transformation through painting

Life Being Lived

On my return from a month in India recently,
I was able to see what for a few days, was unfamiliar.
My life was unfamiliar. Who I was before the trip was
clearly a someone who no longer existed.
We had recently moved. Our home was new, our old home in another state having been sold.
And here I was in a very foreign country, having very different experiences, just after trying to find my space in a new part of the country. The experience of being a foreigner, in a different land and culture, and when one arrives back home is very interesting.
It felt very much like that feeling when you wake up, but still don’t know who or where you are. The first response was, irritation, jet lag, too,of course.
There was so much new and disturbing in the sounds, sights and smells of India. Images abounded that were beautiful and painful. every night, outside my room , on the streets, the always stray dogs of India would yowl with pain. I wanted to run and help, but couldn’t find the courage to leave my safe room and go into a darkened street, unaccompanied.
Then there were what I call the three fates, three very elderly women,
dressed in the white of mourning. They came to me from across the way, and , talking in Hindi, kissed and hugged me, calling out the name of my spiritual teacher. Recognition of oneness. I could not tell them apart, and felt like they included me in this merger.
There was the woman in her 80’s from Dubhai who was writing a book of her mystical experiences. She had been, as she said, just a Mother. She shared these experiences and made us cry.
And then to return to the new home, mysterious, too. Why am I here, not there or there. What brings me here or there, coming and going? Is there really something in me that is constant? Maybe not so much. Maybe it is knowing this that is the anchor, the truth of living. being lived, without a point of reference. Can it be?

Debbie Purdy


 

Creative Wings Studio