Madly Creating the World
The one reliable constant in Los Angeles has always been blue skies and sunshine, day after day, month after month. It’s comforting to know you can leave things outside overnight that the rain would ruin.
But in the past four months, that which is constant is no longer. And to stay present and not mourn the past is a challenge. The skies now are filled with clouds gathering the wet. They spew a type of rain which no longer reflects the occasional down-pouring, deluging rain of the classic song. We all know it doesn’t rain in California, it pours. But for days and weeks the clouds gather and block the usual blue and then it finally rains. Instead of buckets being up-turned, it pitter-patters. And the thunder and the lightening, once a rare treat or surprise horror for beach-goers, now casually rumble and spark as if they were as regular in the neighborhood as traffic.
My squad of long-sleeve shirts and cotton sweaters look frayed and faded from being called into duty too many times. I now have a different feeling and relationship with my retro-cool plaid flannel shirt, once an occasional party guest of my wardrobe, it has stayed too long and needs be escorted out and called an Uber.
And the dogs in LA have all grown anxious and leery of the rumblings in the sky and their short-tempered people who refuse to walk them in the rain or let them trot alongside their bike on the lazy beach path. Their society of fellow dogs who in an abundance of communication leave their marks on fire hydrants and street signs – their fine-tuned sense of the smells once left unwashed-away for 9 or 10 months, are disappointed and alarmed as the doggie news is washed out to Santa Monica Bay. They bark. In high-pitched, nervous voice, constantly alerting us that all is not as it was.
And how do we humans stay happily present when we remember the sun and the freedom of movement and the lingering daydreams through a gentle LA afternoon of softly breaking waves and the lull of the 405. Our sounds and rhythms have changed.
I did not choose Seattle, I hear that voice inside proclaim. I left the cold and cloudy east for the promise of LA. And letting go of the old dreams and the old people while the comforting constancy of the weather changes, feels threatening as if the earth herself might rock us off of her back, or blow us away with her tornadoes, or wash us back into the ocean from whence we came.
And how to keep the feet firmly attached to the ground when so oft that placement is broken? And how to stay in the present without mourning the past or fearing the future? Can I love the rain as I love the sun? Can I accept what is without the nagging thought that I should resist?
A breath will help me to center and balance and allow the creative thoughts and actions to flow. Nurturing the feel-goodness of creative expression in others and in me contains rebirth and renaissance. The Vernal Equinox is upon us. The matching hours of daylight and darkness doesn’t change. The universal cycles are not yet upended. Even though I am contained by the rain on my window and the smell of soup from my kitchen, and not the endless blue sky and nurturing sunlight, I will breathe and feel the earth. Madly creating the world will be my work today.