In a smoke shop for the evening,the music is old and great,
the sing along kind...
the songs, you can instinctually
retrieve the words to,
and remind you of back seat
high school romances
long forgotten.
The air hazy with smoke,
people conversing
with a glass of wine
in one hand
and a cigar in the other
An unlikely place for me,
I suppose (according to
some of the friends
surrounding me.)
Something about cigars
I sort of like.
It reminds me
of smoking sticks in
the Minnesota woods.
Musty, earthy, rich!
Which is all I ever really did.
My lungs fairly pristine
and okay with an evening
or two like this.
There are many I know and greet,
and it seems this place
is a place smart people gather
to speak of important things...
(and some not so important things
like...whether to get cable
or not for Shark Week...
which was one, such conversation.)
A day of frustration and heat
gives cause for an attitude of
whining and sweaty
complaints accompanied
by a dismal
questionable outlook on my
continued life as an artist/writer.
A day where there is more
creative energy going out
than resources coming in.
A day where paintings
are taken down from a space
that was intended
to be a portal for dreams.
Studio Seven!
A space, in which I watched poets,
realize they were poets and cry.
A space for an idea that took
on energy and life
where people learned to dance
and hoop and breathe and bend.
But all that's ending now
and the wall of mirrors,
reflects the fading moments,
the empty space?
Smells like a 'memory',
moving on to wherever
these things move on to.
Bittersweet and wondering...
does the end of one dream
precipitate the opened door
for the next?
We hoped so and discuss this
(and the power of gratitude...)
over wine and cigars.
Four friends and a stranger.
He flies helicopters for a living
has loved it from early on,
his destiny,
his dream, he says,
Would let NOTHING...
get in the way of it!!
What do I do?
Artist and poet, I respond
rather grimly.
(Remember, its 121 outside,
with bills mounting....and
it seems I had already forgot
the conversation about
being grateful.)
"How long?"
"21 years!"
"Wow, that's wonderful!"
"I guess"
(but whoopeeee, I think)
"Its hard waking up wondering
who am I today...
poet or artist, which hat to wear?
Work 14 hour days
and schlep stuff
around the west coast,
setting up a portable shop
every weekend,
I drive hours, worry about weather,
spend money on show fees...and I..."
(Oh shut up...surprised,
at the blah I am extending,
really, THIS is a problem?)
Gratefully, it invites this....
The pilots says,
"Aren't you living the dream?
Doing what your
most passionate about,
and meant to do?
Using the gift you were awarded!
And you get to spend every day
following that,
what does it matter how
the universe responds
tho I imagine it has many ways
of encouraging you in
your path of passion?"
I am quieted,
this is true!
Recalling the morning dog walks,
when I need to race home
because the words are coming
around the corner,
and too fast.
The 'freedom' of will I paint
or write today? Or both!
The many e mails that arrive
from someone saying, thank you
for being courageous enough
to write that down,
for making me smile
with that silly drawing
about turning fifty!
I get to sell my thoughts and
silly doodles...
to receive compensation
however modest,
for being creative and...
I get to occupy an office
surrounded by Dr. Seuss books
and a chalkboard
for scribbled ideas,
and if I want I can hoop
in the middle of a boring project
...have lunch whenever I want,
dance clothes-less
on my patio and
take a morning to paddle the island
or rebuild a stone temple...
I am surrounded by beauty
in every moment, which is my home
(also humble and modest.)
Only cleaning or sweeping
what I want, when I want.
I may be the head
of every department
and its only employee but....
my animals get to sit next to
me all day long!
(not so pleasant when it is hot)
Hmmm...I AM living my dream,
it seems!
I do what I love...
How did I forget to be
YAAY about this?
Thanks to a helicopter pilot
in a smoky room,
some smart people
discussing smart things
(except for that Shark Week
conversation,
which was hilarious)
When I woke up...
I was excited to be both
writer and artist
and to write this...
again running home
to catch the words
as they came...
Marlo, of Studio Seven?
She's still the pint sized gal
with gallon sized dreams,
with great success around the corner
and new ideas for future
collaborations.
John? Flying overhead,
I imagine,
being the sky?
Me?
I will spend long hours
marrying the illustrations
and poetry
of a nine year dream on my
computer screen,
heart pounding with excitement
as they take shape in book form!
Not caring that
a panting cat needs
to lay on my lap the entire time
or that for lunch...
it's saltines and peanut butter!
Cause Living the Dream?
is just that simple, sweaty, salty,
maybe even smoky...
when nothing else matters
but doing "your job,"
living the gift you were given...
and running to follow it
wherever it leads.
This is my pleasure, my job,
my humble blessing, my dream...
I don't have a choice!
And I, don't GET to quit!
And what about you, my friend?
Pam Piper Rain
