And Darkly Bright

Although now I often interpret this painting as having positive, uplifting connotations, it started with an intention of representing something dark.

First, a note about Lord of the Rings. If you haven’t seen or read it, you may not know about the ring, a coveted fictional object that wields power, turning all who come in its vicinity into obsessed maniacs. It represents how warped and dominated we can become from things that we believe will give us love or power or good fortune. One holder of the ring called it his “Precious.” (More about the ring in a minute.)

I started the painting with a gnawing feeling that I wasn’t getting enough. I had that old scarcity feeling of not enough ideas, not enough knowledge of what’s to come, not enough time. Anything could be on the list. I tried to get a physical sense of this feeling. It was clogging my chest, I would describe it as dark and spiky. 

Minutes later I was in the yard raking leaves, and there was a small version of my dark, spiky chest-clogger. A sweetgum ball. For those who haven’t encountered them, they are pods from a sweetgum tree, and sometimes go by the common name of Porcupine Eggs. My painting was emerging.

Hedgehogs were on my list of animals to paint, and here was my opportunity. They look like sweetgum balls! I thought of how I start to turn spiky when I grip my preoccupations too long. I start to match my fixation. 

The hedgehog is holding on to his Precious. The hot sun is baking him and he doesn’t see that he is wading in a lake of blood, representing the life that drains out of us when we are plagued by craving. He is mesmerized and oblivious while holding onto something he thinks is the answer. It isn’t. 

The Precious could be anything. A relationship, a career, one’s health, or smaller things. Here I’m going to relate it to one of my own precious items: my entitlement. 

At the same time that I feel grateful for the people around me and the surroundings and doings of my life, I also have a disgruntled friend that pops in when I’m not paying attention. When things seem to be going smoothly I start to feel entitled. To lots of stuff. 

I expect traffic to flow easier for me. I start to think that people should be noticing how hard I’ve worked, or how much I’ve accomplished. Where’s my recognition? People I work with should be able to get things right. They should know by now. 

I can even see myself as entitled to my own victimhood. I deserve to be noticed because I’ve had a rough time getting here. I paid my dues. I’ve done my time. Where’s my goodies?

I assume lots of people should see my personality or offerings as especially noteworthy and reward me accordingly. It’s a kind of magical thinking that I should stand because I’m unique. (Everyone is unique, remember?)

When I’ve been slighted or ignored I can hold onto my entitlement to decent treatment. People should be upright at all times, and I should never have to be subjected to others’ bad mood, bad times, or bad mental health. Who do they think they are?

When I don’t get my goodies I’m ticked off. I feel entitled to my complaints. I can find people who will nod and grumble with me. They’re always out there. We can see things as unjust together, which just magnifies my Precious. The bloody lake  rises. The sun beats harder. And I’m just staring at my Porcupine Egg.

The thing is, my feelings of entitlement don’t have any effect on what’s going on around me. No one notices me, or gives me more, or gets their act together because I think I deserve it. People don’t let me scoot to the front of the line at the grocery store because I don’t like how long it is. 

My entitlement is useless, and the one who suffers most from it is me. I’ve lost friends and business over it, but most of all, I suffered from one of the worst ailments: a heavy, unsatisfied heart that feels justified in feeling deprived. My spiky ball of unfairness and lack.

Entitlement is cunning because it comes in such a reasonable form. All of my objections and assertions are true, aren’t they? Well, even if they were it doesn’t change a thing. The world doesn’t hand over what I think I’m owed. 

Why does my sense of entitlement pop up when things are going good? The pandemic enlightened me on this subject. When our business was shut, and we had no idea how long it would last, I was in survival mode. Everything except for my livelihood was an insignificant blip on my radar, and with zero effort I could say, about even big stuff, that’s not a problem right now. Who cares? 

I knew things were normalizing when I found myself complaining about the neighbor’s noisy lawn equipment and the local school carpool line that clogs up the streets. 

If I’m in entitlement mode, clinging to the Precious, I’m unconscious of my true nature. Instead of knowing I am free, aware, loved, and loving, I’m caught up in the cloaks of ignorance of a lone individual who sees scarcity. I think I’m entitled to things that will end my state of lack, (which will supposedly end my suffering) but what I’m really lacking is awareness. 

It’s one thing to intellectualize this truth, and another to move from a clutching state to a state of joyful detachment. My painting is a recognition of a state, and identifying it is a huge part of the process of getting free from it. The way out is what’s offered by the Without a Net program (soon to be revealed.)

Meditation is often touted as the obvious answer to access our true nature, and it’s definitely it’s a powerful tool. But sometimes I need more steps to get from Z to A. I need to touch base with the four areas that I know will guide me there. 

Fellowship. 

I need a person or people who understand how to help me grow. I don’t need someone who’ll perpetuate my attachments by getting on the bandwagon with me. Understanding and validating my plight is good and necessary, but adding to the complaints is the opposite of what I need. 

I need a compassionate ear who can allow me to express emotions but encourage me to focus inward rather than see my troubles as coming from  “them” or “out there.” They need to see through my bullshit and point me towards catching my bullshit myself.

Awareness. 

I need to try various ways of facing the as-yet-unexamined roots of my difficulties. I can uncover these origins from all sorts of angles, eschewing analysis and embracing breakthroughs from a more intuitive source. With willingness I’ll be granted wondrous Ah Ha moments that will take me to a more honest place. I’ll see that those attachments have an understandable beginning, however misguided. 

Passion. 

Life is my greatest teacher. I’ve gotten better at feeling a zest for life even in dark times. Struggles offer plenty of fascinating information. If I’m paying attention, people, places, things, and situations will lead me to learn more about myself. I may get pointed back to my community or more self-inquiry, and that’s good, too. 

Spirit. 

I can pray and meditate. At my most doubtful, I only need to acknowledge and get in touch with something/anything other than me that I’m intending to cultivate trust in. Something that is benevolent. 

On better days I can know I’m not alone, and that somehow, love is here for me. How it shows itself is up to how open I am to seeing it, because it’s here and everywhere all the time. 

My best prayers and meditation days are an immersive contact with an all-pervasive oneness in which my Porcupine Eggs are a normal part of the ever-flowing stream of life. 

If I have expectations about which kind of contact with a Higher Power is better, I’ll be disappointed sometimes. They are all good, and exactly what’s called for in the time they’re happening. 

By the time I’ve touched on all four areas, I’ll feel some relief from my Precious. At the very least, I’ll be able to hold it out in front of me and see that it is an idea, not an actual fact of scarcity. I’ll see the lifeblood around me and know that there’s plenty more where that came from. I can wade to shore with friends and get in the shade. 

What happens to the Precious objects when I don’t obsess about them anymore? I don’t know. Since they were only constructs of fear, they dissolve into oblivion, I suppose. But their visit with me makes me stronger, so you could say they’ve changed into advantages. 

If more spiky balls show up, I’ll be better at recognizing them. I’ve been shown the step-by step route to freedom from them, so I can follow it again. Each time they show up, I build more trust in a Higher Power, in helpful people, and in my own capability of following the truth. 

I’m grateful for having looked at a lot of Porcupine Eggs. I don’t get sucker-punched by them so much anymore; instead they get the welcome mat treatment, which involves me getting my Without a Net tools out and treating them like an old friend.