Dearest
Readers,
I’ve
come to the conclusion this week that knowing who I am is impossible, and
exhausting. I’ve hit the wall of logic, and finally realize that the question is
just too big and profound, like what is Love? Time? Infinity? Maybe not knowing
who I am is just the way it really is.
I’m paraphrasing the Zen teacher John Tarrant who described this possibility in
the recent issue of Shambhala Sun
magazine1.
What
a relief! I’ve been asking the question since college days when I learned about
Descartes and his dictum “Cogito ergo sum”…”I think, therefore I am”. For me, real life has always been about “Sensio
ergo sum.” “I feel therefore I am.”
Art,
poetry and performance have been my tools for self-understanding because they
plumb non-logical insight and feelings. I’ve explored Who I Am with answers
like, “I’m a mother, I’m a daughter, I’m Cecelia, I’m a face that people
recognize as me, I’m an aging woman, I’m a body and heart and mind full of
thoughts and feelings. I’m a coffee addict. I’m a terrorist. I’m a citizen. I’m
basically good.
COFFEE JESUS-3 yrs. of daily coffee cups and coffee blend labels, Christmas lights, snapshots, and index cards-8'x72' 1998-2001 |
But
even the artistic method seems like I’m trying too hard. So I’m taking a break.
Taking a breath and consciously letting go and just being in nature up here in
Vermont with trees that seem so full of wisdom and quiet endurance. No goal.
Just being like a maple tree. Painting them, walking around them, and playing
with sticks.
The
other day I found a photo of myself from 1968 wearing a “selfie” dress with my
college yearbook headshot all over it. Back then I paid a printer to silkscreen
my face on a few yards of white linen, then I fashioned it into a dress for an
art project my senior year at the University of Vermont. This was way before the days of T-shirt screen
printing operations. I wish I had a dress like this now that pokes some fun at
this self-conscious me.
I’ll
close with the Tao Te Ching, written
2,500 years ago in China by Lao Tsu. It talks about “The Way” (things are) in
insightful, sometimes funny, often mind-bending prose and verse. I’ve quoted
the first chapter before. It describes the conundrum of reality. Here it is
again from the 1997 translation by Ursula Le Guinn:
The
way you can go
isn’t
the real way.
The
name you can say
isn’t
the real name.
Heaven
and earth
begin
in the unnamed:
name’s
the mother
of
the ten thousand things.
So
the unwanting soul
Sees
what’s hidden,
And
the ever-wanting soul
Sees
only what it wants.
Two
things, one origin,
but
different in name,
whose
identity is mystery.
Mystery
of all mysteries!
The
door to the hidden.
(Remember Cecelia: It’s a mystery, and relax!)
1. Shambhala
Sun, March 2015 p.66
Dig the dress, Cecelia....lookin' cool and cocky....great post...and yep...you surely are after something about identity and big time...like after the bone kind of thing.... Oui? thanks! m
ReplyDeleteThanks, Madison. I like your metaphor "the bone kind of thing..." That's it exactly. Oui.
DeleteDear Cecelia, your mind is a beautiful beautiful thing! I love seeing you in this dress from 1968 and knowing that your work while evolving over the years still has the same roots. I love the acceptance of the mystery. The questions, the unknowing...perhaps that is who we truly are.
ReplyDeleteRuth, you are a wonderful friend. The acceptance of the mystery has been a long, lovely time coming.
ReplyDelete