The Layers
by Stanley Kunitz
I have walked through many lives,
some of them my own,
and I am not who I was,
though some principle of being
abides, from which I struggle
not to stray.
When I look behind,
as I am compelled to look
before I can gather strength
to proceed on my journey,
I see the milestones dwindling
toward the horizon
and the slow fires trailing
from the abandoned camp-sites,
over which scavenger angels
wheel on heavy wings.
Oh, I have made myself a tribe
out of my true affections,
and my tribe is scattered!
How shall the heart be reconciled
to its feast of losses?
In a rising wind
the manic dust of my friends,
those who fell along the way,
bitterly stings my face.
Yet I turn, I turn,
exulting somewhat,
with my will intact to go
wherever I need to go,
and every stone on the road
precious to me.
In my darkest night,
when the moon was covered
and I roamed through wreckage,
a nimbus-clouded voice
directed me:
"Live in the layers,
not in the litter."
Though I lack the art
to decipher it,
no doubt the next chapter
in my book of transformations
is already written.
I am not done with my changes.
***
When I began my creative journey a few years ago, I had a lovely life coach who at one point, asked me to make artwork that was expressive. Initially, I did not know how to start. But somehow I moved through that resistance just by continuing my search and by following my longings. It was in that process of exploration that I found a poem by Mary Oliver called The Journey, which completely cracked me open. At every line I exhaled: That is it. That is how I feel. That week I read and reread that poem over and over, taking in each word as deep as I could. Then a major impulse to create filled me up and I made several illustrations based on the text, realizing right then, that I had arrived at the gateway to my own creative journey. Mary Oliver said: "One day you finally knew what to do and began." And I thought: Yes! That sentence meant so much to me and it became my tag line from that moment on. It was my constant reminder to not veer off, an assurance that deep down I knew what to do. No hiding anymore. I needed to do what I needed to do. I needed to let my creative self come out and play. I needed my inner artist to be set free.
Fast forward 5 years. Oh my. Here I am. I'm certainly still walking that path and I am happier than ever. But lately, I've also been somewhat agitated with all the possibilities ahead of me and the haunting memories, pieces of my story, being left behind. I find myself anxiously trying to define the path. Trying to consolidate everything I've done to date, trying to figure out my niche, my approach, my next step, trying to avoid disappointment, inconsistency, trying to bring my past along, as an attempt to prevent inevitable loss. Everything passes. So hard to accept... The blog plays a huge part in my confusion because of how I've shared myself over the years here. On top of it, I've been receiving some hate mail from folks who want me to drop the name 'Gypsy' because I'm not Romani or something... I've been pondering if I should continue to write Gypsy Girls Guide after all. I am not even a huge traveler these days, I'm not a guide of any sort, and really, who cares about my life's journey and bohemian heart? What I need is to be delving in my Photography. So why not just wipe the slate clear? I'm afraid these dry thoughts have turned me into a stale chunk of week-old bread! In this turmoil, I found myself a bit sick and blue over the last couple of days. I woke up on Monday morning feeling lost, without words and without motives, struggling with the fact I'm constantly changing, having new ideas, and I can't fit into just one mold. I woke up facing my resistance to let go of some seeds I planted in the past, fighting the reality that we can never feel fully secure in our lives, although we keep trying to control everything. Then I received all your wonderful comments on my photos (Thank you!), and it became clear that this creative life of mine is pulling me forward in a wild marvelous way, while my old ragged reasoning self is holding me back. Enough of that, right?
Today the sky was bright and blue. Still feeling tender, I decided to take that burden and sadness to the streets anyway, in order to walk it off for good. I went window shopping for photo props, drank chai in the sunshine and bought some fresh red dahlias. When I got home, I noticed the beautiful afternoon light coming through the dining room window. I pulled a chair, picked up a few poetry books and grabbed my camera. I moved things around, snapped a few shots, but when I was done, I sat on the floor weeping in frustration with myself. My tears made me think of my friend Lisa's post the other day... She said she was okay with the tears flowing, because it meant that she was open. I found comfort in that thought. A moment later, I was playing with a rock, a gift from my sweet Mc, that says "Be Gentle". I held it with trust and rolled it in between my hands for a few minutes, really hoping for its magic to rub off on me. Within a few seconds, the book Ten Poems to Set You Free, which was in the pile of books I had photographed earlier, strangely called my attention from afar. I reached for it and opened it randomly, on the poem above, one I'd never read before. As soon as I was done reading it, a subtle calm consumed me. Suddenly, the journey I'd began years ago, had found itself a new poem. Of course we're not leading this life. It leads us! But can we stay open to receive it without being swept by our moods and the fear of inevitable loss? I felt transformed by that truth. I was reminded that each move, each experience, each encounter, each loss, matters. Soon I felt my roots grounding me once again, for the next phase. I realized I'm on a new chapter now, even if there is no apparent title yet. And I saw that it is okay to not know what to do next, because we begin over and over, as long as we keep following our heart, listening to our inherent curiosity, and experimenting with the layers, that ultimately are shaping our soul.
I'm not done with my changes.
***
Are you also pressuring yourself to figure out the next step?
***
Note: After posting this I read a bit about the poem's interpretation by Roger Housden, in which he mentions that Stanley Kunitz was in his seventies when he wrote this poem, and that at ninety-eight, he was still writing and did not consider himself 'done with his changes'. Stanley passed away in 2006 at 101 years old.
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