quoted,”Happiness grows in direct proportion with your acceptance and declines in direct proportion with your expectations." Does that mean that in some wierd way, that if I accept that I'm unhappy that I will be less unhappy? That would certainly be in harmony with the first great law of Buddhism ”Life is suffering." And when you accept that life is suffering, it ceases to be insufferable.

But where does that Buddhist law fit with our American credo that the Pursuit of Life, Liberty and Happiness are our inalienable rights??? Endemic to being human. And where does that leave room for the concepts of goal setting and self improvement and hope for increased happiness, if we just accept that life sucks and be happy in its suckiness?

I've explained away my own unhappiness in many other ways: I was unhappy in my marriage. If I had another husband, surely life would be better. But that theory was blown out of the water when I separated from my husband last year and found that I was no happier without him than with him. In fact, I was unhappier without him! Luckily, it was not too late to reconcile and that particular circumstance has been remedied. I have found that a change of heart and perspective, in this case, had a profound affect on my happiness.

Perhaps I would be happier if I had more money. I really do believe that money buys happiness. Money buys 2 things that are essential to my happiness: Freedom and Beauty. It takes money to travel. It takes money to buy the room or the home with the view. It takes money to decorate my house with lovely, praiseworthy things. It takes money to buy a good bed and pillows and comfy sheets and blankets so that I can get good sleep, which is definitely essential to my happiness. It takes money to buy good health care, healthy food, good vitamins, good skin care, the good hair cuts and colors (essential to beauty), the teeth whiteners, the most becoming clothes. I had two crowns last year that cost me over $1000 a piece! Now I know why poor people don't have teeth! THEY CAN'T AFFORD THEM!!! Beauty, poetry, art, freedom, health, teeth, even life.....are all the province of the rich. Poor people even have shorter life spans than the rich. They work harder in physical jobs, wear themselves out sooner, and don’t have access to good regular health care. They die younger.

So, yes, maybe I would be happy if I had more money. But the reality is: I have enough. I travel enough to keep my wanderlust sated, though I'd sure like to travel a lot more. I have enough for good health care and good skin care, regular hair cuts and color and I am keeping my teeth. I buy art on postcards and posters and I frame it for my walls. It's not the real deal, but it gets me close enough to the beauty that I crave. I don't have an ocean view out my back windows, but I do have a cow pasture with cows and a corn field and big western sky. Every time I look out my window at that pastoral scene, I am happy, as I swat away the flies.

I've always felt deeply blessed that I did not have to work in the world to earn the money to put bread on my table. Yet, how nice it would have been to recieve some kind of recognition for the work that I do do. Every Mother's day, I read in a newspaper somewhere or on the internet the calculations of what a mother's/wife's, work is worth. It always comes out to over $200,000 per year. I've heard that in Scandinavian countries, that a woman's at home work is measured into the country's GNP. Maybe I would be happier if my work was recognized, if not compensated, by a measurable amount. I think money makes our world go round. And that the reason that at home women don't get the respect they deserve, except on one day in May, is that their contribution is not measured in financial terms. And maybe, if it was, I would get recognition and respect, and then I would be happy. After all, recognition and respect are components of happiness.

Maybe I'm unhappy because I'm a Sagittarius and being half human half beast, I'm eternally conflicted, thus incapable of happiness.

Maybe I'm unhappy because I'm a poet. I'm a deep, emotional, creative creature. And everyone knows that poets are all wildly unhappy, mentally ill, alcoholics, promiscuous, syphilitic people who all burn brightly early and die young. Maybe I'm unhappy because I've been a good Mormon girl and have not followed my creative instincts that would have led me into a wild life of debauchery, and creative fulfillment. No........that can't be it. Those poets were all creatively fulfilled but they were still tortured and unhappy. Maybe I can't be happy because I'm a tortured poet: whether I'm creatively fulfilled or not.

Maybe I'm unhappy because I'm chronically disorganized because I am creative and destined to be so. So my time, my stuff, my life, is always out of control and that makes me unhappy. Maybe I'm unhappy because I'm totally in a daze all the time and completely unproductive. Maybe I'm unhappy because I sleep too much and can't focus on getting things done. Maybe I would be happier if I could hire a housekeeper to keep my life straight so all I had to do was connect and create every day of my life.

Maybe I'm unhappy because I really do have a great capacity for happiness, the flip side of that being a great capability for profound unhappiness.

Maybe I would be happy if I lost weight.

Maybe I'm unhappy because I'm tired of trying to figure out how to be my best happiest self!!!!

This is what I do know: That I'm most happy when I'm connecting with other human beings who I love. (This is why I spend too much damn time on email and Facebook, then I don't get my work done and that makes me unhappy) I'm most happy and feel most in the flow of myself when I'm creating, whether it is scrapbooking, writing, cooking,any creative work. I'm most happy when I'm traveling and seeing a new place, discovering new things, people, and ways of life. I'm most happy when I'm transported by a good book or a beautiful piece of music. I'm most happy when I am in tune with my God, who I love with all my heart, whether that is in church or in my secret places or high on a mountain top. I'm most happy in the summertime when it is warm and the sun is shining and there's plenty of light. I'm most happy when I'm near a body of water, large or small, it somehow just speaks peace to my soul. I am most happy when I am in love. In love with my husband, my children, my friends, my home, my travels, my books, my art, my God and my life.

If I can infuse as much of those things in my life as possible, I will be happy. Problem is work. You know that piece about maintenance that I wrote about yesterday. Work is not on my happy list and life requires a lot of it. And that's a whole other stream of thought and I really must let this go now. However, that does take me back to the issue of getting a housekeeper, which I am SURE would propel me to greater happiness!

I go back to the modified Tolstoy quote: There are as many paths to unhappiness as people. And it can't be explained away in an article or book by a self help guru or any scientific study. It is too deep. Too complex. So that leads me back to....................ME!!! (maybe that's why I'm so unhappy, I'm too self absorbed). You see, here we go in rounds again. That makes me crazy as well as unhappy and does not answer any of the questions. It just creates more.

Are you exhausted????? I am! Now I must leave this unending round and lose myself in a bit of maintenance which may be its own kind of bliss today. (Light bulb goes on.) That is a whole other stream of thought……perhaps we NEED the mundane!! Wow! Now, that could be a whole undiscovered path to bliss for me…………… To be continued. Of course!

Of Maintenance and Bliss

Life is mostly maintenance. It’s a hard truth and there’s no way around it.

Bills always need paying. Everything seems to always need washing. The laundry is never done. In fact, nothing is ever done. The furniture is dusty again the hour after I polish it. Bodies need constant feeding and washing. Hair and fingernails begin their regrowth the moment they are trimmed. Relationships are often a long string of issues that need to be worked out. I, as well as my car, often seem to be running on about a quarter tank.

Life sometimes seems like an endless round of waking, washing, eating, pooping, washing, working, eating, peeing, washing, running, washing, eating, peeing, washing, washing, washing, sleeping… and waking to begin again.

But every once in awhile the monotony of maintenance is broken by a flash of joy. The baby’s smile washes away the afternoon’s stress. The scent of honeysuckle gives a moment’s heady pleasure during a walk to the mailbox on a spring evening. A vivid sunset stops me in my tracks.

These small moments of bliss break the chains of perpetual busy-ness long enough to remind me of why I am really here. They are little shots of spiritual adrenalin that renew and sustain me through another hour, another day, another year.

It is a challenge to hang on to these fleeting moments. They are like slippery, silver fish glinting in the sun, eluding my grasp as I wade through the life’s ocean. Much more satisfying and sustaining is to simply fill my life with these ecstatic bursts of momentary bliss. To develop a habit of recognizing the extraordinary in the ordinary, of finding something sublime in the mundane. Then life takes on a new perspective of joy amidst the constant pulls of upkeep.

This is a chronicle of my search for the hidden treasures beneath the surface of things, the gems of truth buried beneath the trash heap of trivia that clutters daily life. It is a celebration of those meaningful moments that make life worth living. These are my Confessions of Bliss.
Come! Blog of bliss with me!

Number the Innumerable

March 2, 1998

There it is. The date.
Number the innumerable.
Pin it on the wall
A day equals a number on a square of paper.

Tomorrow we will file it,
Or toss it.

What else shall we do with a day?
A gift beyond measure
A slice of the infinite…

Number it
Name it
Assign a category
List it on neat little lines
Bind it, Box it
Put a lid on it and put it away
Retrieve it
Toss it

At our convenience, of course.
What else can we label?

God-- Oh Yes!
Put names and faces on nameless and faceless things
List and number the Numberless
Measure the Infinite

A child-- Oh yes!
From the moment of birth we begin it,
The naming and numbering
Labeling, categorizing, organizing
Listing and limiting

This universe of possibilities that sucks
at our breasts.

Yes, set a boundary for the boundless
Make rules for wild and untamable things
Bring out our ropes and tie them up
Bind them to us forever

Find a pencil and paper, Quick!
Note a hundred inconsequential details
Write up a contract

And buy them watches and pencils and pads
So they can join the naming and numbering as soon as possible!

Try NOT to take a moment
To glimpse the infinite, boundless, indescribable beauty and possibility
Of the Soul
Whose cries emanate from the vibrations of unknown places,
Whose echoes of laughter will never end

Who cannot be bound by ropes
or described by numbers
Who can never by contracted.

Close your eyes.
It would all be too much.
A number and a box is so much easier.

Besides, I have other important things
to do…
Laundry
Phone calls
Exercise
Shopping

God! I don’t want to do it!

I need time!
Time to cry and ache with
other dreaming fools

Pull the lid off my box for
the infinite soul that
Demands tears
Demands time

Begs for life beyond the box.

Let me spend this day languishing in
the ecstasy
Of unanswerable questions and unquenchable yearnings

Ponder the infinite
Daydream and Sigh

All Day