More Seeds Begin to Bloom

Speaking to Taos Pottery Princess just now on phone about timing. Why do good things take so long to happen to good people? But the Spirit whispers, Be happy now. (Then, when we get the stuff we want, we'll be even happier...)

My dream of following O'keeffe and living in New Mexico didn't happen for fourteen years after the writing down of the vision. The seeds of dreams bloomed in their own time. I had things I had to do first.

I had to go back to Colorado. I went back to school. One way I healed my life was to take two years of Psychology classes.

(We worked on finding the disowned selves, learned to remain calm, and explored dream objects and landscapes with teachers who had been at Menninger in the bio-feedback heyday - a very rich education.)

During that time a friend talked me into taking a creative writing class with her. Poetry came back into my life before painting did. I would not have thought it, or dreamed it that way, but the seeds were underground, and hidden.

Poetry saved my life. It saved my creative spirit, informed my intellect, lifted me somewhere I had never been, or knew existed. Pablo Neruda was the angel, and my teacher his messenger.

Now there was an open window, a quince tree outside in bloom, an attic room looking out into stars and moonlit blossoms. All I needed was a pen and a notebook and the muse. The muse returned to me much as my soul had. Maybe they were the same being.