LONLINESS, SOLITUDE AND SOULFUL CREATION: WOMEN AT MIDLIFE AND BEYOND
A THESIS
Presented to
THE FACULTY AND THE MASTER OF ARTS IN PASTORAL PSYCHOLOGY AND COUNSELLING PROGRAM COMMITTEE of St. Stephen's College Edmonton, Alberta
in partial fulfilment of the requirements for the Degree of
MASTER OF ARTS IN PASTORAL PSYCHOLOGY AND COUNSELLING by
Gail Annette Barrett
Prince Albert, Saskatchewan Library and Archives Bibliotheque et 1*1 Canada Archives Canada Published Heritage Direction du Branch Patrimoine de I'edition
395 Wellington Street 395, rue Wellington OttawaONK1A0N4 OttawaONK1A0N4 Canada Canada
Your file Votre reference ISBN: 978-0-494-80388-2 Our file Notre reference ISBN: 978-0-494-80388-2
NOTICE: AVIS:
The author has granted a non L'auteur a accorde une licence non exclusive exclusive license allowing Library and permettant a la Bibliotheque et Archives Archives Canada to reproduce, Canada de reproduce, publier, archiver, publish, archive, preserve, conserve, sauvegarder, conserver, transmettre au public communicate to the public by par telecommunication ou par I'lnternet, preter, telecommunication or on the Internet, distribuer et vendre des theses partout dans le loan, distribute and sell theses monde, a des fins commerciales ou autres, sur worldwide, for commercial or non support microforme, papier, electronique et/ou commercial purposes, in microform, autres formats. paper, electronic and/or any other formats.
The author retains copyright L'auteur conserve la propriete du droit d'auteur ownership and moral rights in this et des droits moraux qui protege cette these. Ni thesis. Neither the thesis nor la these ni des extraits substantiels de celle-ci substantial extracts from it may be ne doivent etre imprimes ou autrement printed or otherwise reproduced reproduits sans son autorisation. without the author's permission.
In compliance with the Canadian Conformement a la loi canadienne sur la Privacy Act some supporting forms protection de la vie privee, quelques may have been removed from this formulaires secondaires ont ete enleves de thesis. cette these.
While these forms may be included Bien que ces formulaires aient inclus dans in the document page count, their la pagination, il n'y aura aucun contenu removal does not represent any loss manquant. of content from the thesis.
1+1 Canada IN LOVING MEMORY OF
My Grandmother, Gudren Johnson 1900-1969 A spirited woman who lived her life with humour and compassion
AND
My Mother, Doreen Marcotte A woman of strength and courage who lived with vigour, who loved absolutely and who embraced all without judgment 1926-2007
You are my strength. You are my blood. You are with me always. ABSTRACT
This thesis was an investigation into women's experiences of loneliness and solitude in mid to later life and the impact that soulful creation had on these experiences. It was a reflection on whether the pain of loneliness was decreased, or the practice of solitude was enhanced, when one undertook a creative act that sprang from the soul. The thesis was also written to honour the lonely women who feel forgotten and discarded and to honour the women who dare to seek solitude. The study was undertaken heuristically and involved the author and four co-researchers, as well as our collective creativity. What was learned? Women are highly creative in unique ways in many areas of their lives.
Being creative can indeed ease the pain of loneliness and can sometimes stave off loneliness altogether, although women who are in despair are not always able to be creative. A creative woman who speaks her truth develops a greater and a deeper sense of value when she does so. Learning is considered to be an important act of creation and has played a large part in the women's journeys of self-discovery. When women connected to themselves and the Divine, they were "in the flow." As women approached midlife and old age, solitude was welcomed and appreciated. Solitude, when freely chosen, is another important part of the path to knowing oneself and coming to wholeness. Creative acts figure prominently into the experience of solitude and can be accompanied by silence or filled with dialogue. When a woman experiences loneliness and solitude, she is doing her soul work. It is this soul work that begins to gather her parts together, to make her whole. ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
The courageous and splendid women who have come before me from the ancient times, who have formed me and blessed me.
My brave and beautiful co-researchers who gave from their hearts.
The lonely women who believe that they have been forgotten and discarded.
The women who embrace solitude with enthusiasm, honouring themselves in that embrace.
The women who have dared to live creative lives and those who yearn to do so. I say to you, believe, leap, and it shall be so!
My father, Ernest Leo Marcotte, who has shared with me his strength, his compassion and his healing. These gifts have helped to make me whole. I love you Dad.
My sister Deborah Marcotte who believed in me and urged me to "Do It Now!" and then gave me the love and the means to begin.
My sister Beverly Harding, my brother-in-law Brian Harding, and my nephew Caesar for always being there for me in every way.
My brother Terry Marcotte and my sister-in-law Leone Marcotte who reached out to me when I needed their care. It was wonderful to have that time with you.
My sister Sharon Marcotte for being the trail blazer who cleared a path for me.
My forever friend Rainey Smith who always dares to go beyond.
Carrie Bahm, my Spiritual Companion who set down the footprint.
Pierrette Requier, my Guide and my Sanctuary, as I laboured to find myself.
Dr. Jane Simington who showed me how to gather the threads and heal with compassion.
My oldest sister friend Brenda Tenold who called me back with music when I was lost in grief. My newest sister friend Linda Hansen who listened always with her heart.
Dr. Bernice Luce, my Supervisor and my Constant, a woman who gave to me from deep within her soul; a teacher who gave to me the gifts of her time, her strength, her compassion, her knowledge and her wisdom. Thank you for walking with me all the way home.
Dearest daughter, Jennifer Barrett, gentle and wise human being, light of my life. You are an editor extraordinaire, and I thank you from the bottom of my heart for being the glue on this project. You are the reason it all hangs together. I am so very blessed to have you in my life. TABLE OF CONTENTS
Chapter One: Introduction 1
Chapter Two: Literature Review 9
Chapter Three: Methodology 18
Chapter Four: My Sacred Point of View 30
Chapter Five: Loneliness and Solitude 41
Chapter Six: Soulful Creation 63
Chapter Seven: Other Women's Voices 78
Chapter Eight: The Gathering of Women's Wisdom 106
References Cited and Consulted 121
Appendix A: Thesis Interview - Guiding Questions 125
Appendix B: Informed Consent Letter 126
Appendix C: Elaine's Story 128 1
Chapter One: Introduction
I am a woman of the prairies from a family of five children. I have been divorced for ten years and am the mother of one daughter. This daughter and I share a loving relationship that can move from a place of comfortable closeness to a place where my daughter feels the need for more space. She is becoming her very own woman. Even though I understand that things are as they should be, sometimes I miss her.
I have had close relationships with my three sisters and have recently had the opportunity to forge a closer bond with my only brother. My mother, who was always a strong source of support and encouragement to me, died seven months ago. Her passing has left me with a longing for the comfort of her physical presence. If there is any gift at all in the loss of my mother, it is that her death has opened up a place for me to build a stronger relationship with my father. At the age of 58 years I am about to begin a new career in a new city that is filled with people who will be, for the most part, strangers to me. The feeling of loneliness that comes to me with such an enormous change quietly overshadows the excitement of this adventure.
Throughout my life I have struggled on occasion with the painful experience of loneliness. The gift I have been given at midlife is that I have come to know the backside of loneliness, and that backside is solitude. When I became aware that other women at midlife were also lonely, I wanted to talk with them so that I might understand the nature of their loneliness and also understand their experience of solitude. As a feminist I am aware that our strength lies in the sharing of our stories.
I believe that the difference between a positive experience and a negative experience for 2 me hinges on whether or not I am connected to my spiritual path, my self and my community.
For me, creativity is one avenue of expressing that connection. I have also found that when I make room for solitude in my life, joy and healing can be found in that sacred place. This experience of solitude is enhanced when I do creative work and live in a creative way.
My thesis statement grew out of my desire to understand, describe and honour women's experiences of loneliness and solitude when they are at midlife and beyond. I intended to portray and dignify the truth - the heart of the matter - of two unique realities; firstly, the experience of loneliness, the deep ache of disconnection, the longing or yearning for connection; and secondly, the experience of solitude, choosing to be alone and set apart from the world. I wanted to determine if the act of soulful creation (passionate creativity) eased the pain of disconnection. I also wanted to learn whether this passionate creativity enhanced the experience of solitude for women who live outside the realm of artistic professionalism. These implied questions energized the focus of this thesis: What is the impact of soulful creation on women's experiences of loneliness and of solitude at midlife and beyond?
I chose the heuristic tradition to conduct my research, as I believed it was appropriate for my goals. Heuristics emphasizes self-reflection and immersion of self in the experience of others in an empathetic way to develop a portrayal of the phenomenon in question. According to Clark Moustakas (1990), who wrote Heuristic Research:
Design, Methodology and Applications, heuristic research involves "self-search, self- dialogue, and self-discovery; the research question and the methodology flow out of inner awareness, meaning and inspiration" (p.l 1). I sat squarely in the middle of this research and used all of my faculties and senses as Moustakas (1990) further suggested.
"Whatever presents itself in the consciousness of the investigator as perception, sense, intuition or knowledge represents an invitation for further elucidation" (p. 10).
When I was ready to plunge headlong into this work, my mother, who had cancer, was no longer able to tolerate treatment, and her health slowly deteriorated. I sold my home and moved to Saskatchewan to help care for her in her final months. Her dying and death touched me profoundly. I stepped away from this project for one year. When it was time to immerse myself once again in this question of loneliness and solitude, I found that my musings about this matter had never really been dormant although perhaps the shape and the tone of the musings had changed somewhat. It seemed that there was now a sense of wholeness and a sense of history that had previously been missing. On the other hand, because I had distanced myself from the intense involvement in the subject, I did not now feel confident that I could actually create a thesis that would speak to this question of loneliness, solitude and soulful creation.
As I began to move toward action on this work, I reminded myself that I am not alone; my soul is always eager to speak to me about creative matters. I knew that I had only to ask, and ask I did. I was looking for that creative spark of confidence that had deserted me in my grief. A dream came to me then, a gift from my soul. I dreamed that I was at my sister's workplace which was located in a quiet, very green area on the edge of the city. A guest speaker was coming to speak to us. I was one of three women, and we were to sit in chairs according to our seniority. It was my understanding that I was the most senior, but when I arrived there was only one empty chair, and this is where I sat. I do not recall seeing the speaker or hearing him speak.
Then I was looking for a man who was important to me. I looked in many places but was unable to find him. I thought he was perhaps working on the elevator because it 4 was moving up and down, first fast, then slow, and then it began to move sideways. I still did not see the man I was seeking and as such decided to go home.
I was walking down a very long, dimly lit hallway when I encountered him. He looked just like Kevin Costner. He had a clear luminescent smiling face, and he was wearing only a towel. He had just come from the shower. As I passed him in the hallway, we acknowledged one another and I smiled. I said, "Umm, you smell nice." He smiled back at me. We passed each other and I looked back over my shoulder as I continued to walk down the hall. I said to him, "I think I'll have a shower too" and continued on my way down the hall to the shower room.
I entered the shower room, and as I turned around I saw this same man come through the door. He said, "I only know how to wash your hair." We both laughed, sharing an understanding that he could no doubt wash all of me very well. But I somehow knew that in the past he had only washed my hair, not the rest of me. I moved toward him. He opened his arms and wrapped me in them. He was rock solid, and I could not get my arms entirely around him. He held me gently, and I felt very safe. After a moment he leaned back, looked at me and then moved toward me again. He very gently blew his breath into my mouth. I was filled with this wonderful gift of his breath. Then I woke up.
I had asked my soul to talk to me about creativity, and the dream was filled with layer after layer of meaning for me. I used Cooper's book, An Illustrated Encyclopaedia of Traditional Symbols (2004), as well as my own intuition, to help me interpret my dream. Cooper's book was an excellent resource in that it provided me with historic information regarding symbols and their meaning. I used the book as a guide and jumping off point only, leaving room for my own interpretation while using this 5 information. I accepted that the "traditional" interpretation of a word or symbol might not fit for me, and I used this book only when the information felt right.
The grass was symbolic of my native land, the land where I belong (p.76). I was out in nature when I first began to contemplate this work after my mother's death. I could do nothing but walk on the ground, listen to the birds and feel the sun and wind on my body. It was the beginning for me. I was in the right place.
The number three (three women) signified, among other things, creative power, growth and movement forward, expression and synthesis (p.l 14). I thought it interesting that there was only one empty chair. This suggested to me that I might start the thesis project in the place where I find an empty space, an opening. This opening would be there for me, waiting for me.
I was searching for a man I cared about. To me, this man symbolized the masculine in me - the maker, the organizer, the creative spark that would produce. In the dream I was unable to find him but realized that he might be busy with mechanical or technical things (the elevator). This reassured me that there was a part of me that could handle the technical aspects of thesis writing. After all, this man could make elevators go fast, slow and even sideways. There would be movement!
The hallway was long and dim and represented my thesis journey over the past year. I had been in incubation, and it had been a darker, perhaps more feminine time in my life. I met the man (my creative spark) in this hallway. He was clean, naked except for a towel wrapped around his waist. He was comfortable in his partial nudity. Symbolically, being naked represented to me the natural, innocent state, birth and creation. I was meeting my creativity, and it was unmasking itself, unclothing itself, for me. As I passed this man, we 6 smiled at each other and I said, "Umm. You smell nice." He did smell nice and I liked it very much! Smelling his freshness made me realize that I had not been feeling fresh and clean. My creativity had been covered with the sweat, the exhaustion and the grief of dying and death.
But I wanted to be clean and fresh again. I told him that I too would have a shower.
According to An Illustrated Encyclopaedia of Traditional Symbols (2004) the shower or the water is the source of all potentialities in existence, the source of the unmanifest, symbolic of the Great Mother and associated with birth. Water is the liquid counterpart of light. I wanted to come from the dim hallway into the light. I wanted to manifest. I wanted to realize my potential - to birth my thesis. Water is also equated with the unconsciousness and is always ready to purify, wash away and regenerate. Running water (the shower) is the water of life or living waters. It is the expression of wu-wei, the giving point of resistance; it envelops and passes beyond it, ultimately wearing down even the hardest rock (p. 188-189). Perhaps my resistance to writing the thesis was wearing down. In fact, in the dream I made the choice to move forward into the light, to accept and then move beyond my own resistance.
The man followed me to the place of cleansing and embraced me. The embrace was most gentle, and I felt safe and well loved. My creativity was embracing me. It is true that when I am being my most creative, I feel the safest, the most alive and the most loved. He then told me that he knew how to wash my hair and that he had washed it before. Hair, as noted in An Illustrated Encyclopaedia of Traditional Symbols (2004), is the life force, the strength and energy, the power of thought and virility. The hair of the head represents the higher powers and inspiration (p.77). This man, my creative spark, told me that this hair washing (the cleansing of my life-force, my strength, my inspiration and power of thought) 7 had helped me before, and that he, as my creative spark, would work with me again. And then my creative spark took it one step further. He leaned toward me and gently breathed into my mouth. His breath filled me up. Breath symbolizes life, the soul and life-giving power. It is the spiritus mundi, the power of the spirit. The taking in and giving out of breath symbolizes the alternating rhythm of life and death (p.25). I had been given life.
With the power of this Spirit, I could and would create.
As the weeks and months passed, I immersed myself fully in this question of loneliness, solitude and soulful creation, and this immersion was intellectual, emotional and intuitive. I worked in the dream world, in the physical world and in the creative world to deepen my understanding. I engaged with four other women so that I might learn about and also honour their experiences of loneliness, of solitude and of soulful creation. It was in the gift of their wisdom and life experience that I began to see that we shared much but that each woman's experience was unique to her. I found that disconnection from the people who are closest to us, disconnection from our spiritual communities and disconnection from our inner selves can each create a painful loneliness. We all long for connection and seek it in different ways. For some of us loneliness is not tolerated. For others it is a condition that simply exists and must be tolerated. I found that we experience loneliness when we feel undervalued or invisible, and yet there is a gift of freedom when we cease to shoulder the expectations of others.
Each of us believes that learning is a creative act and is essential to our sense of well- being. Self-acceptance for us is indeed a celebration at this time in our lives.
I found that the experience of solitude was described differently by each of us, but we all agreed that we treasure our solitude. As we age, this solitude becomes more 8 important to us, especially if it is chosen by us rather than imposed upon us.
Creativity plays a part in our experiences of solitude and of loneliness, although it was said that it is difficult to be creative when one is in despair. My co-researchers were humble beyond measure when they shared with me their thoughts about their own creative abilities and their own creative work. I was encouraged when I realized that as each woman shared her story she recognized and connected with her own inner strength.
If I were to describe a time when the light shone brightest for me during this work, it would be when I listened to each woman tell her story with ruthless honestly and utter vulnerability. It was through this honesty and this vulnerability that I was able to glimpse the quiet pride, .the gentle self-respect and the humble love that each woman felt for herself. I am grateful to these women for sharing their soul work with me.
My own loneliness eased as I did this work. I wrapped myself in the cocoon of solitude and relished each and every moment. As I immersed myself in the creative process, I was filled with joy and contentment. I was connected to my Creator, to others and to my self. 9
Chapter Two: Literature Review
To begin the process of heuristically "getting inside the question" of loneliness, solitude and soulful creation, I searched the websites that dealt with women's issues and aging, as I wanted my work to centre on women at midlife and beyond. These searches led me to various articles and books, and each book that I encountered led me to more sources. As I searched and inquired about this topic I became acutely aware that experiences of loneliness and solitude are unique to each individual. I did not research with the goal of either affirming or disputing another author's experience. After all, their experience was their experience, and it was not my place to judge what was true for them.
I instead researched and digested information with a view to broadening and deepening my understanding of my own experience, as well as my understanding of another's experience as it connected with mine.
My thesis deals with the experience that older women have with loneliness, solitude and soulful creation. As such, I began my reading in the area of aging women. I believe, based upon my own experience, that ageism in our patriarchal society is a factor in women's loneliness. The book Look Me In the Eye: Old Women, Aging and Ageism
(2001) by Barbara MacDonald and Cynthia Rich discussed the loneliness that women experience when they become invisible to others as they age. Rich talks about the powerlessness of old women and how one of the ways our culture situates old women in this place of powerlessness is by the use of language. She says that we find ourselves trivialized as old women when we are referred to with words such as, "silly witch flying on her broomstick, and in 'old bat,' 'old biddy,' 'old hen,' 'old crow,' 'crow's feet,' 'old 10 harpy'" (p.81). MacDonald talks about the fact that we inevitably become the old women we once dreaded to be, and that "we all know how odd that experience is. We are the women we once saw as boring" (p. 149). As an aging woman I have experienced the dismissal that MacDonald is talking about, and it is indeed an odd experience. It is also a painful experience. I deeply regret that in my youth I was guilty of this same dismissal when I viewed "little old grey-haired ladies" as being unimportant and uninteresting. It was my loss as well as theirs. Today I believe that we aging women are blazing new trails, and that we are anything but boring! Have we finally found our voice? MacDonald and Rich speak strongly about ageism and its ill effects, but they also seem to find a balance. Rich says that as we age we enter a time of "great wonder" and we must hold contradictory truths in our heads, creating a balance with these truths. She says,"... old is scary but very exciting, chaotic but self-integrating, narrowing yet wider, weaker yet stronger than ever before" (p. 153).
The Measure of My Days (1968) by Florida Scott-Maxwell spoke eloquently of old age, and of both the solitude and loneliness that accompany an old women's life. She wrote about her loneliness in her journal. "Another day to be filled, to be lived silently, watching the sky and the light on the wall. No one will come probably" (p.31). Yet on another day she embraced solitude when she wrote, "Only this morning - this mild, sunny morning that charmed me into happiness -1 realized my cheer was partly because
I was alone" (p. 65). Again in Scott-Maxwell's writing I found the contradictions inherent in aging. She said, "In very truth the old are almost free, and if it is another way of saying that our lives are empty, well - there are days when emptiness is spacious, and non-existence elevating" (p. 119). Most importantly, Scott-Maxwell reminded me that 11 each person's experience is unique. "I write my notes as though I spoke for all old people. This is nonsense. Age must be different for each" (p. 120).
The Art of Growing Old (1998) by Carroll Saussy discussed the challenges of aging with creativity, and she offered many exercises for self reflection and reflection with others. Saussy talked about the fact that aging seems to sneak up on people. It has certainly crept up on me, and in a sense it mystifies me. I sometimes feel like a 28 year- old in a 58 year-old body. Saussy (1998) points out that in our youth we have a great capacity to deny that we are indeed very similar to the elderly - we are both aging every single day (p. 12-13). She urges us to take on positive images of aging and to pursue our passions, moving outside of ourselves to live creatively.
Counselling Women: A Narrative, Pastoral Approach (2001) by Christie Neuger discussed many facets of aging and ageism. While working with students in Pastoral Care classes she became aware of the fact that the students had a very negative image of the elderly - especially elderly women (p. 31). She has noted that very little research has been done in the area of women and aging (p. 203). Neuger suggested that even though older women voice concern about their loss of value as they age, many of these same women also commented about" their sense of freedom to be themselves for the first time in their lives" (p. 206).
Given the scope of this project, I was not able to incorporate the aging issue into this body of work, but this aspect of my research did suggest that aging is indeed an important factor in women's experience of both loneliness and solitude. I would point out though that as I continued my reading, learned about myself and learned about my co- researchers, I began to understand and appreciate the gifts of aging as well. 12
I discovered that I was not alone in my loneliness. Longing For Company: 6 Studies for Women On Loneliness (1993) was a simplistic but basic book by Dr. Judy Hamlin and discussed how to identify the types of social loneliness, and how also to deal with them.
Hamlin places herself squarely within the Christian framework, and although I am not a
Christian, I was able to see value in the exercises she proposed, particularly for Christian women. I sensed that not only would these exercises facilitate the understanding of women's loneliness, but that they might perhaps also be used in an effort to lessen the pain of that loneliness.
The Unknown She (2004), by Hilary Hart, described a mystical consciousness that is natural to women, noting that within this consciousness is a natural longing that leads women, again in a natural way, to the web of connection with self and other. Eight individuals spoke with Hart about this emerging mystical consciousness and the role that it is conceivably meant to play in the spiritual evolution of our world. Within the text there are many discussions about the nature of loneliness and solitude as well as the creativity that springs from our connection to the Divine Source. I began to wonder how creativity might impact our experience of loneliness and our experience of solitude at midlife.
The Connection Gap: Why Americans Feel So Alone (2001) by Laura Pappano talked about the need we all have to connect with one another and how we have lost that connection through our affluence. Loneliness, for me, is very much about the lack of true connection. Pappano describes this connection as the joint venture of conversation, "like a dance in which each participant has a chance to lead and a chance to follow. It is during that dance that we come to understand not only another person but also ourselves" (p. 201).
Loneliness (1989) by Clark E. Moustakas delved into the condition of loneliness 13 that Moustakas called "a condition of human life, an experience of being human which enables the individual to sustain, extend, and deepen his humanity" (p.xi). Moustakas studied loneliness heuristically and utilized literature, music, the arts, history, science, colleagues, friends, neighbours, books and articles to further his understanding of loneliness.
Judith Duerk (1999) wrote beautifully and poetically in Circle of Stones: Woman's
Journey to Herself shout how a woman's life might be different if she lived in a culture that provided women's ritual and ceremony "to let the strong, wise, and deep Feminine manifest in her life ... now, not in unconscious identification, but through her own individual, subjective being and efforts" (p. 17-18). Her writing touched the lonely place inside of me, and gave me insight as to one of the ways I might ease that loneliness.
Coming together with other women in ritual and remembering could perhaps offer respite from my loneliness.
I learned about the many faces of solitude. Women and Solitude: The Centre of the Web (1993), edited by Delese Wear, examined the complex ways in which women view solitude. I was intrigued when I began to understand that other women may view solitude differently from how I do. Contributing authors delved into the specific areas of solitude and identity, solitude and culture and solitude and work. Essayist McFall spoke of solitude as a virtue rather than a psychiatric illness (p. 17). Sapon-Shevin talked of the safety of solitude as being an experience of choice, power and trust (p.32). I was reminded that not every woman has the luxury of the choice to embrace solitude.
Parker J. Palmer's A Hidden Wholeness: The Journey Toward An Undivided Life
(2004) is the story of Robert Johnson's life. He spoke of the notion that we can be alone 14 together - a community of solitudes. He said that living in solitude means being with oneself and fully present to that self, but he also pointed out that it is important to balance this solitude with community (p.55). As I age I seem to find myself more and more within this "community of solitudes" that Johnson speaks of. It is comfortable for me to be alone if I know that I have community to turn to. I was also reminded by Johnson of the importance of our dreams and the importance of our pain in our search for answers.
Abigail Trafford, whom I discovered via a newspaper article, wrote a book called
My Time: Making the Most of the Rest of Your Life (2004). She talked about solitude and how it can be frightening after the hustle and bustle of family life and career, but she says that it is often a step in the transition to "my time." When I divorced, and my daughter later left home to make her own way in the world, I experienced the solitude that Trafford spoke of, but it was not so much frightening as it was painful. I was unable to enter joyfully into the transition time that Trafford spoke of because I did not recognize that I was indeed transiting to something wonderful.
Sister Wendy Beckett, a contemplative Nun for 25 years, wrote Meditations of
Silence (1995), and discussed the many faces of silence as revealed to us through art. For some, silence is a part of solitude and a path to self-awareness. Sister Wendy Beckett also speaks of the paradox of silence in that it is both "intensely there and, with equal intensity, not there" (p.24). She says that silence is passive yet intensely active, and as such we "hold ourselves in a condition of surrender." It is within this state of passivity that creativity arises (p.24). I find silence to be welcome in my life now, and indeed I do find creativity springing from this place of silence.
I began to understand the part that creativity plays in both loneliness and solitude. 15
Art Is A Way of Knowing (1995) by Pat B. Allen is a book which, according to Allen, is
"for anyone who wishes to contact his or her feeling, intuition, and sensing inner being and to forge a path to the river of soul that runs below everyday life, becoming more alive in the process" (p.xi). From Allen I learned about establishing a link with the unconscious via creativity that enabled me to receive not only information and direction, but a sense of connection as well.
Spirituality and Art Therapy: Living the Connection (2001), edited by Mimi
Farrelly-Hansen, is about spiritual healing through artistic endeavours. Various art therapists from different perspectives (Christian, Jewish, Buddhist and Shamanic) spoke of the healing power of the interaction between creativity and spirituality. I particularly enjoyed Madeline Rugh's discussion of art, healing and aging through the lens of
Shamanism. I am comfortable using art and journey work as instruments in the healing process in both my personal life and my professional life.
The Creative Age: Awakening Human Potential in the Second Half of Life (2000) by Gene D. Cohen talked about how creativity can be used to enhance our lives as we age, and how the unique combination of age, experience and creativity can produce exciting inner growth and potential. He speaks of an important dynamic of creativity that comes with age, and that dynamic is courage. "... courage that gives permission to make a decision that may be risky, controversial, and necessary" (p.30). I have found in my own life that I am willing to risk, and risk more often, as I age. Cohen states that age and loss do not necessarily shut down creative expression but that in fact at times creative expression will occur precisely because of the loss. It has however also been my experience that there are times after a loss when I am unable to be creative, and it is at these times that I am open 16 to the healing power of nature.
Dance of the Spirit: The Seven Steps of Women's Spirituality (1991) by Maria
Harris was about how women awaken to the dance of their own spirit, and about the spiritual steps (one of them being creativity) that women can take to transform their lives. I realized when reading this book that to live a creative life is a choice that one can make, provided one has the awareness and the tools.
Art as Medicine: Creating a Therapy of the Imagination (1992), by Shaun McNiff, is about creating art and dialoguing with this art to heal the pain of soul loss. McNiff believes that "Creation is interactive, and all of the players are instrumentalities of the soul's instinctual process of ministering to itself (p.l). He suggests that when someone is emotionally disturbed and suffering because of this disturbance, that person is in direct contact with energies so powerful that they can be channelled into art. This art work then springs from the soul (p. 17). McNiff delves into the Shamanic realm where he finds that
"Shamanic images and patterns emerge whenever we engage ourselves in the therapeutic ritual of the arts in painting, dance, drama, song, and other media" (p. 19). I connected with
McNiff s writing as it is in this manner that I also do my creative work.
McNiff s second book, Art Heals: How Creativity Cures the Soul (2004), talks again about the transformative power of creative energy in the healing process, and how pain and suffering are important elements within this process because they will inevitably find their way to transformation (p.218). I have experienced this transformative power in my own life. McNiff also urges that we use imagination, which he describes as the middle realm, as this is an "open and dynamic zone where narrow fixation is discouraged because it interrupts the ecology of creative relations and dulls a person's sensitivity to new 17 influences" (p. 225). He says quite simply that in order to heal, we need only to allow
"creativity - the most elemental force in nature - to do its "work" in our lives (p. 219).
One book inevitably led to another. At a certain juncture it was necessary for me to say, "Enough is enough" for the purposes of this project; however, my interest in this topic intensified as I progressed, rather than diminished, and I did not stop reading more on the subject as other material became available to me. I found that although all of these sources touched on my interest in loneliness, my interest in solitude and my interest in soulful creation, none of them dealt specifically and only with this topic as a whole, especially as it relates to women at midlife and beyond. Each source however was another link in the chain of my inquiry. Chapter Three: Methodology
The heuristic method of researching a problem was an excellent fit for me, and this was the sole method I used. I was particularly drawn to it because it asked that I use my conscious mind as well as my unconscious mind to conduct my research regarding loneliness, solitude and creativity. For me, that meant soul work. The word soul has many definitions and is used by individuals in many ways, but I use the word soul to depict a living, breathing entity, a spark within me that emanates from the One Source, the Divine
Light; a spark that connects me directly to that One Source in a relationship that is both giving and receiving. My soul is my true spiritual essence.
According to Moustakas (1990), the word heuristic stems from the Greek word heuriskein, and it means "to discover or to find" (p.9). Moustakas (1990) further describes this heuristic process as one of "internal search through which one discovers the nature and meaning of experience and then develops methods and procedures for further investigation and analysis" (p. 9). This process involves the self in a disciplined and devoted exploration, dialogue and an unearthing of the matter of interest, in order to reach an underlying understanding of the essence of that matter (p. 11). Visions, dreams and images may figure prominently into the heuristic investigations, and if one follows the heuristic method, a new way of seeing may emerge (p. 11). "Emphasis is on the investigator's internal frame of reference, self-searching, intuition, and indwelling lies at the heart of heuristic inquiry" (p. 12). Moustakas also notes that the heuristic processes
"incorporate creative self-awareness and self-knowledge (p.9).
The heuristic method also appealed to me because it "requires a return to the self, 19 a recognition of self-awareness, and a valuing of one's own experience" (Moustakas
(1990), p.13). It differs from phenomenological studies in that when conducting heuristic research, one must have a personal and vital experience or encounter with the phenomenon being investigated. This personal encounter is not necessary for phenomenological study (p. 15). I was challenged by the fact that this inquiry would be an opportunity to go within and to marshal all of my resources with the ultimate goal of coming to a new understanding of my own loneliness and my own need for solitude.
While the emphasis is on the investigator's internal frame of reference, this does not preclude discussion with others about the question at hand. In fact, the experience of others is considered to be a valuable contribution to the process in that it will help to ensure the reliability of the findings (p. 33). Dialogue with others will also impact the researcher's own experience of the phenomena in that the researcher's understanding will broaden and deepen through this dialogue. According to Moustakas (1990) this contribution from co-researchers is sifted through the researcher's internal frame of reference to allow a deeper understanding of the phenomena (p. 32). He says that "a typical way of gathering material is through interviews that often take the form of dialogues with oneself and one's research participants" (p. 39). He also notes that these interviews are often open-ended and not ruled by the clock, but rather by an inner experiential time (p.46).
According to Moustakas (1990), the heuristic method involves a sharing between researcher and co-researcher that is co-operative. This sharing is such that the co- researcher feels partnered and affirmed in the process of discovery, participating with a willingness to be frank about their thoughts and feelings regarding the question (p.47). In 20 the process of interviewing heuristically, the researcher must be an accurate and empathetic listener who is able and willing to demonstrate a flexibility that promotes a comfortable climate for the co-researcher to share comfortably and honestly (p.48).
The heuristic process begins with a focus of inquiry, a question or problem interests me and challenges me in the world in which I live. Moustakas (1990) says that when I choose to investigate this question heuristically, I must remain passionately with it until it is illuminated for me. I must "get inside the question, become one with it, and thus achieve an understanding of it" (p. 15). This process begins, says Moustakas (1990), when one first enters into dialogue with the phenomenon, engages in a rhythmic flow with it and uncovers the many layers of meanings. Self-dialogue is the beginning of this process
(p. 16). Moustakas (1990) refers to the "power of revelation in tacit knowing" as being the foundation of heuristic research (p. 20). Tacit knowing allows one to "sense the unity or wholeness of something from an understanding of the individual qualities or parts" (p.20-
21). He describes the process of tacit knowing as one that involves the bringing together of the subsidiary and the focal, the seen and unseen, the conscious and unconscious elements of the matter at hand, in order to achieve a wholeness and a deeper understanding ( p.21).
Another aspect of heuristic research involves intuition. According to Moustakas
(1990), using intuition as a guide is essential when one is seeking knowledge, as intuition facilitates our experience of bringing the parts of something together to form a whole. He says, "Without the intuitive capacity to form patterns, relationships and inferences, essential material for scientific knowledge is denied or lost" (p.23).
Indwelling describes the process of the inward journey in heuristic research, one that is essential to the development of a deeper understanding of the question. Moustakas 21
(1990) writes about dwelling inside of the focal and subsidiary factors "to draw from them every possible nuance, texture, fact and meaning" (p.24). This involves some practice, enabling the researcher to "tap into the intuitive awakenings and tacit mysteries as well as the explicit dimensions which can be observed, reported, and described (p.24).
The process of focusing is also very important to the heuristic process. This focusing is what Moustakas (1990) calls "an inner attention, a staying with, a sustained process of systematically contacting the more central meanings of an experience" (p.25).
This part of the process looks for the parts of the experience that have stayed just outside of the conscious mind because full attention has not been given to the examination of this phenomenon (p.25).
Lastly, the heuristic process involves one's internal frame of reference, no matter how the new knowledge is gained. According to Moustakas (1990), "To know and understand the nature, meanings and essences of any human experience, one depends on the internal frame of reference of the person who has had, is having or will have the experience" (p.26). The heuristic method provided me with the opportunity of going within, and it also provided me with the opportunity to reach out to other women so that I might understand their experience from their own internal frame of reference as well. It was in the sharing of their experience that my own understanding deepened. Moustakas
(1990) said it was imperative that I establish a relationship of trust with my co- researchers as that connection would allow each woman to share in a full and open manner (p.46). As a feminist, I honour each woman's story and hold it with respect and care. I believe that this respect and care creates the trust that Moustakas speaks about.
The heuristic method asked me to not only live the question but also to immerse 22 myself in the layers of meaning both intellectually and intuitively. It was not necessary for me to bracket my own assumptions or to seek to describe the other woman's experience apart from my own assumptions.
Sample Selection, Data Collection and Data Analysis
It was my intention to interview six women of various backgrounds in an effort to understand, describe and honour their experiences of loneliness and solitude along with my own experiences. I then wanted to determine how soulful creation, or passionate creativity, affected both their experiences of loneliness and their experiences of solitude. I chose not to interview any professional artists but rather hoped to discover and to understand the creativity that all women experience in their everyday lives. Because of the wealth of material that began to surface as I worked, it was necessary for me to interview fewer women. Had I interviewed the six women, the data would have been too extensive for the scope of this thesis. I chose to research with four women who were at midlife or older. I selected three women in the forty- five to sixty-five age bracket and one woman in the sixty-five to eighty-five age bracket. I chose the women based on their age, their availabiUty, and their "non-artist" status. I also chose them for their willingness to speak frankly and openly about the sensitive topic of their loneliness, as well as their experience of solitude.
The collection of the data itself occurred through one-on-one, open-ended, audio- taped interviews regarding loneliness, solitude and creativity. The interviews were conversational in nature although I did prepare a small number of questions to guide the conversation to a limited degree, if required. (See Appendix A.) I was not surprised that 23 the women with whom I spoke were open and forthcoming about their lives. I expected that each interview would take approximately one and a half hours although I was prepared to extend the time if the participant wished to do so. In all four interviews our time together exceeded the time allotted. It was not a new experience for me that when we women share our lives soul to soul in an authentic and caring encounter, we enter a time slip where time itself becomes elusive.
I asked each of my co-researchers to share with me some aspect of her creative life, and this sharing became a part of the thesis. I have now incorporated into the body of this work the women's offerings: one photograph of a garden, one photograph of a quilt, one photograph of stained glass work and one poem. I worked with transcribed tape recordings from the interviews and kept field notes in a journal. The field notes included my personal observations of the interview subject both pre-and post-interview. These tapes and field notes will be kept in a locked cabinet for three years.
With respect to the data analysis, I reviewed all tapes, and with each participant's permission, a professional then transcribed the tapes. I submitted to each woman the transcription of the interview as well as the narrative that I created from the transcription for verification and/or clarification, making changes where requested. Few changes were required. I initially planned to use portions of the actual recording as opposed to a summary of the information in order to preserve the raw intensity of each woman's experience; however, it was again the wealth of material and scope of this project that limited the amount of data I could include. It was of utmost importance to me that the women felt the freedom and comfort to express their uniqueness. It was also important that they knew that whatever it was they had experienced would be held in confidence with reverence and that their experience would be 24 honoured. Most importantly I was aware of and open to the possibility that my preconceived assumptions could change at any moment and could change many times.
Ethical Issues
Informed Consent
I provided each woman with a summary describing the purpose of my research as well as a description of the manner in which we would proceed. I explained to the women that I did not have a preconceived notion as to what the outcome of the research would be, but rather that this work is a spiritual experience of learning for me that I wish to share with them, and eventually with others. Each woman was given an Informed
Consent to review, discuss and sign. (See Appendix B.)
I advised my co-researchers that our discussion could possibly open up painful areas for them that may lead them to seek counselling or some other type of assistance. I had a list of counsellors available for each woman should any of them require assistance or express the desire to enhance their own growth in this area. None of the women requested such information.
I also informed each woman that she had the right to withdraw at any time without penalty or censure. 25
Privacy and Sharing
I believe that loneliness is considered somewhat distasteful in our society, a failure of sorts; we sometimes will go to any length to alleviate or deny the reality of our loneliness. In my initial discussions with women friends about loneliness and solitude, I learned that this is indeed a deeply emotional subject for many women. I ensured that my co-researchers knew that their privacy would be safeguarded during my research and within the thesis document itself. Each woman was encouraged to choose a pseudonym, and when chosen, this name was used in the thesis.
As a feminist I wished to learn from this research experience and also to share what
I learned with my co-researchers. It was my hope that this learning experience would be empowering for us all. I believe that transformation occurs within each of us when we share our stories. As such I have offered the opportunity for each of the women to meet with me and other participants to share our learning once the thesis is published. Although each woman understood that she had the right to refuse to participate in this group, all of the women, at the time of this writing, have indicated they wish to meet one another. The women understand that they will be giving up their privacy within the group and that I will have no control over each group member and how she might treat another's request for anonymity outside the group. The privacy issues were dealt with in the consent forms.
Steps Followed
As I conducted my research, I moved through each of the six phases of heuristic 26 research as described by Moustakas (1990). My intense interest or initial engagement in this question began to percolate about three years ago when I realized that I was feeling lonely, even though I also felt a need for solitude and indeed often relished my solitude. I was introduced to the spiritual practice of drawing the Mandala and also introduced to painting. I found that when I was engaged in creative activity the pain of loneliness seemed to ease somewhat. Until this point in my life, I sincerely believed that I was not capable of creative or artistic work. When I became interested in the experience of loneliness for women at midlife and beyond and wondered how loneliness related to solitude, I began to wonder what part creativity might play in these experiences. I talked with women friends about these questions; I learned that many women feel passionate about this very topic and in fact are searching for answers.
In the heuristic tradition the second step is to immerse oneself in the question. As
Moustakas (1990) said, "The immersion process enables the researcher to come to be on intimate terms with the question - to live it and grow in knowledge and understanding of it" (p.28). For me this immersion was a matter of reading, joumaling, talking with friends and family, sitting with my mother as she was dying and then withdrawing to a place where I could again express my own sense of loneliness. At the outset of this writing, I experienced a great need for solitude. My dreams and intuitions figured prominently, as did my time alone in nature. As I immersed myself in this question of loneliness and solitude, I found that both my feelings of loneliness and my need for solitude intensified.
My creativity took a turn. I no longer painted or worked with colored pencils; instead I found that writing, music, poetry and crocheting were my solace.
Once I was fully immersed in the question, I was ready to interview the women 27 about their experience of the phenomenon. I began the process of interviewing and digesting the material as I gathered it. I was surprised by the outcome of the interviews and a little concerned about what I felt to be my own inability to keep our conversations on topic. I found the women eager to talk with me about what was important to them. I was in awe of the beauty and wonder of the conversation with these women. Such an intricate web of richness and connection! As my work progressed, I often had to stop work altogether and take time to clean my house, wander aimlessly and make myself go outside or be with other people. I found that I was becoming more of a hermit as the process unfolded. I believe it was the intensity of the experience that was calling me to withdraw.
When the interview tapes were transcribed, I combed through them over and over again to try to pull out the essence of each woman's experience, as well as the essence of my own experience. As part of the validation process described by Moustakas (1990) I then returned to each woman for verification (p. 33) and asked the women if they had experienced any further insights since our initial interview. My co-researchers advised that the stories I created from the transcripts clearly expressed what they hoped to express. Some of them had further insights to share.
After the narratives were complete, it was necessary for me to step back from my intense focus on this question to allow inner growth to occur - the incubation phase.
Moustakas (1990) says this phase "allows the inner workings of the tacit dimension and intuition to continue to clarify and extend understanding on levels outside the immediate awareness" (p.29). After a time, a natural breakthrough to conscious awareness would allow me to receive new knowledge and intuition. At this time I pulled away from the work and attended a three-week retreat that dealt with a completely different subject matter. Upon my 28 return I found that as I again delved into the work I intuitively understood that although each of us share a common experience when it comes to loneliness and solitude and the part that creativity has in both, these experiences play out uniquely with each of us.
I worked to understand the many layers and meanings of the questions in which I was immersed. This is the step that Moustakas (1990) calls illumination. He says that it "occurs naturally when the researcher is open and receptive to tacit knowledge and intuition" (p.29). It is an intuitive process, and it unfolded in a much different way than I anticipated. The unfolding created a shift in my thinking, adding new insight for me as to what is actually happening to women at midlife and beyond. I found that my dreams and intuitions were very lively during this period and that my urge to paint inexplicably returned to me once again.
Moustakas (1990) describes explication as the next step, where I would "fully examine what has awakened in consciousness, in order to understand its various layers of meaning" (p.31). At this point in the process I cleared a space for myself (both mentally and physically) to focus totally on my project. According to Moustakas (1990) this is the time that I would attend to my own awareness and feelings and also attend to the nuances and textures. It was time for me to ferret out the "essences of the experience" (p.31). I took the time to become thoroughly familiar with my own data and the data provided by my co-researchers; I rallied my intuitive powers and honoured my dreams, listened to music, painted and then continued on to the final step of creative synthesis.
This final step in the heuristic process, according to Moustakas (1990), is to creatively synthesize the work using both "tacit and intuitive powers" (p.31). I struggled with this synthesis when my experience of "being in the flow" as I worked to put things together hindered me from being fully attentive to the academic stipulations. It was in community with my thesis supervisor that I learned to be "in the flow" as much as possible while attending to the necessary academic requirements.
Throughout this journey I remembered the words of Clark Moustakas (1989) in his book Loneliness. He said, "I have concluded that loneliness is within life itself, and that all creations in some way spring from solitude, meditation, and isolation" (p.xii). I learned as I moved through this work that both loneliness and solitude are indeed gifts that are given to each of us and these gifts shape our lives. The flame of our raw loneliness lights our creative spark and this same spark, when nourished, grows to become a wild and delicious fire in our precious solitude. 30
Chapter Four: My Sacred Point of View
I see myself as a two-legged creature with a heart, a soul and my very own sacred point of view. I am of the Earth. I do not fit within the walls of any religious church building or institution. I am a spiritual human being, and at my core I am inclusive, I am tolerant and I am a seeker of grace and wisdom. I believe that my relationship to the
Divine does not require any intermediary but is instead intensely personal. My soul speaks to me, and I speak to it. I am a spiritual optimist, and agree with Borysenko (1993) who describes spiritual optimism as being a wholehearted belief that we are "eternally and immortally safe, even though the temporal world in which we live is often dangerous, violent and unpredictable" (p.9). I choose to explore all paths to the Sacred and welcome every human being to do the same. I seek the Creator in many places and in many ways - and I find the Creator in many places and in many ways. I believe that the Divine is within me and within the web of my connection to others.
Jamie Sams (1994) expressed an understanding of my need to tell of my experience from my own perspective, my own sacred point of view, when she said,
Every living thing and every human being has a Sacred Point of View. To deny
any person, creature, plant or stone its right to observe life from its personal
vantage point is a misuse of authority. All life forms have the right to see the truth
from their own experience and perspective. How these viewpoints meet and
connect, meld and intertwine, creates the weaving of our common understanding
of the tangible world (p.93).
According to Sams (1999), we each have a Sacred Path to walk, and the weaving together 31 of the tangible with the intangible threads creates this path. As such, our dreams, our experiences, our thoughts and emotions are the warp and weft of this weaving. Sams' teachers explained to her that the intangible realm of consciousness, known as the Dream
Weave, could give to us "new layers of the life force found in spirit, thought, emotion, dreams, feelings, aspirations, creativity, and intent" (p.4). I go now to my Dream Weave to share my journey into loneliness, solitude and soulful creation.
Prairie Seed
I was born in 1950 in rural southeastern Saskatchewan, and I was eventually the middle child of five children. My parents, a Roman Catholic and a Protestant, were twenty-one and nineteen years of age when they eloped to Montana. The year was 1944, and the Catholic Church did not bless mixed marriages. My father was a grain farmer, and my mother was a homemaker who spent a considerable amount of her time - when not caring for her children - working in the community and the Lutheran Church.
Money was scarce, and the first two babies, a son and a daughter, arrived within twenty months of the marriage. I was bom four years after the second child. The final two children were bom four years and ten years after me. Our family story is not unfamiliar in that we had our struggles and our triumphs, our laughter and our tears, our hopes and certainly our fears. Alcohol was a black spirit in our family and indeed became a black spirit for my siblings and for me as we matured. I now believe that we were perhaps sipping our alcoholic spirits in an attempt to satisfy a deep need for spiritual connection. When I was a child, alcohol would sometimes pass over our family like a dark cloud, but it didn't always 32 rain. My parents were very loving with one another and with each of us as well.
Creativity, especially in the area of visual arts, was not something that was talked about in our home. Certainly creative endeavors were happening around me, but they were never discussed as being either creative or artistic. My mother knitted and crocheted beautiful garments and blankets. She sewed our clothing, and she also created a richly colourful garden of flowers. My father, as a farmer, created the most stunning landscapes of plowed earth and golden wheat fields, but again these projects were not considered to be artistic or creative. They were simply a part of our survival. We did not intentionally create solely for our own pleasure although I am quite certain that my mother worked intuitively as she created and that she found fulfillment and satisfaction in her work, as did my father.
Our home did not have original paintings, sculptures or weavings hanging on the walls. I do not recall color being very important in our lives in the sense that we used it to enhance our mood or enliven our personal space. I recall only one picture on the wall that influenced or inspired me in a spiritual sense as a child, and that picture hung in my grandmother's living room. Today that same picture hangs in my living room. It was perhaps purchased in Woolworth's or some other store of that ilk prior to 1950. The scene is one of water resting against the shoreline with trees and a small building set before a backdrop of mountains. These mountains were comforting rather than imposing. The color in this print is one of subdued blues and greens with grass, small rocks and more trees in the foreground. As a child I gazed longingly at that picture and grew to love a part of nature that I had never experienced on the prairie. I believed that the mountains, the water, the trees and the rocks each had a soul. My experience with that picture, along 33 with my experience of living on the prairie, helped me to understand that I would find the
Divine in nature and not in a church building.
We had a large backyard, and in the spring it was brilliant with the color of crocuses and bluebells. I recall one preschool venture that involved the creation of mud cakes for a handsome teenage boy. It was spirit-filled, joyful work when I placed my small hands on the clay earth amidst the wildflowers, the sunshine and the fresh spring winds. I was connected to the earth in a very tangible way.
Although we did not create much visual art in our home, music filled the rafters.
Each family member played an instrument of some description, and the youngest child was often responsible for creating a rhythmic din with pots and pans and a wooden spoon. Music was also a very important part of our lives at school and at church. As a teenager I was able to communicate the heights and the depths of my emotions through poetry, story writing, music and acting - none of which I considered to be creative.
Perhaps I simply did not consider the word creative at all!
My maternal grandmother, whom I call my soul ancestor, touched my life profoundly. Her kindness, her laughter and her comforting arms blessed me with a special kind of peace and harmony that I found only with her. As a child I was afraid of thunder and lightning and afraid of the dark. In the midst of one wild rainstorm my grandmother took me outside to stand in the middle of the road in the driving rain. The lighting flashed and streaked across the sky, and the thunder crashed directly overhead. I will never forget the magic and power of that storm, the blackness and the brilliance, the majesty of that moment, because it touched my soul. I stood in awe of Creation. 34
Wandering in the Desert
Along with my love of nature I developed a passion for social justice. Growing up in an alcoholic family resulted in the creation of a role for me that I call The Peace
Maker. This name described me well as a young woman, although as I matured, so did my role. I later became Mrs. Make-Nice. I entered University in the latter part of the
1960s, a turbulent but exciting time. I was energized, to say the least, about the possibility of revolution, flower power, peace and love, equality, inclusiveness, feminism and connection. While trying to tap into feminism and all that it offered me, I lost the essence of what it meant to be feminine. I not only lost that essence, I soundly rejected it.
Alcohol was beginning to be a problem for me, although I did not recognize that at the time, or perhaps I chose not to recognize it. When I drank alcohol it was often with disastrous results. I drank too much and too often and could be unkind and hurtful when under the influence. I experienced a sharp loneliness that alcohol enhanced. I looked for connection by imbibing and found only greater disconnection.
I was separated from my Creator, and indeed I was disconnected from others and myself as well. I no longer attended church because I could not find God in a community that saw me as pathetic and weak. I could not find God in a place that did not tolerate sinners, a place that prided itself on making rules and regulations that routinely excluded much of the world's population for daring to choose their own path to God. That God was not for me. I pursued causes of social justice but found no community that comforted me for any length of time. I burned out at the age of twenty-four when I realized that I could not create a way to save the world. I was alone. 35
At the age of thirty I married a man who was to be my husband for the next eighteen years. He was an alcoholic. I began to drink more and more with the misguided hope that I could be close to him if I drank with him. I was more alone than ever before. He and I were not connected to Creator, to one another or to any community; we were isolated in our misery.
Our daughter was born when I was thirty-one years old, and I found that this beautiful child was the beginning of connection for me. From the time my daughter was conceived, I spent many hours talking to her, singing to her, making up rhymes and poems for her. When she was old enough I dared to play with the visual arts because she had no expectations with respect to my abilities. We drew, we painted, we cut and we colored. As she grew older, I moved away from this type of sharing with her because I was afraid that she might see how little talent I actually had.
I was unable to discuss the creative work of others, as I did not feel that I had the tools or the knowledge to do so. I knew that I was attracted to certain pieces of art, but I could not verbalize the reason for the attraction. This inability to describe my reactions made me feel very insecure about enjoying the creations of other artists and certainly did nothing to encourage my own creativity.
For the better part of my marriage I lost touch with all things creative. My soul was slowly dying, and the extinguishing of the creative spark was a part of that death.
Spirit's Black Night
I spent the last fifteen years of my marriage trying to get it right. I was after all a peacemaker and a fixer. I could make nice. I had become so firmly entrenched in this role that I could not accept that my marriage would not succeed. The more I struggled to get it right, the more alone I felt. Alcohol was taking its toll. I understand now that at the very least my husband and I would have needed sobriety to work through the many layers of the tangled web we had created together. The disconnection I felt was profound, and it was not until I truly believed I was vanishing, becoming completely invisible, that I was able to take the steps necessary to move out of the destructive relationship we had created together.
My husband and I separated, but the loneliness and disconnection I felt in our marriage did not magically disappear. I did not understand the power of peri-menopause but began to feel my soul calling to me. I did not listen, and it began to speak to me through my body. It started with the collapse of my thyroid gland. According to Jane
Simington (2003), who also had a thyroid condition,
The throat is associated with communicating one's voice, one's truth. It is an
avenue of expression, especially creative expression. The thyroid gland is
responsible for growth and progress. I was blocking my own growth. I had been
given a gift. I was not using that gift. I was not expressing who I really was, or
that which I really believed in (p.l 11).
When I still did not listen, the calling began to manifest as pains in my chest. My doctor tested me to determine the cause of this chest pain and was at a loss when she could find nothing wrong. Finally she named this pain "Spasms of the Esophagus." It is only now that I understand that esophagus is throat or gullet and that my throat was in spasm. My body was compelled to speak to me because I would not and I could not hear my soul. My body and my soul knew that I needed to speak my truth, but of course that was not possible; I was in spasm. 37
I found a book written by Stephanie Marston (2002) called If Not Now, Whenl
Reclaiming Ourselves at Mid-Life. It was the title of this book that began to awaken me. I tried to read the book but could not care about its contents. I kept the book by my bedside and read that title every day. Indeed, if not now, when would I begin to create the rest of my life? I felt certain that I would die if I did not begin to live with all my heart and all my soul.
I knew that alcohol created a mist that surrounded me and in many ways paralyzed me. I did not know if I could stop drinking, how I would stop drinking, or indeed if there would be anything inside of me if I did stop drinking. I was so afraid that I would find only a black hole. Sams (2004) said that when we feel intensely alone and disconnected we might believe that no one understands what is happening in our lives.
"At these times, we feel that the light in the window representing the safety of home has vanished, we think that there is no way out, or we feel that we have lost our connection to the Great Mystery, God, the Creator" (p. 17-18).
I truly felt powerless at this time. I took a meditation class that was to help me regain my inner power. In this class I learned how to move myself into a deeply meditative state. I was able to enter another layer of reality where I connected with two
Spirit Guides. Hank was a forgiving, fun-loving male Guide who dared me to seek adventure. Lady Gillian was a wise, older female Guide who loved me, calmed me and shared her wisdom with me. It was in my darkest hour of loneliness and disconnection that I turned to Hank and Lady Gillian and asked for their help. I told them that I wanted to quit drinking but that I did not know how. I said to them, "It's up to you."
Jamie Sams (1999) observed, "When we refuse to pay attention to the subtle signs that change is needed in our lives, four major passages into internal human chaos 38 and despair will dramatically force the course of our lives to change" (p. 17). Sams explained that these passages into darkness would come on the spiritual, emotional, psychological and physical levels. This was true for me. Sams (1999) opined that the
Southern Seers' (part of the First Nations Dreaming Societies) term "Spirit's Black
Night" is in fact akin to the more commonly known "black night of the soul" (p. 17).
What came next for me as I travelled this Spirit's Black Night was indeed transformational. I received the help I had requested because I was ready, finally, to pay attention.
Within a couple of weeks I became ill. At first it was just a vague discomfort that I felt. This discomfort then slowly took over my life, and heaped upon the discomfort was a weakness so pervasive that soon I was unable to do the most mundane of chores. I stopped going to work and eventually needed my sister's help to do the smallest of tasks. I would shower in the morning, but then I would have to rest before I could get dressed. My tears fell as I watched helplessly while my sister wrapped the gifts I was to give away at Christmas. I visited the Doctor on many occasions. Test after test suggested there was nothing physically wrong with me. My doctor consulted with other doctors; they too were baffled. When every avenue had been exhausted, my
Doctor advised me that my liver enzymes were very slightly elevated and that perhaps I should stop drinking. I laughed with resignation and said that I had already stopped; I was too sick to drink. It was not until much later that I was able to appreciate this gift that had been given to me; at the time I had no understanding of the magnitude of this experience. Transformation
Slowly, slowly the dark spirit began to move away from me. As I took steps to regain not only my physical health, but my emotional health as well, a beautiful and transformational light entered me. I was connecting to Spirit. I began housecleaning in a tangible and also an intangible manner. I went through my cupboards and removed unhealtiiy food. I began a physical exercise program. I reached out to groups and individuals who could teach me about spiritual matters. I worked three volunteer jobs while I continued to run my business. I took steps to enter into healthy relationships. I did not drink again.
During this time I desperately needed solitude to enable me to hold all of the changing and growing that was happening to me so rapidly. I was reaching out to learn and to expand, and at the same time I needed to be alone to process everything that was coming to me. I found I was not comfortable around people who were drinking; alcohol put them and me in a very different place, and I could not relate. This was a new kind of loneliness for me because it separated me from part of my family and many of my friends. It was not long until
I made the decision to leave the business I had created and return to school to obtain my
Master's Degree in counselling. It was the Creator's gift to me that I found St. Stephen's
College where I was encouraged to journey within. I am now near the end of this part of my passage, and I am not the same person I was seven years ago. I am authentically connected to myself, to others and to Spirit much of the time. I have a measure of peace and a measure of contentment, and I have a spark that is intense in its need to create. I have joy and excitement about what is to come as I work to birth and nurture my true self. Jamie Sams' (1994) poem
"Embracing the Realized Self spoke of this self that we feel in our dreams, the self that we 40 long for. The poem says that this self is often touched fleetinglybu t that we should not despair because we are given the knowledge that it will return to us again.
Embracing the Realized Self
You are coming, I can feel your nearness; The wait has been so very long.
I have seen you in my dreams, knowing that you, too, were waiting for me. Your silhouette, on the horizon of my mind, has made me anxious.
I am ready to share my cup with you, to drink the draught of our creation. I can feel you in this room, smiling on my anxiousness... With you has come the scent of mountain sage; you knew. My preparation goes on, so that I can be the chalice of your beingness. Please hurry, So swift a taste of your loving space has left my heart fluttering. You have gone, but I reverently await your return, (p. 364).
As I journeyed in search of my self, the act of creating from my soul helped to heal my wounds and to ease the pain of my loneliness. Soulful creation also enhanced my experience when I moved into solitude. I learned that I am best able to show my joy and my gratitude for a full and wondrous life when I express myself soulfully. It became my quest to determine if this was also true for other women who are at mid-life and beyond. 41
Chapter Five: Loneliness and Solitude
Separation
Throughout my fifty-eight years I have experienced loneliness many times. I was about ten years old when I first understood that I was alone in this world. This understanding did not come to me as a result of any specific occurrence or situation; rather, it descended upon me like a shroud. I awakened one morning in the room I shared with my sister, and I could not get out of bed. I was not ill, but I was filled with what I now know was the despair of separation, the knowledge that I was surely alone in this world. As I slowly came to consciousness and rubbed the sleep from my eyes, I felt a black heaviness weigh upon me. For the first time in my life I knew what it was to have a broken heart. In fact, I could physically feel the pieces of my heart come apart within my chest.
My mother called to me twice to tell me to get up and then sent my sister to get me out of bed. My sister left when I would not get up. I turned my back to the room and faced the wall. My mother came to sit with me, and she gently placed her hand on my shoulder. I felt at the time that if she had not touched me gently, I would have shattered.
She asked me what was wrong, and I could not answer. Instead I began to cry. I remember the words I finally said to her. "I am so lonely."
My mother did not try to take the pain away. She asked gentle questions about the nature of my loneliness but did not push, perhaps because she realized that my loneliness was a matter of soul, something she could not fix. Moustakas (2004) spoke of the importance of being fully open to and without judgment about the child's reality at a moment like this. He expressed what I believe my mother intuitively understood when he wrote, 42
Full appreciation of the uniqueness of every child must be conveyed clearly
and directly in special moments with the child, not judging or evaluation, not
pushing the child to make progress toward external goals, but focusing only on
the pure being of the child (p. 34).
I do not remember when I got out of bed that day. Perhaps my mother let me stay home from school - perhaps not. What is important about that moment is the clarity of my understanding that I was indeed alone in this world, a separate being from my parents and my siblings. This knowing has come to me on other occasions in my life, but it has never touched me again with the same sense of intense discovery and pain.
I have painted this moment in my life on canvas. The bed I was lying on is central in the painting. It slants precariously, as do I lying upon it.
First Separation 43
The slant represents how ungrounded I felt as I experienced my aloneness, indeed, how dangerous it felt to me to be so alone. I am not seen as a body in this painting but rather am covered with a shroud. The floor beneath me is red, orange and yellow - symbolic of the fire that might burn me if I slipped into the hell of my aloneness. The area above me is blue sky with fire roots reaching into this sky as if trying to connect somehow. The white in the sky represents connection to my mother, to Spirit, grounding me but also acknowledging that although I am connected to something larger than me in a spiritual sense, I am ultimately alone in a physically embodied space. Painting this picture recently helped me to express how frightened I was when I realized I was ultimately alone in the universe, but it also allowed me to express the comfort I now feel in my connection to my mother and to the Spirit that connects us all.
The Father
My father and I are both non-drinkers now. Together we have grown a sound, loving relationship, but when I was a child, and certainly when I was a young woman, I experienced a loneliness for my father that was directly tied to the presence of alcohol - his drinking, and later my own. I think this loneliness for my father was intensified by a cellular memory of absent fathers across the generations. My maternal great grandfather is unknown. My maternal grandfather died before I was born. My paternal grandfather left my own father when my father was only six years old, and his mother had just died.
This grandfather and I were never close.
Because of alcohol, I always felt that my own father, my brother and my husband 44 were unavailable to me in an emotional sense. Feeling the absence of the masculine in my life is perhaps one of the reasons I grew such a strong masculine energy within myself. I asked for a dream to help me understand the loneliness I felt at the disconnection I experienced from the males who were most important in my life.
The dream was very succinct. I recall none of it except for two words that played over and over again in my head as I was awakening. Omega Father. I thought about the word Omega. Omega is the finality, the end. According to J.C. Cooper's An Illustrated
Encyclopedia of Traditional Symbols (2004), Omega is often depicted with Ouroboros, the eternal circle of disintegration and re-integration (p.l 21-123). I had been searching for the feminine in me that I had cast aside so long ago. Were the Father and the
Feminine perhaps tied to one another?
"Father" is the Sun, the Spirit, the masculine principle, conventional forces of law and order as opposed to the feminine intuitive instinctual powers. In myth and legend, the figure of the father symbolizes physical, mental and spiritual superiority (p.65). Perhaps the dream was telling me that the masculine principal, law and order, was ending and that the feminine, the intuitive and instinctual, was now to come to the fore.
I later spoke with a spiritual advisor who told me that three Spirits were present to our discussion. She said that two of them were masculine and then described them. The younger, whose description resembled my maternal grandfather Helge, was there to remind me to seek balance. Perhaps this was my guide Hank who had often encouraged me to find this balance. She said the second Spirit, whom she described as being an older gentleman with deep-set eyes, (my paternal grandfather had very deep set eyes) was there to protect me and guide me. I entered into a state of confusion as I did not know how to accept this 45
guidance and protection from someone whom I felt had never been there for me.
I decided to paint the dream to see if I could get more information about Omega
Father. I intentionally painted a large Omega symbol because that word was in fact half of the information that I had received in the dream. And then I let my soul wander with the paintbrush. The Omega was painted in vibrant red, purple and blue with flashes of yellow.
These colors were used to depict the power of the Father Symbol. I then painted a white feminine spirit inside the Omega. This white feminine spirit morphed into a large budding
seed with delicate color. It seemed the Omega Father symbol was protecting the feminine bud by surrounding it, enclosing it and sheltering it. I thought then, with gratitude, that it was perhaps that the Father was protecting the feminine while it was still a delicate bud.
For the first time ever, I felt connected to the fathers who came before me as I was able to accept and indeed appreciate their protection while I birthed my own femininity.
Omega Father It was the words of my Omega Father dream and the images in my painting that started the movement to healing for me. Killen and DeBeer (2001) spoke of the transformational power of images:
Images invite consideration. Their capacity to capture, intensify, and transform a
situation makes them powerful. An image transports our situation and us to a new
space, a new standpoint from which we can view and experience the original
situation differently. By entering the space of the image we open ourselves to new
insight, to new learning, to being changed, and potentially to revelation (p. 41).
My loneliness for Father eased.
Disconnection
During my marriage I experienced some of my loneliest moments. Judith Duerk's poem from her book Circle of Stones: Woman s Journey to Herself (1993) paints a very true picture of how I saw myself at this time.
But somewhere, deep inside, is the image of a woman seated alone, in a beehive tomb, within the earth, weeping (p.59).
I am still filled with love and compassion for this woman, for I am she.
I believed that marriage meant that my spouse and I would connect in a fundamental yet profound way, but we did neither. I often thought that perhaps there was something wrong with me, that it was my fault that we could not connect. I was not good enough. I felt that I was losing myself in the marriage, and it was only when I finally believed I was dying inside that I was able to confront the depth of my feelings. 47
Moustakas (2004) spoke of this immersion into loneliness as a path to salvation when he said,
In loneliness, some compelling, essential aspect of life is suddenly challenged,
threatened, altered, or denied. At such times only by entering into loneliness, by
steeping oneself in the experience and allowing it to take its course and to reveal
itself is there hope that one will achieve harmony and unity with one's world
(p.127).
Because I could not understand the disconnection between my husband and me that continued day after day, I looked to myself for the imperfections that had created this chasm. I could not speak of my own vulnerability but later was able to express the loneliness I felt by writing a fictional account of a part of that experience. It was the story of a woman named Elaine who felt unloved and perhaps responsible (because of her aging body) for being unlovable, but she was not without hope that she would one day be loved. The story is attached in Appendix C.
As I journeyed into my experience of loneliness within my marriage, I understood intuitively that it would be in knowing fully my own loneliness that I might begin to heal from it. Leonard (1993) talked of this when she said,
In contrast, loneliness often makes us feel abandoned, rejected, or lost. We feel
victimized, desperate, and conflicted, a pawn of fate. A person can be lonelier in a
group of people or with someone than she is by herself, when she most feels the
pitying projections of other people, and the lonely child in her experiences shame.
In loneliness are the seeds of its own healing, however, for anxiety and terror can
be the threshold into awe as well as conscious self-understanding (p. 207-208). 48
I asked for a dream that would help me understand, from a new point of view, why my husband was unable to connect with me and thus I with him. My dreams do provide me with a point of view that is not accessible to me in my waking reality. As
Smith (1998) expressed, "Since we can learn a great deal from all views, we would do well to refuse to rely on any single one to determine our identity or our reality. We are then free to dance among the many meanings that life has to offer" (p. 120).
I dreamed that I was in a house with many people. There was confusion and chaos although it was low-key. I was not involved in the confusion. There was broken red glass on the floor. I was concerned about it, but no one was cleaning it up.
The topic of discussion was my husband. Although I was no longer married to him, I was involved in the discussion. He had AIDS. He was dying. He had gone into the desert, and I was angry with him for going off by himself and denying people the opportunity to care for him in his dying. I felt that he was being very self-centred in his need for solitude. I also felt worried and frustrated and very sad about the fact that he was shutting people out of his life. I was feeling lonely, anxious and somewhat bitter because
I had been shut out.
When I awakened, I thought about what this dream could mean. The house with low-key chaos and the confusion represented my relationship with my husband. We never fought or argued loudly, but certainly we lived in the quiet desperation of chaos and confusion. The broken red glass represented mess, danger and disintegration.
Someone could get hurt - no one was paying attention to the hazard! The desert represented solitude and my husband's need for solitude to deal with his illness and death. His need for solitude made me feel very lonely. He left all relationships to 49
experience a very important part of his life - his dying. I felt anger at him for needing this
solitude, for excluding everyone while he experienced his last days. It seemed pitiful to
me that he wanted to be alone - conceivably reflective of society's attitude about the
nature of solitude - that the need for it is perhaps self-indulgent and sometimes even
shameful.
I knew that if I painted this dream, I would learn more. I did not know what I
would paint, as is normally the case when I pick up my brush and set out my paints. I
paint from my soul - paint so that I might touch the inner realm for information and healing. When I painted this dream, I eventually painted it from two Sacred Points of
View - my husband's and mine. My first painting, which was to be the only painting
about this dream, depicted my horror, my disquiet and discomfort with the idea that my husband was ALONE, dying of AIDS in the desert. I painted a man's face on a red, yellow and orange background. This face is drawn, sad and defeated. The face looks wan, very unhealthy. It makes me uncomfortable to look at it. It is, quite frankly, ugly.
Alone with Death When I finished this painting, I had a sense of incompletion. As I studied the man's face, I invited him to talk to me - to tell me what he needed. McNiff
(1992) said that when I am able to perceive the painting as "other than myself," the painting might talk to me. I must be prepared to listen (p. 105). "The experience of dialogue affirms the painting's existence as a living, expressive phenomenon.
We are touched and surprised by the things it spontaneously says to us" (p. 75).
As I listened to the man in my painting, I learned that if I were trying to understand my husband's need for solitude, perhaps it was time for me to set aside my own Sacred Point of View and listen to my husband's Sacred Point of View. I took up my paintbrush, once again not knowing what I would paint. I put myself in the place of this man who needed solitude and asked for an understanding about that need. As McNiff (1992) said, "The person who looks into the soul of another contemplates facets of that person's being without judgment" (p. 98). I wanted desperately to look into my husband's soul and understand.
As my brush moved across the canvas, the hills of desert sand began to take shape. Then I painted blue sky with a brilliant sunburst nestled between two hills. I knew intuitively what the painting needed next - a solitary set of footprints moving from one side of the canvas to the other. The painting was utterly peaceful and wanted for nothing. It was complete in and of itself. I finally understood my husband's need, not with my intellect, but rather with my soul. 51
Peaceful Solitude in Death
I wondered, as I set down my paintbrush, if I would have been less lonely in my marriage if I had understood my husband's need for solitude. Sams (1999) said, "Every time we change our Sacred Point of View, life responds and our reality shifts" (p. 17). I wondered then whether I might have experienced less anger at what I perceived to be my husband's constant rejection if I had been able to understand his need for solitude, from his point of view.
Eventually I moved out of that marriage and into the solitude that I needed to find myself again. Moustakas (2004) spoke of the loneliness of my experience when he said,
What deeper loneliness exists than the profound experience of losing one's self?
Searching to regain one's wholeness and sense of identity is a lifelong process
impeded by circumstances of living, relationships gone awry, moving off the true 52
path and being derailed from time to time by life's choices and challenges (p.77).
I began to think about the relationship between loneliness and solitude. For me, loneliness is a painful experience while solitude has a richness and a depth that is very full. I began to wonder: if loneliness is disconnection from self, from others, perhaps even from nature, and most certainly from the Creator, is solitude then connection to all of these in a way that is so intense but intangible that the tangible connection is, for a time, unnecessary?
In my life the experience of solitude, while blessed with many gifts, does indeed require an end, or it would be unbearable for me. I need at times to return to the tangible. I know that I cannot walk alone in the desert forever. I feel much the same as Jo Anne Pagano, contributing author in editor Wear's The Center of the Web: Women and Solitude (1993). She said, "I can be alone because I know that I am connected. The world does not fade when I am in solitude, because it is only in the world and in my connection to others in it that I am myself p. 53).
I have come to think that loneliness is the backside of solitude, or perhaps solitude is the backside of loneliness. They are connected in such a way, for me, that one naturally is a part of the other as if they are joined in a circle; one grows out of the other. According to Tuija
Pulkkinen, who also contributed to Wear's The Centre of the Web: Women and Solitude
(1993), "Solitude and loneliness are the same state with a different accent. At the outset the two states look similar, simply being alone, but there is a remarkable difference" (p.88). She said that solitude is bordered by connectedness whereas loneliness is "only a night where all cats are black" (p.88). While I agree with Pulkkinen that loneliness and solitude are the same state with a different accent, I do not agree with her about the description of loneliness as something negative or unlucky (black cat). I see many layers to the experience, and I think perhaps loneliness might be a night where there are cats of many colors. 53
It is when I am most lonely that I am likely to retreat into solitude, and if while in solitude I create something, my loneliness transforms to an experience of rebirth. Sometimes the loneliness itself can be a creative experience if I maintain my connectedness within the loneliness. Moustakas (1989) said that in creative loneliness there is "an element of separation, of being utterly alone, but there is also a strange kind of relatedness - to nature and to other persons and through these experiences, a relatedness to life itself, to inspiration, wisdom, beauty, simplicity, value" (p. 50). I began to think further about the loneliness I experience in connection to others. It is this type of loneliness that is my soul pain.
Soul Pain
As part of my degree program, I am required to complete two practicums. The first practicum I completed was at an addictions treatment centre. As a young woman, I had been unable to handle the pain that other people experienced. Perhaps my lack of healthy boundaries made it all too impossible for me. I was delighted that after four days at the addictions treatment centre, I was handling the client's pain without difficulty. In fact, I went so far as to congratulate myself on my maturity and professionalism.
It was on the fifth day that my protective barriers came crashing down. It was my turn to respond to two young women who had shared particularly painful stories that carried for them much shame and humiliation. My response to them was that I felt a great deal of anger that they had been hurt in this manner - and then I promptly began to cry. It was not a dainty cry but rather one from the deep reaches of my gut. This pain I felt was of such great intensity that it frightened me; it was a loneliness beyond compare. 54
I went home that night and began to paint. I had realized over the course of the previous twelve months that painting was indeed not only a source of information and healing for me, but it was also in some sense my salvation. I did not at the time delve too deeply into the connection I was making but rather delved into the experience of painting.
Night after night I painted well into the night. I was painting faces. These faces were white, red, black and brown. These same faces were young, old, male, female, sly, dirty, horrified, angry, stunned, ridiculous, ugly, and often full of pain. But they were oh so beautiful to me.
One night, as I stood at my easel with paintbrush in hand, alone in my house, I said aloud, "I paint dead people." When the hair on the back of my neck stood to attention, I knew that I was speaking the truth. I realized that these people had no one to remember them, no one to witness their stories. They were alone. I continued to paint their faces until my walls were lined with them and they no longer called to me. And then I stopped. 55
Witnessing and Remembering the Dead
I had found a bridge that stretched from the pain I felt at the addictions centre to the pain in the lives of the faces I painted, and that bridge was compassion. As Smith
(1998) observed,
Compassion arises from our awareness of the suffering of others. It is the
spontaneous response of the heart which is accessed when we touch pain in other
people. Compassion always approaches people with love. It does not separate
them from us nor judge their behavior in any way. We feel people's pain and
move psychically into their world to assist in whatever way we can. In order to be
with people in their world, we must be willing to experience their pain fully
without wavering from it in any way (p. 143).
According to Smith (1998) this compassion insists that we give more than we normally 56 would to this relationship with suffering - that we "open our hearts to the pain and journey through the personal hell of another mind without flinching or turning away" (p.
143).
I have since moved to a new home. I carted these faces with me, anticipating that I would keep them in a box in a closet. This was not to happen. The faces still need me to remember them, to open my heart to their suffering. In this way, I am connected also to the suffering of the living; I must witness their pain and love them compassionately. And so, the faces line my bedroom wall. I am somehow not so lonely when I am in their company, and I feel that they are perhaps not so lonely when they are with me. Because of the compassion that came to me as I was painting, the loneliness of their pain and mine has eased.
Death
It is slowly becoming easier for me to talk about my mother's recent death. For the last four months of her life, I lived with my mother and my father to help care for my mother. It was within the process of my mother's dying that I was able to really connect on a deeper level with my father. We shared the care-giving, and we shared our grief. I experienced in my relationship with my father his strength and compassion, parts of him that I had previously been unable to connect with. I am grateful for this connection that I now have with him.
I miss my mother every day. Along with the intensive work of caring for her came the grief of losing her physical presence on this earth. I think that my father and I, along with other 57 family members, worked very creatively to give Mom the best care we could. As the hours slowly passed, I crocheted many blankets and shawls, both for my mother and for others in the hospital. I created warmth and comfort with soothing colors and textures. It was my desire to cloak my mother in tenderness and reassurance, to ease her pain, to give her my love.
I now sometimes feel that I am the only person who ever lost her mother. Even though Mom's death was expected and planned for, I was stunned when she died. She asked for my help to plan her funeral, and it was with a quiet sense of peace that we worked on this project together. My mother was ready to die and she was very certain that she would find her loved ones in Heaven. On the night before she died, we sat together for eight hours, face to face in two chairs, holding hands with one another. I prayed with Mom the prayer she taught me when I was a child. Now I lay me down to sleep. I pray the Lord my soul to keep. If I should die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take. When I finished that prayer, Mom breathed with a sigh the word, "Good."
I realize now that my mother was preparing to die during that night, but at the time, I was oblivious to this. I prayed to the Creator and to the ancestors, Helge and
Gudren, "If you ever loved this child, come and get her now. She is ready." As we sat facing one another, Mom occasionally leaned toward me, looked past me and raised her arms upward. I asked her if she wanted a hug, and she quietly said, "No. No." and then moved back into her chair. After this happened several times, and I again asked her if she wanted a hug, she continued to look past me as she gently put her arms around me and then patted me ever so lightly. She was already leaving me, and I did not know it.
When the day of her funeral finally came, it was wonderful to hear how Mom was so loved and how she was able to make many people feel that they were very special in 58 her eyes. Indeed, it was said that she saw life through grace-filled eyes.
With my mother's passing I feel loneliness now that I have never experienced before. My mother is gone. My daughter Jennifer Barrett wrote a poem about the need to let her Grandmother go. I too must let my mother go.
A Poem For Grandma a large tree falls over in the forest a small comer of life realigns itself shifts Each branch of the tree is broken by gravity, by other objects, by sheer force, by age. The tree no longer takes in oxygen asphyxiation
That tree was there before I was born and I knew it all through my life there were things I would tell the tree that I've never told another living soul. The tree breathed gently, lived gently in the grace of god and She told me always, quietly, gently that I needed to do what was right for me.
One day I walked into the forest and the tree was no longer standing. She had fallen. Shifted. Redirected. She lay broken on the forest floor, shattered remnants of her beautiful branches scattered
I did not try to pick her up.
I knew I could not. I knew in the deepest part of my soul that this was her broken end.
I asked her spirit to leave in peace because I knew it was the right thing to do I felt in my heart that my request was true Yet no mortal coil shuffling hurts more than one we've blessed
I have not been back to the forest in over a month 59
to see her wood overgrown with new spring life. I do not know what she looks like now or even for sure where she rests. Perhaps she has been collected.
All I know is that my dear dear friend is missing from my life. I know a void. It has a certain shape, a certain size. A certain voice and a way of certain embrace.
I am left believing it was hard for her to go. the wind tugged at her weak roots and her leaves had trouble taking in oxygen
I did not want her to stay like that.
I am angry that we could not have fixed it.
In my grief all I have to give is my hair all I have is to live my life All I know are the words to a prayer.
I have not been able to express the grief and loneliness I feel about the death of my mother through painting or drawing, but rather I have found solace in nature, comfort in music and release in writing. When I write about the loneliness that I feel in my grief,
I get some solace and comfort from creating a picture with words. On one particularly difficult day I wrote in my journal:
Again the wave of loss threatens to engulf me. My loneliness today is heavy. I
awakened this morning believing that my day would unfold in a cheerful sort of
way. I did my morning stretches and felt grateful for the sunshine in my east
window. I drank my coffee with pleasure, and showered my body with care and
gentleness, appreciating it for being mine and for carrying me and housing my 60
spirit all these years. I walked in the hills behind my home, a place I consider to
be sacred ground. The day simply felt good to me.
My father came to pick me up, anxious to show me the headstone he had
decided upon for him and Mom. We drove to the funeral home, and I felt proud to
think that he wanted my opinion. He was not asking for my approval, but I knew
that he wanted to share this moment with someone he loved.
The funeral director happily showed me what Dad had picked out, a small,
tasteful stone upon which would be engraved a rose for Mom, a wheat sheaf for
Dad, their names, years of birth and death, and the simple words, 'Together
Forever." I recall numerous times in the latter part of mom's illness when she
would panic if my father left the room, wanting him always to be by her side. He
would come and sit with her, lay his forehead against hers, and whisper, "I'll
always be with you. I'll love you forever."
My day changed when I came home from that funeral home. The need to
touch my mom, to hear her voice, to wrap my arms around her was great. The
grief now covers me like a shroud. The sky of my soul is dark. I can't walk in the
hills. I can't read a book. I can't dance. My tears fall, but no one is here to see
them. No one is here to listen to me cry. My two cats are close to me now, sitting
beside me as I write. They are caring for me, perhaps mothering me a bit.
Music comes to me. I find a CD I have never before listened to, Celtic
9
Lamentations by Aine Minogue (2005). Minogue says on the cover that this is healing music for twelve months and a day. These words remind me that there is no way to rush grief and that it will help if I can create my own rituals for mourning and remembrance. 61
John O'Donohue, who is her Anam Chara or soul friend, writes her opening poem. The poem spoke to the loss I carry in my heart, the loneliness of wanting my mom.
Beammach (Blessings) On the day when the weight deadens on your shoulders and you stumble, may the clay dance to balance you.
And when your eyes freeze behind the grey window and the ghost of loss gets in you, may a flock of colors, indigo, red, green and azure blue come to awaken in you a meadow of delight.
When the canvas frays in the curach of thought and a stain of ocean blackens beneath you, may there come across the waters a path of yellow moonlight to bring you safely home.
May the nourishment of the earth be yours, may the clarity of light be yours, may the protection of the ancestors be yours.
And so may a slow wind work these words of love around you, an invisible cloak to mind your life.
The music wraps itself around me. I experience again the wailing, keening emptiness of loss and death. Strangely enough, it is a piece called "Awakening" that best expresses my grief because it speaks of the most powerful aspects of being alive even in the 62 intensity of our losses.
When Mom died I believed that I would feel her spirit all around me. We had, after all, talked about it and dreamed of it. Mom's faith told her that she would go to heaven to be with her loved ones. She believed that we would still connect after she was gone. And I believed it too!
When I walked into that hospital room and saw my mother lying there at an odd angle with her mouth open, her eyes half closed, with no assuring breath in her body, I knew at once that she was gone. I kept touching her, kissing her, rubbing my hands on her hands, her arms, her face, her hair, as if I could somehow capture her essence if I touched her long enough, touched her right enough, touched her just enough. When her fingernails began to turn blue, and my father and my brother began to gather her things, I knew that her spirit was gone. She was more than ready to go to heaven - she was eager to go and, as she put it, "sit at the feet of Jesus." In that moment I believed I knew where she was.
Surely, I thought, once she has had a moment to sit with Jesus, greet her loved ones, and have the cup of coffee that she and I often laughingly said my grandmother would prepare for her, surely she would then come back to comfort me. She would make her presence known. I would again feel her spirit with me. The hours and days passed slowly as we prepared for her funeral and greeted loved ones as they arrived home. Again and again I asked, "Where are you now Mom? Where have you gone? Why can't I feel you?" I felt only her profound absence, the absolute finality of her death. Now as time passes, I am at odd moments finding my mother. I am less lonely when I walk in nature and feel the wind on my face. I am less lonely when I smell a flower or watch a bird in flight. I believe that my mother touches me through these moments. 63
Chapter Six: Soulful Creation
At a very young age, I came to believe that I was not a creative person; I was not talented whatsoever in the creative arts. After all, my friend Gina could color inside the lines.
I could not. My friend Jimmy could draw a barn using a ruler, and he could also draw a horse that looked like a horse. I could not. I did not understand that poetry and music, baking and gardening were also creative arts. I did not understand that one could choose to live creatively every day. Sorin (2004) suggests that we do live creatively every day by simply using our energy to make something out of nothing (p.xi). According to Sorin (2004),
Living creatively does more than just make things around us prettier or wittier.
Our creative roots make up the very fiber of who we are as individuals, and by
unearthing our creative nature, we at the same time unearth our authentic selves -
not the persona we offer to the world, and not who we think we ought to be, but
who we are in our deepest realms (p .xii - xiii).
In Grade One, we were introduced to painting on glass. I was frightened at the very idea of attempting such a thing because, after all, I did not have any talent. We were each to choose a picture that we would put under our glass and then paint. I tried to pick the one with the biggest spaces because I believed I would do a better job of staying inside those fatter lines. I was not given the picture that I wanted, and I was unable to decide on another.
My teacher became angry with me. I began to cry. I was required to sit in my desk, remain at school long after the other children were gone and select a picture from the small number of pictures remaining. It took a very long time for me to choose, but finally I did.
Throughout the next twelve years of my life at school, I enjoyed music, poetry, public 64 speaking and acting, but I never did enjoy crafting anything with my hands. I truly believed that everything that I did was ugly and of little value. It was not until I took a class (my first at St. Stephen's College) that I began to discover the joy of drawing and painting. It was in the preparation for the class, "The Spiritual Practice of Drawing the Mandala," that I first learned about dialoguing with my work. The very notion of speaking to something of my own creation intrigued me and excited me. Shaun McNiff (1992), who wrote Art As
Medicine: Creating a Therapy of the Imagination, captured me in his first paragraph when he said, "Whenever illness is associated with loss of soul, the arts emerge spontaneously as remedies, soul medicine. Pairing art and medicine stimulates the creation of a discipline through which imagination treats itself and recycles its vitality back to daily living" (p. 1).
McNiff (1992) then spoke of the notion that we might dialogue with our work in a soul-to-soul fashion (p.97) and then led me directly to the delightful possibility that my work would speak back to me. According to McNiff (1992),
Confrontation awakens the artist's empathy with the image and its existence. The
image might also draw attention to our unconscious devaluing, depersonalizing
and disassociation by speaking tenderly: 'Please look at me as separate from
yourself. Let me go, and see me for what I am. If you can see me as myself, you
won't be so concerned with my saying something about you. You see me through
your feelings of insecurity and inadequacy. They come between us'" (p.l 14).
I realized that I had certainly been dialoging with my creative projects, and what I had been saying had been very ugly indeed. As I read more of McNiff s work, I understood that I had been carrying an Art Monster on my back for most of my life. I created this monster, and I kept him alive with negative, hateful dialogue. 65
When I realized that this Art Monster was a part of me, I wanted very much to let him go. I also felt a powerful need to meet him and talk with him. I began to sketch, and many times over the next few days I would put down McNiff s book to rush off and sketch again. I rarely knew what I was going to create until it was finished. I was driven, and my anxiety and apprehension that were normally a part of this type of activity were non-existent while I worked. The first sketch I made was of the Art Monster.
Art Monster
As I watched the Art Monster take shape, I felt his power diminish. And then I wrote him a "Dear Art" Letter.
Dear Art,
I can't believe how time flies. I think the last time I talked with you - really talked with you — was about forty-eight years ago when I was a student in grade one. Remember the day you called to me when we were painting on glass? You said, "Pick me! Pick me!" and you know, Art, I did try to pick you. Do you remember how my hand flew in theairand howl waved my arm wildly trying to catch the teacher's attention ? Do you remember how, finally, she spoke to me and told me that I couldn't have you because someone else wanted you? Oh, Art, I was heartbroken. And what made it even worse was that no other picture called out to me the way you did.
My teacher was angry with me for not choosing another picture to paint. She 66 made me stay after school and told me to grow up. She said other things too but I couldn't hear them because I was sobbing.
Well, Art, after that experience, I tried to avoid any contact whatsoever with that part of you because it made me feel so anxious. I eventually became comfortable with the poetry and writing parts of you, the speaking parts of you, the dramatic parts of you and certainly the music parts of you. But I approached with great anxiety and negativity the visual art part of you, the part that required me to use my hands. I could not paint, draw, color, sculpt or use clay. Not only could I not do it, I could not SEE that part of you.
Art, the truth is that I owe you an apology. When the visual parts of you came my way and I was forced to participate, I was rude to you and angry with you. I said some terrible things to you. I certainly didn't trust that when something came from inside of me it would be worthy. I didn't trust you or believe that I could talk to you and ask you what
YOU wanted and needed. Instead I said vile things to you. I told you that I hated you. I said you were ugly and that you embarrassed me.
You know, Art, I am somewhat ashamed of my behavior, but more than that I am saddened by it. We have lost many years where you and I could have been friends, where I could have learned much from you. Sadly, I believed you were a monster. It was when I was reading Art As Medicine that I realized what I had done to you and to me. I was reading about dialoguing with paintings and when I thought back, I realized that the only dialogue I had ever had with you went something like this: "This is just ugly. I hate doing this. I don't like painting. I have no talent and no interest in this. "I'm not making excuses for myself, Art, but I want you to know that I did not intentionally set out to hurt you, but I think I had been hurt as a child. As the years progressed, I never learned to speak to you in any other way. 67
What if I had said to you, "What do you need from me, Art? " or "Can you tell me about yourself, Art? " or "Art, I'm feeling afraid because I will not make you beautiful.
Can you help me? " Can you imagine what you and I might have done together?
Art, it's time now for you and me to bury the Art Monster and birth a new relationship between us. I feel that it must be a ceremony of significance because the
Monster has been well entrenched for so long. I need to remove him and bury him to make room for beautiful you, Art.
I then lit a candle, sat on the floor with the Art Monster, and with respectful solemnity began to clap my clapping sticks. When the time was right, I set aside the sticks and began drumming. I was calling in the Spirits to be with me and with the Art Monster as
I laid him to rest. I then prayed, "Creator of magic and mystery, Creator of all that is beauty and light, I ask that you take the Art Monster to your breast, fill him with love, fill me with forgiveness and let him go to the fire. I no longer have a place for him in my life."
I gently tore the Art Monster into small strips and burned each one in the fire of the candle. When the Art Monster was well and truly gone, I prayed, "Creator of magic and mystery, Creator of all that is beauty and light, I ask that you place inside of me the way of talking with Art, and open within me the precious gift of creating and nurturing with love these things in my soul. I open now to the gift and will hold it in my sacred place."
It was in the creation of this ritual that I was able to invite soul into my work.
McNiff (1992) taught me that I must accept the gift that comes when I create, and that if I can immerse myself in the soul of the work, it will reveal amazing things to me. He spoke of the fact that we can dialogue with all of our creations, even something as simple as colors or lines. He said, "When it is labeled 'meaningless,' the line says, 'I just am. Why 68 do I have to have a meaning? Why can't you accept me for what I am? I am a simple and humble line, but I have feelings and I exist. I don't ask you what you mean'" (p.l 13).
This was the beginning of empathy between the line and me.
I learned to accept that there was a certain wisdom inside of me that was aching to get out and that perhaps I would come to know this wisdom through dialogue with my art, but I also understood that I would have to accept that whatever did come out of me was truthful and valid and that it was what is was.
McNiff (1992) introduced me to Daimon, which he called a "divine power that reveals itself through action" (p. 89). The Daimon, closely related to soul, has been considered to be the intimate place from which we experience both angel and demon. The concept suggests that we will be inspired spontaneously during the process of creation. I cannot say that I have experienced angels and demons as such, but I do know that my soul has spoken to me and has led me and inspired me as I do my creative work.
Pansy Hawk Wing, a pipe carrier for the past twenty-five years in the Lakota
Sioux tradition, told author Hilary Hart (2004) that when we create an empty space inside of ourselves and remain open to what the Great Spirit needs, we can then listen, hear and act. In a sense, she is also talking about opening up to the Daimon (p.88). I have found that I must let go of control, must give up expectation for outcome in order to achieve this relationship with Daimon.
Kallir (1952) noted that Anna Mary Robertson, otherwise known as Grandma
Moses, also spoke of this power and how it led her to create. In her case, it was a belief that perhaps her husband was watching over her after he died, as he had taken an intense interest in her new desire to paint in the last weeks before his death. Grandma Moses said, 69
I am not superstitious or anything like that. But there is something like an
overruling power. I never thought that I would do such work, I never know how
I'm going to paint until I start in; something tells me what to go right on and do. It
was just as though he had something to do about this painting business. I have
always thought ever since, I wonder if he has come back, I wonder if he is
watching over me (p. 125).
I find that when I set. out to produce something specific, I judge myself mercilessly. In the blink of an eye, I am again that little girl in grade one, crying because she is afraid. When I give up the control about what I will create, something magical and mysterious flows out of me, and I am delighted and surprised every time. I don't know what I can call that other than "Soulful Creation." Julia Cameron (1992) urged us to forge a union with the Creator. She said,
The heart of creativity is an experience of the mystical union; the heart of the
mystical union is an experience of creativity I am suggesting that you take the
term creator quite literally. You are seeking to forge a creative alliance, artist-to-artist
with the Great Creator (p. 2).
Cameron says that this act, for her, has opened her to the notion that change will create more change. She firmly believes that if you leap, "the net will appear" (p. 2).
Judgment, from self or others, is the axe that will chop a creative effort to bits. It does not matter if the creative work is music, cooking, gardening or writing. If one judges oneself harshly, or others judge the work insensitively, it will wither and die as will the creator's urge to create. Moustakas (2004) said that he was unable to create with freedom and flow if he sensed judgment from others. "Nothing is more restraining or destructive than to be required to see and hear the effects of my creations while they are being created.
Nothing stops me more quickly than assessment of the reactions of others" (p. 116 - 117).
As I entered the journey of creativity, I too continued to feel the fear of judgment from others even though I had laid my Art Monster to rest. My first "outing" in the creative world occurred when I attended a workshop that involved several women, music and painting. Fortunately, I was in the very capable hands of a woman who understood the work of soul and how to fashion a sacred space that would encourage each of us to create without fear. She talked with us about the fact that we were there to witness one another's work but that we should not to comment or judge in any way. This was very reassuring to me. We learned about looking at our work through, as McNiff (2004) said,
"... the eyes of the souf" (p.23). We came to understand that what was important was not to strive for a painting that looked as if it were done by a professional, but rather to let our soul speak to us through the painting. According to McNiff (2004), "There is a respectful and sacred sense of witnessing rather than an orientation to analytic judgments.
People respond to one another, and to the images, from the heart" (p.23).
Our evening of soulful creation began with forty-five minutes of dancing. We all had long scarves that we could whirl and twirl as we moved in solitude to the music. This movement took us to our creative centres. McNiff (2004) opined that any environment that provides an opportunity for sustained movement will create a "circulation of creative energy" and that it is necessary for us to start moving before we can activate this energy. For me, this creative energy is a connection to the Divine, which in turn connects me to my Self and others.
Nothing happens in the creative process unless a person chooses to connect to the
energy source moving and waiting within the self and the environment. Once the 71
energy is activated, the process will often take on a life of its own, with one
expressive gesture leading naturally into another (p. 215-216).
I have found that this energy increases exponentially and is of a different quality when I am in a group of women. In this workshop, after we danced our solitary dances for forty-five minutes, we moved into the painting space without speaking and began to paint. The music continued to play, and we all moved to the music and painted, it seemed, with our whole body.
I decided to paint a picture about my womb. I had been period-free for over a year, and suddenly I had a period. My doctor was concerned about cancer, but strangely enough, I was not worried. I believed then, and still believe now, that my bleeding was directly tied to my connection with my daughter who was travelling in Thailand. I needed to tell her that a friend of hers had died unexpectedly and suddenly, and I was dreading that she would hear this news impersonally via e-mail, as we had been unable to connect on the telephone. At the time my daughter was travelling alone, and because of my concern for her, I felt a great need to hold her in my arms. Although that was not possible, it seemed as if a silver thread that stretched from me to her psychically connected us. Later I learned that she and I were bleeding at the same time. I think this blood was the tangible symbol of our connection.
Intuitively I believed that my body was healthy. My left-brain, my logical worrying self, told me that I should not take tins health for granted until some medical person told me
I was healthy. As I began to paint my womb, I reached again and again for the dark colors.
My canvas was black. I continued to paint, continued to talk to my womb and to let my womb talk to me. It was telling me that everything was fine - healthy. Slowly I reached for 72 lighter colors - reds, yellows, blues and whites. The painting was finished when it showed my bleeding in a pure, spiritual light. This painting hangs on my wall today and is a reminder to me that my body will talk to me if I but listen. It is also a reminder to me that my body seeks tenderness and compassion from me.
My Womb Speaks
McNiff (2004) said that it is his experience that healing energy will find its way to the place in the person or group that needs it. Certainly I needed to know that my womb was healthy, and when I finishedth e painting, I was certain. I experienced McNiff s stated wisdom:
"The defining attribute of the creative imagination is its ability to operate outside logical thought and operations. Discoveries, insights, and changes occur through the "complex" of imagination, which integrates and sometimes makes use of unlikely sources" (p.227).
When we finished our creations, we were each given the opportunity to talk about 73 our painting while the other women witnessed for us. It was with awe that I looked at
each painting and listened silently as each woman spoke. The magnitude and depth of our
experience touched me greatly. There was healing in that room for many of the women.
Marion Woodman, who contributed her work to Seeking the Sacred: Leading a Spiritual
Life in a Secular World (2006), said in her article "Awakening the Soul,"
Being in touch with the soul can bring the confidence to produce a great dance,
painting, garden, or novel. These kinds of experiences keep you centered, allow
you to live your soul. ... This dialogue with the soul grows until we heal and are
born anew (p. 3 6).
I think again of movement and how movement creates more movement, how being creative in one area will open up creativity in another. When I began my thesis,
shortly after the Breath Dream, I sat at my computer one day knowing that I was ready to begin but not able to find the first words. I explained this paralysis to my daughter who
suggested that I open a "Brain Dump" file and just start writing. I took her advice. I wrote two paragraphs of "fear," closed the brain dump file and began to write my thesis. This movement of free flow writing had created a space for me to begin.
I was "in the flow" after twenty-seven pages but was suddenly beset with doubt
and again fear. I was second-guessing myself and knew, with the help of my inner critic, that what I was writing was garbage. Again my daughter counselled me wisely. She
suggested that I open a "Second Guesses" file. I took her advice. Again it took me only two paragraphs of describing my second-guesses and the fear that second-guessing generated, and I intuitively knew where I needed to go with the work. Again, free movement created a space for more movement and opened me once again to the flow. 74
McCain (2002) discussed this phenomenon of "flow" which was studied by psychologist Mihalyi Czikszentmihalyi at the University of Chicago. He said that flow is what happens when we are fully focused with mind and heart on the matter at hand and that this can happen anywhere, in music, art, sports or even in digging a hole. In order to achieve this state, one must be relaxed yet fully attentive. "Not only are we optimally contented in these times of flow, we are also at our most efficient, creative and effective, no matter what the activity" (p.206).
Moustakas (2004) also spoke about the mystical quality of the flow being a part of authentic creation. He said, "Creative expression is free, unfettered, honest to its own nature; like the wave flowing in from the sea, it takes its own course, follows its own path, guided by an inner beam" (p. 117).
I think about the transformative gift that creativity brings to me. In the past few years I have felt the pain of Mother Earth and the pain of many people upon Her, and this pain sometimes moves me to a place of despair. War, rape, incest, genital mutilations, terrorist acts and death from natural disasters have all been a weight upon my soul.
Sobonfu Somme talked with Hilary Hart (2004) about the spiritual web that connects women in their pain and their healing. She stated, "When you see me you see my pain, when I see you I see your pain. Even when we don't talk about it, we know there is something there. That's why we feel the pain when things are happening around the world" (p.260). I have found that being creative helps me to bear this pain of others even though my creative act does not change the reality of their suffering.
My mother told me that when I was a child, she always knew when I was having a bad day; I would sit at the piano and play hour after hour until finally I would walk away 75 feeling better. Today I transform some of that pain by working creatively with painting, music and writing, and also by spending time in nature. The pain, when expressed creatively, shows me another layer of myself and connects me to others in empathy and compassion. I am transformed because of it. McNiff (2004) said, "Art does not profess to rid the world of suffering and wounds. It does something with them, realizing that the soul is truly lost when afflictions cannot be put to use. Creativity engages breaking points and fashions fresh life from them" (p.32).
I believe it is important to heal the pain within each of us because we are all connected. Sobonfu Somme told Hilary Hart (2004), "There is a tone, a chorus between women, a shared experience When one woman becomes healed, it reverberates onto others. The web between women is something that we tap into" (p. 260). I think that as we ease our pain, and that touches others, we will feel less lonely and certainly more connected.
Simington (2003), who works with trauma victims, often asks the people whom she counsels to dance, draw, paint, sculpt or journal their pain and to create stories or poems about their pain. According to Simington, "In their healing many discover, on their own, the power of using their creative talents as a means of expressing soul pain and as a way to demonstrate the healing taking place .... All are creative expressions. All release soul pain" (p. 48). I think of my creative work as soul work and I agree with
Raines (1997) who said that soul work is about gathering the many meanings of your life together, and that soul work "involves welcoming all the fear, disappointment, tragedy, and remorse of your life into the house, letting them take their places at your table, along
9 with the hope, fulfillment, grace and gratitude of your years" (p. 97). I believe that it is soul work that opens up new space within us so that we might continue to create. As we 76 continue to create, we open more space, and this space is ever widening.
Natalie Rogers (1993) shares my awe of this force that we call creativity. She said, "It seems miraculous that using movement, art, sound, writing, and drama opens a window of consciousness and gives us new perspective on ourselves - but it happens"
(p.201). It is this miracle of creativity that eases my pain of loneliness and connects me in a way like no other. I now strive to live creatively in all areas of my life and cannot help but appreciate Grandma Moses who began seriously painting in her 70s. She said that if she had not started painting, she would have raised chickens (p. 138). She had a need to create, and all her life she did whatever it took to get that need met.
I believe that we can find healing and connection in creativity, and I look for ways to open myself more and more to that energy that exists in the world around me. McNiff (2004) said that creation and healing are actually the same energy and that they transform pain rather than being destroyed by it (p.293). If we can welcome this creative healing energy into all parts of our lives, I believe it would be an awesome power that we could then pass to others. I carry with me the image created by Duerk (1993), an image of a very safe place where I might bring forth this healing and creative energy. And in this image I see a sacred space where I might encourage other women to bring forth the creative energy that lies within them as well.
"How might your life have been different if, deep within, you carried an image of the Great Mother? And, when things seemed very, very bad, you could imagine that you were sitting in the lap of the Goddess,
held tightly...
embraced, at last
And, that you could hear Her saying to you, 'I love you...
I love you and I need you to bring
forth your self.'
And if, in that image, you could see the Great Mother looking to Her daughters, looking to each woman to reveal, in her own life, the beauty, strength, and wisdom of the
Mother...
How might your life be different?" (p.44). 78
Chapter Seven: Other Women's Voices
i have survived I am the one who has survived with both wings flying the light feathered one the dark feathered one both wings flying
I am the one who rages who was lost & is found again the flying high one the circling searching one the one who visions, i am
the visioning one i create the future from the dead bones of the past wild-eyed, bones & ragged cloth i let my hair fly around me i let my hair fly around me i am the one
Arlo Raven contributed the above poem to the Turner and Rose (Eds.) (1999) publication Spider Women: A Tapestry of Creativity and Healing (p. 103). I believe that her words aptly describe my co-researchers and me. And now, I respectfully offer their voices.
Ruby's Story
I was the oldest of three daughters, the child of an alcoholic professional father and stay at home co-dependent mother. I was always trying to get things right because I was so sensitive to the mood in our home. As a result I excelled academically but felt a loneliness that I could not identify, understand or acknowledge. I didn't know I was lonely. It was my norm. I became adept at sensing out whether the situation was safe or not. I don't mean physically safe. I mean when it was safe for me to talk or safe for me to be in the room. I was always on my toes or on the edge of my seat. I was always a very worried person on the inside although nobody would ever see that on the outside.
I felt like the odd-man-out in our family and lived what I called a "by myself existence." My mom's focus was on my dad, and my dad's focus was on his work, his alcohol or his hobbies when he was sober. I first recognized that I was lonely or disconnected at the age of twelve, and this loneliness intensified when I went to university. I felt like I had nobody but me. I would be feeling desperately, desperately lonely but unable to find words to describe how I felt. I tried to talk to Mom and Dad about my loneliness. I don't remember exactly what they said, but it was basically,
"Don't be silly. You'll be just fine." I managed to find a sense of control in my life by excelling academically and playing the piano. I was a perfectionist, and yes, homework helped me! I wanted to be an opera singer but was discouraged by my father. He said that opera singing was no way to earn a living, and besides I was an academic. He did not see me as a creative artist.
I was constantly lonely in my marriage. Constantly. I chose a man whom I thought was "emotionally even," but later I realized he was just emotionally unavailable to me. I chose him because at the time it meant no more chaos, and that was just fine by me. My husband travelled a great deal and was a workaholic and a "sportaholic," so I spent a lot of time alone when I thought we should be doing things together. He just wasn't there. Having babies seemed to ease my pain of loneliness a little. The babies were like homework. I just got totally involved with them. 80
As a young woman, I always felt that I had to look "just so." Everything had to be really perfect - my hair, my clothes and my make-up. Things had to match and look good. Now I kind of laugh at that and go "Chyahl" Nobody looks at me anymore. I used to be so angry that I had become invisible as I aged. I was aware that men were no longer looking at me and seeing me as worthy of being their mate or even their date. But I have come to a place of self-acceptance now where that doesn't matter any more. I feel a huge sense of freedom in this invisibility, and I no longer strive for perfection, perfection and more perfection. I think that came about when I was rejected by a friend of mine when she could not cope with the deep depressive, suicidal episode I experienced. I became much more self-accepting and self-appreciative when I realized I could not count on my close friend to support me.
I no longer hanker for a partner. After my divorce I was very lonely because I had experienced what it felt like to be a partner. But now I have come to terms with the idea that I have not had good success with a partner. My two grown children live next door to me, and I can call them or call other friends when I want company. I have also come to accept my health challenges - anxiety-depression disorder, migraine headaches, fibromyalgia, high blood pressure and arthritis.
Things really began to turn around for me when I was diagnosed with fibromyalgia. For me, knowledge is power. Having some understanding of this part of my health really opened up a whole new world for me. My understanding has evolved over the past two or three years. I accept that I have these health issues or challenges, and I accept that they are now a part of me. I'm not fighting them anymore. I'm not resisting.
I'm living with them and doing the best I can. I now feel like I can do the next third of 81 my life, and it's not going to be the same as the first two-thirds. I guess I am grieving the loss of the past, but I am not regretting or resenting that loss. It's kind of comforting to know that I don't have to go back to being that super-slim, super-fit over-achiever who is perfect in everything, who has a million friends and a huge social life. I don't have to do that anymore. That was my ideal back then, but I don't have to achieve that now. I realized, "You know what? I'm not here for you to appreciate me. I've got this next one- third of my life to not worry about pleasing other people or meeting their expectations. I don't have to worry about achieving all those things I used to need to do to define myself.
You guys can fall off the face of the earth if this isn't good enough for you. It's good enough for me."
Another important thing for me is that I have received the gift of post-menopausal wisdom. I no longer feel compelled to give people fast answers. I now react more slowly, thinking things over before I respond. If my daughter or my sisters want an answer from me, I'm more likely to take my time and think about my response rather than wanting to respond right away. My responses are softer now, and there is the gift.
I still have lonely days, and on the bad days the bite of loneliness can be rather acute, sometimes to the point where I feel I have lost my sense of well being, contentment, joy and peace - forever! I think of the Simon and Garfunkel song, "Bridge Over Troubled
Waters," because I am the friend who needs comforting, but I am also my own comforting friend. I ask myself, "What will I do to take care of myself today? What will I do to honour and understand this wretched feeling of loneliness and let it go? What will I do to find my way back to the serenity of solitude?" For me solitude means that I get to be all by myself and do whatever I want to do without pressure or interruption. When I am in solitude, I am 82 free to be me. I don't have to please anyone else. I no longer have to measure up. It is for me the freedom just to be. I don't know how else to say that. Just to be. Just to sit and be.
When I was a child, my creative outlet was academic work. I excelled at it. My parents and my teachers told me that my two sisters were creative but that I was not. I believed them. I also believed that I would never be creative, even though I did play the piano and guitar and sing. Whenever I picked up a pen, I was just gone. It just filled me with joy to write things down on a mini-pad or in an essay. It still does. I learned to do what I call free writing and joumaling when I was thirty-two years old and writing a column for a law magazine. The editor told me I was creative, and I didn't believe her. I said, "No, no I'm not." Now when I write I sometimes have to limit myself if the writing becomes too sad. I spiral down into a vortex of despair and that is when I feel the loneliest. But at the same time, I don't want any company when that happens because I am a highly sensitive person and sounds can really overwhelm me. I am not in the least bit creative when I am in that place of despair and loneliness. I have no desire to create, no desire to even live.
Nowadays my creativity revolves around my garden although cleaning house is as good a creative outlet as gardening. Yahoo! I just love to garden. What you see is a reflection of me just being me. I love to have a big beautiful garden that doesn't look manicured. It is very well taken care of, but it isn't perfect. Yay! It's not perfect! I give myself the permission*. I have weeds and I don't do anything about them because I think, 'You may be a weed to somebody, but you're not a weed to me. You're ground cover." So now I have ground cover and I don't have to buy any.
I can't wait to get outside and listen to the birds sing and watch a flower bloom. I take such joy in that when I'm in my garden mucking in the dirt. I talk to my trees, my plants, my 83 grass, my cat and my daughter's dog. I have created a little new area by my front door, and I had so much fun doing that. I moved into this house eleven years ago, and I have fallen in love with it all over again.
Ruby's Garden
Today I was feeling a little lonely, so I went into my yard, felt the sun on my skin, breathed in the fresh air and checked out my plants and flowers. I talked to all my usual friends - the sparrows, chickadees, robins, wrens, the jackrabbit and the squirrel. I talked to my daughter's dog, Bear. Yes, I talked out loud to all of them! When I began to feel calmer I was able to identify and acknowledge the scary feelings that had formed a barrier to my sense of well being. I asked my guides to guide me. They always do. But I have to be patient to hear them. It's a slow and beautiful process once the dark and scary cloud of anxiety starts to lift. I can feel the comforting voices and messages. I often have insight when I have one of these days. Today it became even clearer to me that I have 84 come home to myself in one sense. I am once again remembering the connection I had to animals as a child. I now have a spiritual awareness with which to appreciate that connection that I didn't have when I was young.
When I think of myself at this stage of my life I would say that I am not lonely in an all-consuming way. I see myself quite comfortably as a middle-aged woman. I am happy being a mother to my children, watching as they get on with their lives. I feel very proud of that. I see myself as a respectful and kind person, respectful of others and of nature. I am a peaceful person living with serenity. I am a quiet person who appreciates reading and music. I see myself as an intelligent person with lots of wisdom but also some fear or sadness about losing my edge. I'm not as sharp as I used to be.
Even when I experience desperately lonely moments now, even when I fall down the hole, I am glad that I have had those experiences. Even though I am crying when I say this, I really am glad. The experiences have given me an appreciation for the desperate loneliness that my mother was feeling when my father died. The experiences helped me to understand that Mom and Dad had a difficult time because of the alcoholism and co- dependency. That was their life. Dad was Mom's life. And she was desperate without him.
At that time I still had such a negative unresolved memory of growing up in that household that I didn't get it. I didn't understand why Mom was so lonely. But that is when I first learned what loneliness was, and it was then that I was able to see that I had it too.
I feel so much closer to Mom now. My tears come when I think about how I didn't understand what she was feeling and the fact that I could have been a better support for her. I did take her places and have tea with her. I was never unkind. But if I could have understood what she was feeling then like I do now, I could have been so much better for her. But that 85
was not meant to be. It didn't happen. And it's a lesson I got to learn. I'm happy to have the
opportunity to learn now. It's my lesson and my gift. And so I'm glad for it.
Margaret's Story
I am a prairie person. I was bom in Saskatchewan and was adopted as a baby three
years after my brother was. I was aware at an early age that I was adopted; it was never a
secret. My brother provided creative opportunities for both of us, and my parents encouraged this creativity. We once made a Christmas mural the length of our hallway. Another time my brother made a mummy's tomb in the back yard. Then we cut the heads off my dolls and mummified them. My Mom didn't buzz around me - she let me do projects on my own. My
Dad took us into nature a lot. He would take my brother and me and the other neighborhood kids into the valley to pick crocuses or to feed the fish in the park. We would go on a picnic or
sometimes go fishing.M y mother always had meals on time and that created stability for us.
My birth mother contacted me when I was married and was a mother myself. I was interested to meet her, but when I did, she was a stranger to me. Her family members were strangers to me too. She wanted me to be a part of her life, but I didn't want that. I had to come to terms with that in the sense that I needed to accept that I didn't have to be
a part of her family if I chose not to be.
When I finished high school, I went to University in Saskatoon and studied English and
Anthropology. In my last year of University, I married a man named Dan who opened a veterinary clinic in Georgetown, Saskatchewan. The local newspaper apparently thought I could string two words together, so they gave me a job. I was actually more of a compositor 86 than a writer. My husband and I raised four children who were bom in the 1980s, and then we eventually separated in 1992. That same year I was commuting from Georgetown to Saskatoon where I was attending Seminary as a candidate for ordination in the Anglican Church.
My husband had started acting like a teenager all over again, and I was alarmed at his behavior because it was so out of character for him. He was not a drinker, but all of a sudden he wanted to party and go to the bars. He was seeing another woman, but when I asked him about it, he denied it. He was very discreet, and it wasn't until many years later that the truth actually came out.
I had decided to go to Seminary before my husband and I separated. I really felt that
I needed to pursue a life of my own. I had nothing to lose. It was no secret -1 said it right out loud. I understood that our marriage might get stronger if I went to Seminary, but I also understood that it might not survive either. Marriages don't fall apart overnight. I remember being at my father's funeral and watching Dan talk with an old friend across the room. I thought to myself, "You know what? I don't even know that person anymore." And it was true. He had his own life. I had my own life. And at some point, they just stopped meeting. So I just announced one day that I was going to go to Seminary.
I didn't have five cents, and I had no idea how I was going to pay for school. I just started to talk about it, and then I filled out forms and I still didn't have any money. But just before I was to start at the Seminary, my mother inherited some money. She gave me money for school because she knew and Dan's family knew that our marriage was not okay. Of course the church would want to hear me say that I had been called by God because of my very special gifts, but it really wasn't like that. I thought, "Wait a minute
Margaret, you've got four kids, no car, and no bank account. You have to do something." 87
Going to the Seminary was just a sensible decision.
It was Dan's intention to take the children away from me. He went to see a lawyer that we both knew, who just looked at him and said, "Dan, that's not going to happen.
You're right out of line. That's not going to go here. She's a good mother. She's been a good wife. You're not going to walk away with those kids. Just forget it."
It was a real surprise to Dan that he was not going to be able to take the kids away from me. I was really nervous though. Dan had emptied every bank account. I lived on the family allowance cheque. Fortunately my mother supported me financially at school, and I felt emotionally supported by some older women in the church.
The Anglican Bishop dumped me when my marriage broke down. He knew that the stresses of the Ministry could be hard on a marriage. I know that's bad, but at the time he was elderly; he saw this nice family with four kids, and he thought that if he could force me to quit, well then my marriage would be restored. It wasn't just authoritarian, although of course it was. But he felt that the whole world was crumbling around him because there were other people's marriages in the dioceses that were falling apart too. I remember one priest who was caught with a hooker!
I experienced loneliness after my marriage fell apart but not in the way you might think. I was married for almost twenty years, and after the marriage ended, nobody ever touched me. There was no physical interaction. If you had told me I might feel that way, I would have said, "Oh, that's just nonsense. That's not important." But after the marriage broke down, it was important.
And I didn't have a place, a home. I had taken some classes at the Lutheran
Seminary. The Lutherans knew the Bishop wasn't endorsing me because of my marriage 88 difficulties, so they picked me up. It was like, "We're glad to have you. Now swim." It makes me laugh, but if you know Lutherans, that's the way they are!
So I felt a sense of loneliness about not being touched but also a sense of loneliness about not being in my own church. There were things about Lutherans that I didn't know about. Nobody kneeled in the Lutheran church! I did like their liturgy though. That's what attracted me in the first place. It's very similar to the Anglican
Church, and the Lutherans sing like angels. I had gone to the Seminary because this was the work I knew and loved. I wanted to be ordained. The Anglican Bishop told me that he would make me a deacon in Georgetown so that I could be with my family. I could work for free. Well, I had already worked for free in the church. I wanted more. I wanted to be recognized and paid as an ordained minister!
I still have lonely moments in the church now, but I think that everybody does. To me, the church is the people. The church is everything that is great about us and everything that is dark about us. I had and still do have a very down to earth view of what the church is. You're not supposed to say that the church has a dark side. You're not supposed to know that. I guess I've carved my life out in this space, this small town of
Round Hill where I live and work now. It can be a bit limiting sometimes because of the way people think about a Pastor. I was sitting on a committee where they really didn't want me. We were doing fundraisers that involved Bingo and liquor, and it made people really uncomfortable that I was involved with that. I was fine, but they weren't. I thought okay, if you're uncomfortable with me here, I'll just do something else with my time.
I don't teach confirmation anymore, so I fill my time now with more study, more reading and more reflection work. My creativity is mostly head stuff. I don't paint a picture that you can look at and say, "Isn't that beautiful?" I like to write poetry, but I don't usually show it to anyone. I like my garden too, but I don't think the overall garden is beautiful. I think each individual flower is so amazing.
A funny thing happened once with my garden. We had a family reunion and I supplied, from my garden, all the flowers for the table. So then everyone said, "Oh
Margaret. Those flowers on the table are so nice!" They all figured I had a fabulous garden because of the bouquets on the table. They all wanted to trample through my house to see my garden, but what they didn't know was that I had picked all the flowers, and all I had left was weeds!
I think that people are lonely in their marriages and lonely on the job. They're lonely. I'm reading Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance, and what the author is saying is that if you are doing something of quality, something that makes you feel alive, then you won't be lonely. Creating a sermon makes me feel alive. It's like music. You can have the tune first and then put the words in, or you can have the words first and then put the words to the tune. Some sermons flow and others are very hard. Very hard. I only know that it is my job to be faithful and to read the texts. Each time I write a sermon I think I won't have anything to say. But things come together and happen whether it's a sermon or a kid's story. Sometimes things just click into place, and other times it's a big struggle. And
I talk to myself, more when I'm studying Hebrew than when I'm writing a sermon.
It is a challenge to think of different topics for a sermon. Everybody wants something different, and different things nurture everybody spiritually. So when I am going to be away, I try to find something for them that they're missing and not getting from me. Sometimes they need a dose of right-wing ultra-conservative spiritualism. So I 90 give it to them via someone else, and they think, "Ah. This reminds me of my childhood." One time I went back and used the old hymnbooks where the language sure isn't politically correct. But you know some people were really fed by that. One woman said, "That's the best hymn sing we've had for so long!" I can understand that some of those people feel a disconnection because of all the changes in the church - changes that are just hard for them to accept.
To me, writing a sermon is an act of faith. I have a deadline, so I've learned to read on Thursdays and write on Fridays with cut off time being noon Friday. I've learned to do that for self-preservation. If I just get going, it will come. It's almost like pushing through a wall. There is a place in Saskatoon where there is a fountain that reminds me of the story of the women at the well. The water runs out of the middle of a round stone, over the sides of the stone. There is always water ninning through it. In a way, our creative energy is like that water, and I think we just need to learn to tap into it. Our faith is like that too. We can have all our prayers answered for an extended period of time, and then if we forget to tap into that water, we have doubts. I think that's just human nature.
My job as a Pastor gives me contact with people I wouldn't otherwise meet. A church is like a family. You don't pick who is there and who is not. The church is my family. It's been a really good experience for me that way, even though the church members have many times had a very different political outlook than I have. I know that I have sometimes been rejected because I wouldn't say, "Yes, that's the way I think things should be too." I would never say that if it's not true. But I continue to love these people and value them even when we disagree. And then, if they decide that they have to reject me because I don't agree with them, well, that's life isn't it? I need to be who I am. And I think 91 sometimes when people realize that, they will rethink their rejection of me. People won't rethink things if you fly off the handle, and the discussion becomes a confrontation. But they are more likely to reconsider if I just say, "This is who I am. This is what I believe."
I find now that old friends from other places are disconnecting from me. They've gone on to different things in their lives. I also feel some disconnection in the church - disconnection from other clergy because I'm not from the same kind of background. I miss that support, but on the other hand I have grown in terms of my reliance on God and God's power through Jesus to transform things. Not just people. Things. So sometimes when things seem hopeless, they're not really. I've learned about faith from the people I sometimes disagree with. They've shown me that no matter what happens faith is at the centre of their lives.
As my faith has deepened, I have become more grateful for the things that I have.
I understand that the universe does not centre on me and that I am pretty well off. I'm pretty relaxed now. I like to go out into the garden and putz around. I like to be at home. I don't want to be somewhere else when my garden and my dog are here.
As I get older, I am more accepting of the things that come my way. Sometimes I think I should be lonely but I'm not. I don't have a family anymore in the sense that other people do. I miss the family gatherings where both sides of the family come together for a gigantic meal for the birthday party of a three year old who doesn't have a clue what's going on. I realize that experience has passed for me now. And sometimes my kids aren't really great at picking up and running down here to see me just because it's
Thanksgiving. So I say to them, "Just let me know if you're not coming, and I'll get myself invited somewhere." Because I know that my congregation will invite me if they know I am alone. All I have to do is ask. It used to be hard for me to ask for what I 92 needed, and sometimes it still is.
Congregational work is a very public, very social kind of work. I need solitude in my life to balance that out. I think I have more solitude than most people, and I think there is a purpose to that, but I'm not sure what that purpose is yet. Sometimes I struggle with the question of whether I should be studying or whether I would be more useful out visiting the people in my congregation. The more studying I'm doing, the less visiting
I'm doing. That was another thing I really had to think through. I have to make sure I'm not getting lost in . .. Hebrew. I just have to be balanced.
Even though I don't usually share my poetry, I will share one of my poems with you. I call it Whirling Dervish.
Whirling dervish, Prairie dancer, twisting, turning fast and faster, pirouetting over stubble field and ribbon roads sucking up life into your centre; seeds and earth dust and debris you make no distinction twirling, whirling fast and faster.
You dance with such abandon, light as air graceful, swaying. Invisible skirts that fly across the ground, your passion for the dance so intense; delicate shape perfect form that so disturbs the ground beneath your sacred way. you move to ancient music that we no longer hear guided by a rhythm older than our world.
Whirling dervish take me with you. Draw me up into your eye; 93
Spin me round, fast and faster, teach me how to hear the song which sets you humming. Your life untouched by human folly, Your dance uninterrupted by human desire; A sudden, unexpected epiphany of grace crossing my horizon. You leave me longing to enter your holy trance, spinning fast and faster turning, whirling, pirouetting in between the earth and sky. Prairie dancer take me with you.
Helene's Story
I don't ever remember feeling lonely in my childhood, but I think that it must be an
awfully dark and empty place. I recognize the concept of being alone, but I don't really understand loneliness. As a child I loved my mom immensely. She had a wicked temper but still took the time to listen when I wanted to talk to her. Not when she was mad. When
she was mad, I got the hell out of there! But even my friends would come and talk to Mom.
My dad was very outgoing and loving too. If I gave my dad a glass of water, he would let me know that it was just the best glass of water he'd ever had! Perhaps one of the reasons I was not lonely as a child was because my dad was a vet so we always had lots of animals
around. Spot the pig used to lie on our doorstep like a dog. The sheep, Choppy and the triplets, would come into the house, and we would then have to lure them outside with cookies. We had three-legged cows and sheep who tried to get on the school bus with us!
I did many different creative things when I was a child. I made baskets and I sewed.
My mother bought me the materials I wanted and then stayed out of my way. Any time I expressed an interest in doing anything Mom made sure I got the chance to do it. She was 94 comfortable letting me make my own mistakes. Mom asked a woman who taught basket making to teach me along with the other adults even though I was just a child. She convinced the teacher that I was capable, and she believed that I really was capable. Mom sold some of my baskets without asking me, and I didn't like it. Maybe that's why I don't like selling my work today.
I recently retired from the financial sector at the age of fifty-eight. Halleluiah! I thought I might go get a different job when I retired, but I'm too busy to work! I spend time with my nine grandchildren. I was also doing some volunteer work visiting with seniors. I pulled back from that work when I reached a saturation point because people kept passing away on me. I don't think that death is the worst thing that can happen to us. I didn't feel lonely when those people died, but I did feel left behind. Now I do special short-term projects like packing people up when they need to move. Losing my brother was kind of the edge. You know, you expect to lose your parents. You expect to lose seniors. One of my seniors was ninety years old. She had Alzheimer's but could walk like a damn! She could out walk an army. Once a little bird flew by and she said, "That's where I'm gonna be." So now sometimes I see a little bird, and I think, "Oh Mary, you're doing well."
I also volunteered with a woman who had Parkinson's. My mom had Parkinson's so I thought I could handle that, but it was really hard. I kind of went through everything we went through with Mom, all over again. I got really emotional around that one. But when I talked with the woman, I knew she was ready to go. Most of my seniors are that way. I think we hang on to a lot of fear around death. But let's face it - being dead is just swell. It's the dying part that's scary.
I think that one of the reasons I don't generally recognize loneliness in my life is 95 that I am always active. If I'm watching TV, I do pettit point. I'm probably compulsively busy. When things go to hell in a hand basket, I am twice as active. I have the belief that no matter what, things pass. Nothing lasts. Even if you want it to, it's not going to last. So if you keep busy, at some point you recognize that it is kind of okay - it happened. It's done. There you go. Sometimes I think I've gone through things without a lot of awareness just by keeping very busy.
Probably the only time I recognized a feeling of loneliness was when we lost
Scooter, the dog that we'd had for eighteen years. There was a period then when I did feel lonely because I wanted my friend. I don't like coming home when my dog Bear is at the groomers because then the house feels lonely. I don't care if everybody else is gone but I want Bear here. I want to hear his little feet come clicking to the door. I want to be joyously welcomed, and I want to know that he is happy.
My husband is an honest, honorable and truthful man who keeps me grounded, but he is also rigid. I find though that his rigid edges are softening in midlife, especially around the grandchildren. I would have liked him to be home more when our children were little. He was the one that wanted all the kids, but he ended up spending his time with other people's children coaching hockey and baseball. There were times when I really resented that, but I wouldn't say that I was lonely. I think I just directed myself to activity then. I have walls full of pettit point!
I sewed all of my children's clothing from blue jeans to coats, and I loved to cook and bake, make pottery, do paper tole, feathering, stained glass, knit and crochet. I also really loved to make willow furniture. It's so hard to describe, but it felt so wonderful. If there really is reincarnation, I think in some other lifetime I worked in wood, because it 96 just... oh ... I'm getting goose bumps! It just felt so natural, and it felt so good. I loved
everything from the cutting of the willow in the bush to taking it home and making chairs
and tables. When I work with stained glass now, I feel just as good. When I look at the
glass, I know that I just can't mess it up because the glass is itself so beautiful. It really
doesn't matter how I put it together. Even if I do something really bizarre with the glass
it's still going to be beautiful.
Helene's Stained Glass
I don't like to repeat the same project twice. Recently I sold a piece of stained glass and
another woman wanted one exactly the same. I wanted to change something about it, but the
lady didn't want me to. So I was down there in my workshop talking to the glass, and I said, "I
know you have to be the same. You'll have to co-operate because you're sold. That's it." 97
I find it very difficult to sell my work because I'm not an artist, and I don't want anybody else to think that I am an artist either. If people think I am an artist, they will expect much more than I am capable of delivering. I have a very strong inner critic, and I do a very good job of picking apart my own work. I am much more tolerant of other people than I am of myself. If people think of me as an artist, then I open myself up to their expectations or judgments. Then I crater. Absolute.
My little nephew came over one day, and he sat in a willow chair that I made. He said, "I would like you to make me one of these." And then he sat at the table and he said, "I would like you to make me one of these."And then he touched the big chair and said, "And
I'd like one of these." He sat so comfortably in the chair, and he loved my furniture. Then one day my grandson, who was about four or five years old at the time, came in the house and said, "Hhhh. Nana, you're such an artist!" How to make your Nana feel like a hundred bucks!
I enjoy my solitude now. I didn't feel lonely when my children left home. I had five children, and each of them had a different personality and different needs. Trying to deal with all of their separate needs took all of my time. When they finally decided to leave home, it was a time of joy for me. I felt like "Whew!" For me solitude means having my own space and my own place, and nobody can come in and interrupt me or clutter up my space with their stuff. I think I'm good at solitude. I like it. And as I get older, I like being alone even more. I've always been a people person. I still like people, but I like it when they go away too. I guess I like animals better!
Silence is not really an important part of my solitude. I sometimes have the TV on. I talk to my animals. I talk to objects in the room, or the walls. I talk to myself. Quite often I talk to the pieces that I am trying to create. 98
I've never thought about how my spirituality connects to my creative work. I am a spiritual being, but I am not a religious being. I firmly believe in a Supreme Being, but I don't believe what man teaches about this Supreme Being. I see religion as being about power and control, and I don't want to be connected to it. I think that everything is Spirit, and what we do and how we grow is what is important about being here on this planet. I don't think I'm more important than a tree, and I don't even think that human beings are the most intelligent beings on the planet. It is important to me to live my life with integrity from a position of love and compassion. I do not like anything that smacks of control or cruelty or abuse. Because no matter what we do, no matter how stupid it appears to somebody else, at the time we do something it makes sense to us. We are taught that it's "judge not lest ye be judged." And so who am I to judge that somebody else's behavior isn't really making sense to them? I would say, "Hey, you're doing fine.
You know, I can see that you're trying. You'll get there." I think it's important to appreciate the small things because they are our foundation.
I resent the fact that I feel weaker as I age. My body is cratering on me, and I resent that too, even if it is my own fault. I don't like seeing doctors who look like they're two minutes out of kindergarten and then they tell you, "That's common in women your age." But
I also feel less judgmental and less frantic as I age. I am enjoying having less structure in my life. I have much more freedom now. People say they would like to be twenty years old again, and I say NO! God forbid, why would you do that to yourself? When I was young, my sister used to call me "Pollyanna." I think that I have actually lived my life as a Pollyanna, and now
I do it knowing that I'm doing it and I feel glad that I'm doing it. I'm glad that I'm seeing what is good in that pile of shit. You know, darn good fertilizer! We need that stuff too. 99
As I age I see that balance is a good thing, and I see that life flows from one thing to another. And it's got to. We can't always have sunshine. There are good things about the rain too. I think it's about attitude. Some people have squat and they are happy. Other people have everything you could ever think you'd want, and they can't be happy. I think it's how you choose to view things. And you can choose to re-choose. So if you're seeing shit right now, maybe you should admire the shade of brown.
I am beginning to realize that making things is creative whether you consider yourself to be an artist or not. I like the feel of things flowing through my fingertips. I hope to always be creative in some way or other. I'm saving corks. Wine corks. My sister, who doesn't think she is creative but she is, told me that maybe one day there might be a need for wine corks. So when I am too blind to do glass or needlework, I'll do corks. Or rug hooking. Or rock collecting. I hope I keep making things no matter what they are. Because I think I will see them as beautiful anyhow. And maybe there is somebody out there, not in his right mind, who will see them as beautiful too.
Zita's Story
I was born in the depression in 1933 and grew up on a farm. Money was scarce, and my parents were very frugal. I'm still frugal today. My mom was a nurse, and I thought that was a pretty good thing, although she eventually stopped nursing and stayed home with us. I am the oldest of five children, and my youngest sibling is eleven years younger than I am. As the eldest I learned a lot about taking care of people. I learned a lot about being bossy too! I started school in a small rural school where there were two kids in my grade and probably thirteen or fourteen kids in total.
I was rarely lonely when I was a kid. With five children in the family, things were never slack. I think it was my mother who taught me to have a positive attitude. I do remember though the first time I ever felt lonely. I was about seven years old, and my
Grandma took me with her to visit her sister. We were gone for about six weeks, and I was definitely lonely on that trip. Grandma was an excellent seamstress and quilt maker.
She used to start the quilts in the winter, and then in the summer she would jump on the train and go visit her sister. The two of them would set up a quilting frame, and they would quilt and stitch on their quilts and finish them together.
After I finished high school, I taught for a year and then realized that teaching was not my bag. I wanted to be a nurse. I went to the same college that my mother had attended, and I took a diploma course. I nursed for one year as I had hoped to pay off my school debt and have one year of freedom before I got married. Years later I completed a three year course and national test so that I could be licensed as a
Registered Nurse. My husband James was a teacher. I worked until our first child was born. She was premature, and the second baby came along fourteen months later, so that precluded me from going back to work. Day care was not the thing to do, and we were really frugal. We lived pay cheque to pay cheque. James went to school in the summer time and eventually returned to school for another full year. I think it cost us about $200.00 a month to live. At one point when James was attending classes, I returned to nursing and he took care of the children in the evening while I worked.
James died in 1978 after we had been married for 21 years. At that time, my seventeen year-old daughter was at home with me, and my two eldest children were 101 attending school away from home. James had been depressed for about eleven years. He saw psychologists and took different kinds of medication, but none of it worked. He wasn't deeply depressed all those years, but it was an up-and-down thing, and I never knew whether he was going to be up (which was just normal, not too high) or down.
I felt kind of isolated through the years of James' illness. I didn't really want to tell anybody, including my parents, that my husband was sick. There was a lot of stigma attached to mental illness then. There still is now. I had some close friends at the time, but I don't think we talked about James very much. I know I didn't tell my brothers and sisters.
It was lonely and kind of confusing actually. I would worry about him a lot. He would go to school in the morning to teach but might come home at noon and be anxious or down, or in a bad mood. Then I'd sit home for the rest of the afternoon while he was teaching, hoping he'd be all right. If he didn't come home at 4:30 p.m., I'd be tearing my hair out.
Sometimes he would come home and be just fine. So I would have spent the whole afternoon in a stew about nothing. I would be so happy and relieved that he was okay.
It was a really weird time actually. Looking back, I realize we were somewhat disconnected from each other. On the weekend James would often spend the morning in bed and then feel sleepy from his medication in the evening. I think that nursing was a creative outlet for me. I made friends and I had people to talk to besides my kids. I had to keep my wits about me at work so that I could help people who were having problems. In this way I thought less about my own problems. During those years I sewed a lot of clothing for my kids and myself too. I had learned to sew when I was young, and it was an enjoyable thing for me to do.
At some point I had made up my mind that I was not going to be controlled by James' illness. I just couldn't live that way, thinking that he was going to kill himself. But it happened one Saturday morning, not long after Christmas, while my mother was visiting us. He didn't seem any worse than any other time. I went to the store to do an errand, and when I returned, an ambulance was there to take him away. When people commit suicide, they don't understand what they are doing to the people they leave behind, the people they love, the people who love them. I didn't understand that James didn't love himself, and I couldn't love him enough to make up for that. And I thought I could. I tried. It was then that I realized I really didn't have any control over what happened in my life.
I was utterly discombobulated when he died. In marriage you are told that two have become as one. Did his death mean then that I had become only half a person? One of my roles had been destroyed, and that was not of my own doing. The mother part of me sprang out of being a wife and lover, and those parts of me were gone now. After the funeral, I went home and took my children up to my bedroom. We sat there for a while in silence. My mom was downstairs being the gracious hostess for the people who had come because they loved me and cared about how I was doing. I could not face them. My children finally did go downstairs and mingle, bless their hearts. I just couldn't do it, not until it was time to tell everyone goodbye. The worst part of it was that my kids were hurting. I was their mother and a mother is supposed to be able to fix things. It's been almost thirty years since James died, and it still hurts that I could not keep my children from experiencing that pain. It hurts. And I think it always will.
After James died I kept working. I was so glad to have my job because it helped take my mind off things for a while. I started taking classes at the college and then decided to get my nursing degree. My kids came home occasionally, but I didn't expect them to take care of me. I'm glad that I had five and a half years to get to know myself before I remarried. I learned that with God's help I could take care of myself. Some women don't know that, you know - they think that they need a man! I also had a strong core of Christian friends, and I don't know what I would have done without them. I felt that God would take care of me, and I felt His care in my friend's actions towards me.
They were His hands. I still hang on to that - my faith in God.
When James died, I would walk down the street on a warm day and feel cold. I knew that wasn't good. I hoped that a day would come when I didn't think about his death. And I remember that day. I remember because thinking, "I didn't think about him all day yesterday!" It felt good, because I had been carrying such a great weight.
I was creative during the time after James' death because going to school was a very creative thing for me. I studied hard and wanted to do well. I really like to read, and I decided somewhere along the way that my kids need to know a little bit more about my life when I was growing up. I started to write stories, and I think I need to write more stories. I should get on with it! My writing is upbeat. I have been financially desperate in my life, but I don't live in that. I have an attitude of optimism. I have read pioneer stories, and they often talk about the bad times, but I know that they had good times too. I want to write about the good times, although I suppose I will have to write about some of the bad things too so that my children and grandchildren understand that it wasn't all a picnic.
I was remarried about five-and-a-half years after James died. I now live on a farm with my current husband, Jackson. I really appreciate being out here on the farm with
Jackson. I like to be alone with my thoughts and ideas. I can go sit outside in the morning and listen to the birds sing, and in the evening when I go to bed, they are still making the same noise. I can go outside and be a part of the sunset or just listen to the frogs croaking.
I don't have to be in the presence of someone else all the time. Sometimes silence is a part of my solitude. When I'm working around the house or when I'm trying to write something, I don't want noise in the background. I just can't deal with it.
I don't ever feel lonely for no good reason. I have too much going on inside my head for that to happen. I guess I equate feeling lonely with feeling sorry for myself or with grieving. I'm not going to stand around in that situation for very long. I don't have to be alone unless I choose to be alone. I can go off to the Good Samaritan Centre and volunteer my time if I'm feeling lonely. But I treasure my alone time. Sometimes when
I've been out all day doing things, I like to come home and just shut it off. Just be quiet for a while and read or play the piano or sew.
For me, music is a faith developer. I don't know how to say this, but my faith and my belief in Christ are connected to music. I started taking piano lessons when I was about nine years old, or maybe ten. I'm not a good pianist, but I play for church almost every Sunday. I like to think that I am going to tickle the ivories, but actually I think I torture them instead. The ivories don't complain though.
I don't find cooking terribly creative because my husband wants to eat the same things all the time. But once in awhile I go on a wild tear, and I cook something different.
I can't say that he always likes it, but at least it satisfies my desire to do something different. I love making quilts. When I'm doing a creative project, like making a quilt, I think about the person I'm making it for. I don't nag on God all the time, but I say some prayers for the person and think cheerful thoughts about them while I am working. 105
Zita's Tea Party Quilt
I think my most favorite thing I have ever created is my kids. Especially since they haven't spent any time in jail! You have a lot of consternation raising kids, but once a parent, always a parent. You can divorce your husband, but by golly, you cannot get rid of your kids! I made up my mind that I would not sit around when they were all gone to college. So I decided to go to college myself.
I try to be optimistic and look on the bright side of things. There are a lot of funny things going on in this world, so you just have to have your ears and eyes open. I think that we have all been given a lot of gifts. We all have a lot of talents that have not been explored. Sometimes we just have to take a risk and go out there and do it. What difference does it make if it doesn't work out so well? Who cares? Just go with something else! Chapter Eight: The Gathering of Women's Wisdom
"They asked her questions. Where do we find these stories? And Neshama told them: 'They're in you, like jewels in your hearts.' Why do they matter? 'Because they're treasures. These memories, these images, come forth from the ground of the same wisdom we all know, but that you alone can tell'" (Lamott, 2005, p. 187).
By reaching into the heart of loneliness and solitude and the part that soulful creation plays in each, I have shared not only my story but other women's stories as well. As I struggled to understand how I might best present and honour the wisdom of the women I interviewed and how I might then integrate this wisdom with my own experience, I asked for a dream to illuminate the path I should take. I was given the dream gift of one word, and that word was circus. To me the circus is a time to gather, a time to be caught up in great excitement, a time to experience something new and also a time to fall into the magic. I realized that each woman's story needed to have its own time alone on a brightly lit stage before a silent but respectful audience, and only then would it be possible to weave the final web of wisdom. I learned that each woman's experience of loneliness and solitude is unique, but I also found that there are some overlapping silver threads woven into this shared tapestry.
Loneliness for Ruby began in childhood. She could not explain her loneliness to her parents and lived what she called a "by myself existence." The pain of this loneliness was eased somewhat by doing homework and by playing the piano. Her parents did not view her as being creative, and she accepted their judgment well into her adulthood. They did not encourage her to pursue creative activities, and she was in fact labelled "the academic."
Loneliness dogged Ruby through University and into her marriage as well. Her 107 children became a focal point for her creative energies, and that focus eased the pain of her loneliness somewhat. As Ruby now ages, she finds that self-acceptance has catalyzed her feeling of contentment and sense of well-being. She celebrates her creative self in her home and in her garden where she relishes the beauty of imperfection. Although Ruby is unable to be creative in any way when she is depressed or in despair, she does understand the exhilarating experience of what it means to be "in the flow." When she picks up a pen, she is "just gone."
Even though Ruby has struggled with anger that comes to her because she feels invisible in a society that does not value older women, she has also reached into the heart of that experience and pulled out a great sense of freedom. She is no longer worried about pleasing others, and when loneliness periodically descends upon her, she is able to honour that experience for what it is and then let it go. Her allies in this are her Spiritual
Guides and her kinship with the natural world. She experiences Spirituality in communication with all of the creatures around her and finds comfort in the understanding that she is part of a larger picture.
Ruby has found a wonderful gift in solitude. She relishes the fact that she can be all by herself; she can do what she wants to do without interruption and without measuring up to someone else's standards. She can just be.
Margaret was born and raised on the prairie, adopted by her parents three years after they adopted her older brother. This brother instigated creative opportunities for both of them, and Margaret's parents supported these creative adventures. Her father organized excursions into nature, and her mother provided the stability of a set routine. No one buzzed around Margaret; she was given the appropriate freedom to create and explore. Margaret experienced an emotional loneliness in her marriage as it began to fall apart. She felt that she and her husband had been living separate lives for some time, and at a certain point their lives simply stopped meeting. After the marriage dissolved, she found that never being touched left her with a physical loneliness. She said that her husband wanted to take the children away from her, and she was very nervous until she knew that he could not do so. She did not have a car or any money to speak of and felt powerless.
The loneliness continued when the church where she had chosen to be ordained no longer welcomed her and in fact did not appear to value her. Although she was able to find another church that did welcome her, the loneliness persisted to a certain extent because of the unfamiliarity. Even today Margaret has lonely moments in the church when she is sometimes not welcome to participate in community projects because of her religious role or because of her point of view, which does not always mesh with all church members. It is important to
Margaret to be herself and to speak her truth, and she does both. Despite this occasional loneliness in the church, it is this same church body that has become Margaret's family, a family that she loves and a family that embraces her when she might otherwise feel alone.
As a Pastor coming from a different background, Margaret feels that she does not have the comforting support of other clergy, and this creates feelings of loneliness.
Although she does not feel supported by the other clergy, Margaret says that she has grown in terms of her reliance on God and God's transformational power. She is stoic about the fact that while she did experience large family gatherings in the past, these bigger connections are no longer a reality for her. Although Margaret can now ask more easily for what she needs, it is still difficult for her to do so. She is comfortable with the notion that she is not the centre of the world, and she indicated that as she ages and as her faith deepens she is more accepting of the things that come her way.
Solitude is a gift to Margaret also. It is a time when Margaret can do the creative work of more reading, more study and more reflection. Her public role as a Pastor demands that she strive for balance by moving into solitude on occasion. Margaret feels that she may experience solitude more often than other people, and although she believes that there is a purpose to this solitude, she does not yet know what this purpose is.
The creative work that Margaret enjoys most is "head stuff." She enjoys writing poetry but expressed modesty about sharing her poems. She enjoys her garden and her dog but feels most alive when creating sermons. Although her writing is sometimes a struggle, she also experiences being "in the flow" and sees writing as an act of faith. This faith is like water at the well - one just has to tap into it to be filled with it. But Margaret knows that it is human nature to sometimes forget to tap into the source.
Helene generally does not experience loneliness although she recognizes the concept of being alone. She misses her pets when they are not at home, and certainly she keenly feels their absence when they die; this is a time of loneliness for her. Helene's childhood was filled with animals and creative projects. Her parents believed that she was very creative and were very supportive of her efforts. They encouraged her to try new things and taught her that mistakes were quite permissible. There were moments in
Helene's marriage when her children were young and her husband was not at home that were ripe with the potential for loneliness, but Helene chose to fill those moments with activity. Her walls are full of pettit point. She said that she felt only resentment at being left alone with the children so often. Helene now appreciates that her husband's edges have softened, especially around the grandchildren. She believes that being active helps her to 110 cope with the bad things in life and that all bad things will pass. When things are not good, she is twice as busy with her creative work.
Helene has always been involved in several creative endeavors, and she dialogues with her creations as they come into being. She is not afraid to tackle projects created from beautiful raw material. She knows that even if she does something bizarre with the material, the final creation will still be beautiful. Helene does not consider herself to be an artist and says that judgment absolutely causes her to crater. She believes that we have no right to judge one another. It is vital for her to live her life from a point of view of compassion and love. For Helene, life flows from one thing to another, and the rain is as important as the sunshine. She chooses how she will feel about her life and firmly believes that she can choose to re-choose.
Solitude is important in Helene's life because it balances her. She said that she felt joy when her children left home as they had taken all her energy while they were growing up. She enjoys solitude now more than ever and believes that she is good at solitude.
Helene is starting to understand that making things is a creative act whether you see yourself as an artist or not. She has been "in the flow," and she experiences this flow through her fingertips. She is determined to be creative for the rest of her life because she feels that whatever she makes will be beautiful to her. She is modestly hopeful that others might see her work as beautiful too.
Zita recalls an incident of loneliness in her childhood when she was away from her family for several weeks but otherwise felt that being a member of a large and busy family precluded her from experiencing loneliness. Her marriage was a time of loneliness in part because of her husband's depression and in part because of the stigma that was attached to Ill his illness. This stigma isolated Zita and prevented her from sharing her concerns with her family and friends. Her husband's illness also meant a disconnection between the two of them, causing further loneliness for her. She experienced her greatest soul pain when she could not prevent the devastation her children felt after their father's suicide.
Zita found that after her husband died, her devastation and loneliness eased somewhat when she worked as a nurse and connected with a strong core of Christian friends. It was her Christian friends who were really there for her, comforting her. She believed that their presence was a gift to her from God. Zita's creative outlet at this time was learning. She returned to University to obtain her Registered Nurse designation. She now writes stories and creates exquisite quilts. For Zita, quilting is prayerful work - a connection to the Divine as she prays for and thinks good thoughts about the person who will receive each quilt. Zita also creates music and says that it is her connector to the
Divine. She is certain that her most important creation has been her children.
Zita loves solitude and says that solitude is something she chooses for herself. She balances solitude with company but does not feel the need to be in the presence of another at all times. Silence is a part of her love of solitude, and she enjoys spending time on the farm alone with her thoughts, the birds, the frogs and the sunsets.
Each woman imparted a great deal of wisdom to me. I now understand that when it comes to loneliness and solitude, we each weave our own strands, but these individual strands become one tapestry because of our shared experience. Not surprisingly, I confirmed that their loneliness and mine can happen when we no longer connect with those we hold dear, the people who are in the heart of our weaving - our parents, our partners, our children and our close friends. Kathleen Fischer (1995) spoke of this 112 missing connection as something that leads us to feel that we do not share an understanding with others, and we are thus isolated. "Those who are lonely describe the feeling as akin to that of an atom adrift in the universe or as the conviction that no one really cares. Alienation and disconnection" (p. 46). She further describes the hunger for faces that are familiar, shared history and conversation and the touch that tells us we are important to someone else (p.46-47).We do not feel invisible when we are being touched.
We disconnect from ourselves when we are not authentic and when we fail to follow the path that is right for us. Our loneliness comes alive when we are disconnected from our spiritual communities or ourselves. For each of my co-researchers connection to the Divine, however described, is very important to not only ease loneliness but to also maintain a strong sense of self. We all long for this connection and seek it in different ways. We often do not realize that the disconnection does not come from just our present circumstance. This disconnection is also cellular. It is within us at birth as we inherit our ancestor's genetic structure and body of social, emotional and cultural experience. We seek connection thinking that it is entirely our own failure when we long to connect and cannot. Hart (2004) spoke of this longing that haunts us when she said,
It was as though there was a vessel of great longing, a disembodied vessel, caught
between worlds. It seemed to be the collective longing of women's souls, the
longing of women who have been cut off from their own natural way home due to
centuries of disconnection and abuse. Lost, like a ghost ship, it circles around and
around in abandoned waters (p.263-264).
The loneliness for some of us increases when we feel invisible or unvalued as women and as human beings. When we are at the depths of our despair, creativity is not 113 always possible. Simington (2002) talked of this inability to create in despair. "The music would not flow. I tried to sing. The words were flat, meaningless, expressionless. My soul could not so easily be fooled. I lacked the soul energy to create" (p.102-103).
Entering into that pit of loneliness, honoring it for what it is and then letting it go is something that some of us have learned to do as we have become older. Duerk (1998) talked of the descent into this pain but also the value of this pain when she said,
To discover who she is, a woman must trust the places of darkness where she can
meet her own deepest nature and give it voice ... weaving the threads of her life
into a fabric to be named and given ... sharing it with the women around her as
she comes to a true and certain sense of herself (p.53).
For some of us loneliness is something to be dealt with ferociously, something to be tamed or simply turfed. Some of the women have made choices to fill their lives in such a way that they create less room for the loneliness to exist. I think that immersing ourselves in creative work, when we are able to do it, is akin to using a healing balm. It does not always heal our loneliness completely, but it will often soften the blow and give us balance.
Ealy (1995) describes a creative/depressive cycle wherein she believes that the brain seeks this balance, retreating from explosive creativity to depression in an effort to balance itself.
She says that once we are able to understand that cycle, we can use creativity to pull ourselves out of depression. "Ultimately, by living a creative lifestyle, we replace the depression in our lives, fulfilling our potential and becoming who we truly are" (p. 103).
I was surprised to find that for each of us learning was a crucial part of the creative process, and it was when we were learning something new that our loneliness eased. Cohen
(2000) talked about the fact that creativity requires "something new, perhaps a product or 114 idea, or simply a fresh perspective; something that you have brought into being that has enhanced your life and given you satisfaction" (p.25). For all of us, at certain points in our lives, learning has enabled us to create something new and satisfying.
Self-acceptance also presented as a very potent antidote to loneliness for each of the women with whom I spoke, as it is for me. This project cannot speak at length on the issue of aging and ageism as they relate to loneliness and solitude, but it would be an interesting area for further study. I found that although aging means different things to each of us, for the most part we see it as a gift despite the invisibility, the crumbling body and the lack of respect and value that our society gives older women. For my co- researchers and me aging is a part of our freedom. As Kathleen Fischer (1995) said,
No longer defined mainly by others, aging women emerge from the shadows as
persons of strength and creativity, seasoned in suffering and love. Freed from the
artificial sameness to which we were once reduced, we come now in many guises,
with a mixture of human qualities (p. 5).
Each of my co-researchers spoke of how important it is that they be allowed to be themselves and to speak their truth. This is also essential for me, a matter of spiritual significance. When I am myself, I am less lonely. Angela Fischer spoke of this to author
Hillary Hart (2004) when she said,
Spirituality for women can be so simple. Women need to be themselves. That's all.
This is how we become more conscious of our divinity, of this divine substance
within us. By being herself, a woman brings together her instinctual nature with this
divine substance. Women are naturally connected to matter, to creation. When we
live this connection we live our divine nature through our ordinary nature; they 115
become one (p.52).
Solitude is certainly becoming more important and more enjoyable for each of us as we age. Leonard (1993) speaks of the chosen solitude as soul-generating and describes it as the "foundation of life." She says, "It has many complexions: gentleness, wild intensity, introspection and contemplation, ecstasy, serenity, awe, a silent divine energy, inner and outer peace" (p.207). My co-researches and I find that when we are in solitude, it is a time for us to be ourselves, a time when we accept fewer interruptions and pressures, a time when we no longer need to measure up. Solitude for us can be filled with silence, but it can also be a time to talk with the creatures and the creations that fill our lives. Sister Wendy Beckett (1995) says that silence is "like stepping into cool clear water. The dust and debris are quietly washed away and we are purified of our triviality"
(p.28). Sobonfu Some discussed with Hart (2004) the importance of silence and said that women value it because it not only encourages us to use our intuition, but it also helps us to tune in and open up to what is out there in our world. It allows us to integrate, bringing things together naturally. She says, "It is not about doing, but being" (p.258).
Each of the women I spoke with is on a never-ending path of self-discovery and when solitude is freely chosen, it is an important part of that journey. In solitude we dialogue from our souls with nature and animals, we study and reflect and we use this sacred time and sacred space to be creative in whatever way we choose. We are ourselves. I agree with Kathleen Fischer (1995) who said,
Loneliness becomes solitude when we can both discover our own inner depths and
retain a sense of unity with others. Throughout life we try to honor these alternating
moments of solitude and community, to be fully present to others and yet not alienated 116
from our own thoughts and feelings. In one sense solitude is not so much a matter of
being physically alone as it is a way of claiming our uniqueness within the web of
influences that surround us (p.47).
I learned that we enjoy the spirit of creativity in many different forms and that it comes into our lives in ways unique to each of us. We all believed the stories we were told as children about our creative abilities, whether positive or negative. These stories have stayed with us into our midlife and beyond. Such power the story has! As I have come to understand this power, I have made a vow that if and when my grandchildren come into this world, they will know always that I respect the fact that they are true creators. They will know that their creations are beautiful to me.
As women we have spent much of our energy through the years caring for our children. Child rearing is indeed a creative and love-filled act. Fischer (1995) says a woman might find it easier to "integrate unconventional strivings" as she is freed from traditional roles (p. 17-18). Perhaps we women find within ourselves more energy for creative tasks at midlife simply because the energy that was spent on our children is now available for other creative endeavors. Cohen (2000) speaks of the creativity that comes with midlife and beyond as having an element of courage that allows us to make decisions that might be considered risky (p.30). I believe that when we dare to risk, our creative energy combined with our life experience will lead to great learning and self-discovery.
I agree with Natalie Rogers (1993) who said that all people have an innate ability to be creative and that this creative process is healing. I think that the creative process heals us to a certain extent from the loneliness that might otherwise overwhelm us. She also believes, as I do, that our feelings and emotions are a source of energy and that when we 117 utilize the expressive arts, which include movement, art, writing, sound, music, meditation and imagery, we connect with our unconscious (p.7-8). I think this connection with unconscious processes is "the flow" that my co-researchers and I have all experienced.
Each woman described her understanding of this "flow" in her own way, but in each case the words used were filled with awe and reverence. I believe that it is when we are in this flow that our creativity springs from our souls.
My co-researchers are indeed women who are doing their soul work as Raines (1997) said. They are gathering the many meanings of their lives together, allowing them to take their rightful places at the table (p.97). I have learned from this research that we are doing soul work when we are lonely, and we are doing soul work when we are in solitude. I have also learned that creative work is the work of the soul. And I have learned that above all else this work cries out for respect and honour. It is this very work that is healing us now.
All of the women involved in this project, including me, are uncomfortable with the notion that someone might think we are "artistic." This is not false modesty. We fear judgment and criticism above all else and do not wish to open ourselves to such a dangerous place. Ealy (1995) is aware of this fear and said,
It's no wonder the creator can feel unsure of herself internally. Risk-taking, along with
its accompanying misgivings, forms an inherent part of the creative process. The
personal feelings tied to women's work mean that putting forth our creative efforts is
committing an act of self-exposure. There are no guarantees of success and acceptance
(p.204).
My co-researchers and I used fearlessness, humour and ruthless honesty to describe how we felt about being judged. Ruby said of her garden, "Yay! It's not 118 perfect!" Margaret said, "I like to write poetry, but I don't usually show it to anyone."
Helene was clear. "If people think of me as an artist, then I open myself up to their expectation or judgments. Then I crater. Absolute." Zita, whose music is her "faith developer," connecting her to the Sacred, said, "I like to think that I am going to tickle the ivories, but actually I think I torture them instead. They don't complain though." I wonder what would become of our creative efforts if we were finally able to lay our fear of judgment to rest? I envision wild abandonment and great delight!
Ealy (2005) suggests that to help solidify our confidence in the process of creation, we open communication between our creative project and ourselves. She says, "Dialoguing is a way of opening up a part of ourselves that we want to get to know better" (p.206). This act of communication has been powerful in my life, and I was excited to learn that my co-researchers are also communicating with their world and their creations. We speak to plants, animals, inanimate objects, our creative projects and ourselves. Ealy (2005) has one more piece of good advice. She urges us to accept that creative expression of any kind is rarely flawless (p.229).
Can we allow ourselves this freedomt o be imperfect? I think we can!
As I move toward completion of my Master's Degree, and the completion of this thesis, I have come to understand that when I work as a counsellor, I will work at a soul level. I will honour and respect the lonely place in each of us. I will encourage my clients to enter into solitude and to draw on their own creative powers to help them find the gifts in their own healing journey. While writing this thesis, I experienced first hand the powerful place that creative, soulful work has in my life. It has been a time of healing for me, a time to bring all my pieces to the table.
I wish to thank the courageous women who shared with me so generously about a 119 topic that is both highly sensitive and deeply personal. My gift of thanks to them is an image I painted called Soul Work. It is with honour and respect that I give this gift to them that I might honour the gift they have given to me. 120
Soul Work 121
References Cited and Consulted
Allen, P. (1995). Art is a way of knowing. Boston: Shambhala Publications, Inc.
Beckett, W.S. (1995). Meditations on silence. Nississauge: Fenn Publishing Company
Ltd.
Borysenko, J. (1993). Fire in the soul: a new psychology of spiritual optimism. New
York: Warner Books, Inc.
Cameron, J. (2002). The artist's way: a spiritual path to higher creativity. New York:
Tarcher/Putnam.
Cohen, G. (2000). The creative age: awakening human potential in the second half of life.
New York: Avon Books, Inc.
Cooper, J.C. (1978). An illustrated encyclopaedia of traditional symbols. New York:
Thames & Hudson Inc.
Duerk, J. (1993). Circle of stones: woman's journey to herself. Philadelphia: Innisfree
Press, Inc.
Ealy, CD. (1995). The woman's book of creativity. Hillsboro: Beyond Words Publishing,
Inc.
Farrelly-Hansen, M. (Ed.). (2001). Spirituality and art therapy: living the connection.
London: Jessica Kingsley Publishers.
Fischer, K. (1995). Autumn gospel: women in the second half of life. Mahwah: Paulist
Press.
Hamlin, J. (1993). Longing for company: 6 studies for women on loneliness. Wheaton:
Victor Books. 122
Harris, M. (1991). Dance of the spirit: the seven step of women's spirituality. New York:
Bantam Books.
Hart, H. (2004). The unknown she: eight faces of an emerging consciousness. Inverness:
The Golden Sufi Center.
Kallir, O. (Ed.). (1946/1952). Grandma Moses: my life history. New York: Harper &
Brothers, Publishers.
Killen, P. & DeBeer, J. (2001). The art of theological reflection. New York: The
Crossroad Publishing Company.
Lamott, A. (2005). Plan B: further thoughts on faith. New York: Riverhead Books.
Leonard, L. (1994). Meeting the madwoman: empowering the feminine spirit. New York:
Bantam Books.
MacDonald, B. & Rich, C. (1991/2001). Look me in the eye: old women, aging and
ageism. Denver: Spinsters Ink Books.
Marston, S. (2002). If not now, when: reclaiming ourselves at mid-life. New York:
Warner Books Inc.
McCain, M. (2002). Elderwoman: reap the wisdom, feel the power, embrace the joy.
Forres: Findhorn Press.
McNiff, S. (1992). Art as medicine: creating a therapy of the imagination. Boston:
Shambhala.
McNiff, S. (2004). Art heals: how creativity cures the soul. Boston: Shambhala.
Minogue, A. (2005). Celtic lamentations: healing music for twelve months and a day.
Boulder: Sounds True, Inc.
Moustakas, C. (1961/1989). Loneliness. New York: Prentice Hall Press. 123
Moustakas, C. (1990). Heuristic research: design, methodology and applications.
Newbury Park: Sage Publications.
Moustakas, C. & Moustakas, K. (2004). Loneliness, creativity & love: awakening
meaning in life. United States: Xlibris Corporation.
Neuger, C. (2001). Counseling women: a narrative pastoral approach. Minneapolis:
Augsburg Fortress Publishers.
Palmer, P. (2004). A hidden wholeness: the journey toward an undivided life. San
Francisco: Jossey-Bass.
Pagano, J. Who am I when I'm alone with myself? (1993). In D.Wear (Ed.), The center of
the web: women and solitude, (p. 45-62). Albany: State University of New York
Press.
Pulkkinen, J. Borders of Solitude. (1993). In D. Wear (Ed.), The center of the web:
women and solitude, (p. 83-92). Albany: State University of New York Press.
Pappano, L. (2001). The connection gap: why Americans feel so alone. New Brunswick:
Rutgers University Press.
Raines, Robert. (1997). A time to live: seven steps of creative aging. New York: Penguin
Putnam Inc.
Rogers, N. (1993). The creative connection: expressive arts as healing. Palo Alto:
Science and Behavior Books, Inc.
Sams, J. (1994). Earth medicine: ancestors' ways of harmony for many moons. New
York: HarperCollins Publishers.
Sams, J. (1999). Dancing the dream: the seven sacred paths of human transformation.
San Francisco: HarperCollins. 124
Saussy, C. (1998). The art of growing old: a guide to faithful aging. Minneapolis:
Augsburg Fortress Publishers
Scott-Maxwell, F. (1968/1987). The measure of my days. New York: Viking Penguin Inc.
Simington, J. (2003). Journey to the sacred: mending a fractured soul. Regina: Centax
Books.
Smith, R. (1998). Lessons from the dying. Somerville: Wisdom Publications.
Sorin, F. (2004). Digging deep: unearthing your creative roots through gardening. New
York: Time Warner Book Group.
Turner, J. & Rose, C (Eds.). (1999). Spider woman: a tapestry of creativity and healing.
Canada: J. Gordon Shillingford Publishing Inc.
Trafford, A. (2004). My time: making the most of the rest of your life. New York: Basic
Books.
Woodman, M. Awakening the soul. (2006). In E. Etue (Ed.), Seeking the sacred: Leading
a spiritual life in a secular world, (p. 27-41). Toronto: ECW Press. 125
Appendix A
Thesis Interview Guiding Questions
Prior to beginning the questions, I asked each woman to tell me something of her early life, and her life at this time - as much or as little as she chooses.
1. Can you tell me about a time in your life when you have experienced loneliness, and what that experience was like for you? (Questions 2 to 7 to be used if required, for encouraging participant).
2. Do you experience a sense of longing, yearning or disconnection?
3. Do you think your loneliness is circumstantial, chosen, self-protective or inner- core?
4. Do you feel that your gender and age are a part of your loneliness? Why or Why not?
5. Who are you when you are alone with yourself?
6. What eases the pain of loneliness for you?
7. What are the conditions that make being alone painful for you? What conditions make being alone a positive experience for you?
8. What part does creativity play in your loneliness?
9. How do you experience self-chosen solitude? What part does creativity play in your solitude?
10. Have you ever created something that seemed to spring from your soul, and speaks of your experience of loneliness or solitude - something that you might share with me? 126
Appendix B
Informed Consent Letter
I, , consent to be a willing participant in
Gail Barrett's research study entitled Loneliness, Solitude and Soulful Creation:
Women at Midlife and Beyond. I am aware that Gail Barrett is a graduate student at St.
Stephen's College in Edmonton, and that this research project is one of the requirements for completion of the Master of Arts in Pastoral Psychology and Counselling program.
For the purposes of this project, I am aware that Gail is under the supervision of Bernice
Luce.
1. I understand that the purpose of this study is to gain a deeper understanding of women's experiences of loneliness and solitude, and what part soulful creation plays in each.
2. I understand that this project has no direct benefit for me, and that I will not receive any compensation for my involvement.
3. My participation is voluntary. I may choose to withdraw from this project at any time without discomfort or censure. Should I do so, data provided by me will be returned to me.
4. I understand that all personal information will be held in strict confidence, and that specific information that might identify me will be altered to protect my privacy.
5. Should I choose to participate in a group sharing with Gail Barrett and other co- researchers upon completion of the thesis, I will give up my right to privacy within that 127 group, and possibly exterior to that group as well, as Gail Barrett will not have any control over what the other group participants choose to say or do.
6. I understand that a professional will be hired to transcribe the audio interview tapes, and that the transcriber will adhere to privacy requirements and sign a confidentiality agreement. The tapes will be securely stored for the required amount of time, and then destroyed. Gail Barrett's supervisor, Bernice Luce, will also have access to the tapes until the thesis project is concluded.
7. I understand that as a participant I will engage in conversation with Gail Barrett during an initial interview, and that we will have a second interview for verification of transcription. Both interviews will be conducted at a mutually agreeable time and place. I also understand that Gail will ask me if I wish to provide some sort of creative project that will form part of the thesis, and that I can freely say no to that part of the process.
8. I understand that the data I provide may be used in other ways, perhaps in a book or journal article, or at workshops, and I give my permission for this use.
9. I have been given a full explanation about the project by Gail Barrett, and understand that should I wish to, I am able to contact her supervisor directly as follows: Bernice Luce
- Telephone #: 403-783-2085. E-mail: [email protected].
Participant Signature Date
Witness Date Appendix C
Elaine's Story
"Who would ever want me?" thought Elaine, giving her body a sober once over in the mirror. She began the stark and honest appraisal at the top and slowly made her way to the bottom of her naked body. Hair long and straggly, gray for some time now.
Eyebrows that hadn't seen the backside of a plucker for as long as she could remember; eyelids bagging over blue eyes that had lost their luster by the time her fourth child was born. And just look at the deep crevices that gated her mouth on both sides. What was this? Jowls? Oh my god when did that happen, Elaine asked herself, feeling a momentary panic. Of course the whiskers on her chin were no surprise - they had taken up permanent residence when she was in her thirties. She plucked them out whenever she managed to see them in the dim bathroom light.
A loose and wrinkly neck, rounded shoulders, breasts large and sagging over her small potbelly. Pubic hair finally not so bushy, but getting wiry now. Thighs too big - that was nothing new either. But what had happened to her knees - why did they look so square all of a sudden? Hairy legs but fairly firm calves, and if I must say so myself, thought Elaine, really exquisite ankles. It was a relief to say it all out loud even if she was only murmuring to herself behind the locked bathroom door.
The truth was that she loved herself and thought that maybe someone else might one day love her too. Her long thick hair was a statement. It said, "I might be getting old, but I am still alive and swishy!" Her eyes spoke volumes. The lustre was gone but a deeper light shone within expressing the wisdom, compassion and love that she had 129 earned along the way. The crinkles around her eyes spoke eloquently of the passages she had survived. The mouth was a work of joy, a testament to the number of times she laughed till she cried. It also spoke of the number of times she smiled when others needed her to smile.
The neck - well, it had to hold up her busy head, didn't it? The rounded shoulders spoke of the times she was too tired to cry, and the sagging breasts - certainly all those babies were nurtured, weren't they?
The pot belly, the little pot belly, was grandma material. Elaine was biding her time, anxious for it to happen, but knowing that the grandbabies would come when they were good and ready. The thighs, well, let's face it - they were simply the peanut butter late at night, when the loneliness took over. The square knees were a little joke that nature played on Elaine, just to see if she had kept her sense of humour intact all this time.
Elaine pinned her hopes on the ankles. They were indeed a thing of beauty, and one day, someone just might look at those ankles and be smitten, and ask Elaine to spend an afternoon at a cozy inn somewhere. Just the very thought of it caused a smile to spread slowly across Elaine's face. She quietly sighed, pulled on her cotton robe, and made it snug. She moved to the bed, carrying her book. Fred was already asleep. And there was nothing new about that either.