Year’s End Benedictions: 2011

Posted on December 31, 2011 by Adena Atkins

Note: This is an updated repost. Year’s End Benedictions have become a tradition with me–please join!

I find New Year’s resolutions fascinating–several of my obsessions converge in them. Tradition–The creation and maintenance of shared ritual is so powerful.

  • Culture–Culture shapes us and of course, we shape it. How we participate in tradition is part of this.
  • Goals–It seems to me like having goals is an attempt to control the future. I would love to control the future.
  • Time–I never understand the shape of it. Though I live inside it, I can’t picture it at all. Dealing with the year as one unit imposes structure on something so… baffling.
  • Dreams–making resolutions is one way of dreaming up possibilities.

So I should love New Year’s resolutions. But I don’t. Here’s why:

1. They don’t work. Most of the time anyway. It’s true.

2. They’re oversimplified. The coming year will unfold with more richness than we can anticipate.

3. They can wall us from experience. In resolving to change ourselves, there’s often a kernel of rejection. We think our lives aren’t good enough. That we’re not good enough. We shore up our energy to transform a life we are depriving ourselves of.

4. They’re not timely. Once, when I heckled my Grandma to write her autobiography, she replied “Readiness is coming”. I knew just what she meant and stopped bugging her. Readiness may not be here yet, despite the creamy new pages of our calendars. Creation has other, more subtle stages than Ready, Set, Go.

Of course, readiness may be yours right this minute. It may magically coincide with the traditions of our culture. If so, fun. But either way I suggest a new New Year’s tradition: Year’s End Benedictions.

I found this word when looking up synonyms for gratitude. A benediction is also a prayer that typically comes at the end of a mass–it’s a finale. It also means good wishes and to invoke blessing. It’s an action and an attitude and a present all at once.

It’s also really easy to do.

List what is worth celebrating about the year you’ve had. I’m aimed for 12. What was amazing? What, through your efforts or through simple good fortune did you receive. What did you receive from misfortune? What firsts did you experience? What lasts? What did you learn?

If it’s not too personal, please share it here; we can celebrate together. Here are mine:

  1. I released my first single on iTunes. For the cover art, I dressed up like a painting, something I’ve dreamt of doing for a long time.
  2. I lived my first full calendar year in Seattle.
  3. I recorded and released my first album. It’s a song cycle. Making a song cycle fulfilled another dear dream of mine.  
  4. I got an official website for my music. 
  5. I made three new, very dear friends.
  6. I committed to an instrument.
  7. I went to Indiana for the first time. Indianapolis Indiana. It was for music and it was my first time traveling out of state and time zone for a gig.
  8. I accompanied a burlesque dancer for the first time.  
  9. I got my first album review.
  10. I did my first interview.
  11. I wrote Shadow of an Aeroplane, Outside, and Come On Now. 
  12. I was in my first band. 
Wow–what a year! Enough about me, please, tell me what 2011 brought you…
Posted in Inquiry, Joy, musings, Practices, Refinements, Rituals, Time, Traditions, Well Being | 4 Comments

Shift into Winter: Six Steps

Posted on December 21, 2011 by Adena Atkins

It’s a pretty day.  Sunlight is backlighting big soft clouds, and the shadows are purpled and crisp. I’m sitting by a fire, drinking tea, and my heart is finally quiet. Time to make a shift.

As we entered fall, we inquired into autumnal symbols together. It wasn’t as fancy as that sounds–one of the inquiries was “what do you like to eat right now?” I’ve been planning to lead a similar inquiry for each season this year. The only problem is that we’re coming upon winter now and winter symbolizes death. Over and over, when I research it, hoping for a different answer, it’s death, death, death. And death doesn’t seem like a topic one should choose.

Still, here it is. Death as symbol. Symbolic death.

My mind goes to funerals. Funerals are the earliest recorded rituals–it seems death has always demanded acknowledgement. One can imagine, in part, that this is out of necessity. Eventually bodies rot. Something had to be done. But the minute we started putting flowers in the grave (300,000 years ago, Iraq) it went beyond physical necessity. It became about something else.

“The idea of the earth as mother and of burial as a re-entry into the womb for rebirth appears to have recommended itself to at least some of the communities of mankind at an extremely early age…” said mythologist Joseph Campbell. Basically it’s the cycle of life. Hakuna matata and all of that.

So it’s time to look at endings. They can be hard. Here’s how I’ll orient–come join me! I’d love to hear whatever is comfortable to share.

1. Observe. What is ending this season? I suggest keeping it to three things or less.

2. Get practical. What needs to be done? What loose ends does this leave? Who can you ask for help? What is your time frame in accomplishing this? Can you make it longer?

I need to register a publishing company.  I want this done by the end of the year. I guess I could make it by the end of January. Done. 

3. Be Gentle. As you tie up loose ends you may need to be particularly gentle with yourself. What are three easy ways in which you can be kind to yourself in the meanwhile?

I can drink even more tea. I can soften my expectations, day to day. I can soak myself in Epsom salts when I’m lonely or cold. 

4. Honor. What will you miss about what is ending? How can you celebrate that? Celebrate comes from the latin celeber, which means populous, crowded. Can this celebration in any way be shared?

I can include more image on my site. 

5. Feel. With this loss, there is empty space. Many of us resist emptiness, so it’s particularly useful to linger here a moment. Sense into your body and note, what do you feel?

I feel butterfly lilac softness above my sternum, floating on the surface. I feel my pelvis sunk heavy into this couch. I feel an empty holding in my stomach. 

6. Take stock. Your life is different now. What space does this loss open in you, in your creativity, schedule, budget, home, and heart?

Space to present in outrageous and avant garde ways. Space to create curriculum based off my own experience and philosophy. Fridays. Space to be more self reliant. Space to reconnect. And a narrower space around promotion–which is space to be more focused.  

Oh, and by the way. I found one other symbolic meaning of winter. In Persian culture this solstice is called Yalda, which means birth. Conception occupies a place both empty and full. The place we are in right now.


Posted in Inquiry, musings, Practices, Rituals, Series, Time, Traditions, Well Being | 4 Comments

Downsizing the Alarm

Posted on December 13, 2011 by Adena Atkins

Over the summer I stopped meditating in the mornings. It was a deliberate decision–a friend and I were working our way through Julia Cameron’s artist workbook, Finding Water. Cameron suggests writing three full pages of freestyle freehand each morning, a practice that takes me about a half an hour. I decided to substitute one practice for the other, rather than further cram my mornings.

Well, summer is long gone, and our work is complete. I miss the grounding of my regular meditation, but am no longer in the habit of it. Which means I get to create new habits around it. And I am.

I’m no longer timing my meditation with an alarm. Instead, I’m using my own fingers like prayer beads. I hold one digit with the fingers on my opposite hand. I count seven slow breaths (this is the number of slow breaths that occupies a minute for me) for each finger, working my way from thumb to pinky and back again. I like how organic this feels. I like that I can’t lose it or run out of battery. I like that it won’t wake anyone who is trying to sleep. I like the quiet of it and I like not having to deal with large numbers before I’ve had several cups of Earl Grey.

How about you? How do you organize yourself in time without a clock?

Posted in How-To, Organization, Practices, Productivity, Refinements, Rituals, Self-Discipline, Time, Tips, Well Being | 6 Comments

Dream Big in 10 Steps

Posted on November 29, 2011 by Adena Atkins

This Thanksgiving weekend I found myself with a little more time than usual. Resident angel Jessica Lynne suggested that I use this largesse to fashion a dream board. She made one about a year and a half ago and assured me of it’s helpfulness. I figured it was worth two hours. It required and was worth much more.

Jessica has a feng shui system to making dream boards. She divides them into an equal grid–three times three–of nine. Here’s the breakdown.

  • The upper left corner is devoted to wealth.
  • The middle left square is devoted to family and health.
  • The lower left square is devoted to spirituality, knowledge, self cultivation.
  • The top middle square is devoted to recognition.
  • The center square is reserved for what is at the center of one’s life.
  • The lowest middle square is devoted to one’s career.
  • The right upper square is devoted to love and relationships.
  • The middle right square is devoted to projects and creativity.
  • The lowest right square is devoted to travel and helpful people.

I don’t really believe in feng shui but I do think it’s helpful to consider the different areas of one’s life systematically. Left to my own devices, I tend to develop tunnel vision. This starves my life and my work of richness. No thanks. Here are the steps I went through.

Before you begin: Assemble the necessary supplies. Things like glue, tape, a large board to affix images to, the internet, a printer, chips, salsa, old magazines, scissors, lots of time, an amazing friend.

Step one:  List out things in each area that you might want images of (a valuable exercise in its own right). It’s helpful to have a cheerleader at this stage, someone to bounce things off of if you get small or stuck.

Step two: Find the pictures. It takes forever. Allow yourself to collect images that you are drawn to without reason. If my experience is any indication, the reason will become obvious.

Step three: Print these images in different sizes. At this stage, my resistance came up internally and externally. Files went mysteriously blank. Two printers nearly died.

Step four: Cut out your images.

Step five: Arrange the backgrounds on your board more or less the way you’d like.

Step six: Commence with the gluing.

Step seven: Loosely arrange the foreground images.

Step eight: Start gluing in foreground objects.

Step nine: Hug your friend.

Step ten: Display your board prominently. It doesn’t matter if your love corner features a sparkling pink vibrator. Be proud of your dreams.

Tips:

  • Allow change.
  • Allow metaphors.
  • Allow the single to represent the many.
  • Expect resistance.
  • Dream big.
  • Mean it.

Bonus step: Write this in you notebook, on the internet, on your forehead. Text it to your contact list.

My greatest dreams fulfill the Greater Good.

The Greater Good fulfills my greatest dreams.  

Posted in Uncategorized | 6 Comments

Repost: Beyond Turkey

Posted on November 23, 2011 by Adena Atkins

Hi all!

It’s almost Thanksgiving again and I wanted to share this post. I still haven’t sent out all of  last year’s thank you cards, but they are waiting, patiently, along with a host of unwritten thanks for this year’s blessings.

I also want to make a wee announcement–we’re moving! The domain name AnArtFullLife.COM is mine! It feels so official somehow so I have indefinite plans to move all this juice over there. I’ll keep you posted and happy eatings!

 

When I was in high school, I had a very demanding music teacher. His name was Mr. Takazano, Mr. T for short, though I never knew what exactly was so difficult about saying “Mr. Takazano”. Mr. T was a small man, closely cropped hair, perpetual khakis and button-ups. He’d stand on the podium, whacking his baton up and down right near the heads of us flute-section girls. When we messed up he would often stop class. I remember him, breathing through his nose, close-shaved chin tilted back, eyes searching the dotted ceiling tiles, with his patient, wounded faith. Why? the silence shouted. Why were we slowing down? Speeding up? Why was Tasha late? Why had the oboe gone out of tune? Couldn’t we count to seven? Didn’t we know where the downbeat was? Eventually he would look down on us again and say these things aloud. He would mock us. He would yell. He would pout. He didn’t praise much–in the four years I sat before him he complimented my playing only once. He also led us to national championships. He didn’t make many mistakes.

Mr. Takazano wasn’t just there for a paycheck and he wasn’t fooling around, so idle time in band class was rare. Thankfully. The soundproofing foam boards blocking the windows trapped odors. Free pizza-lunch odors. Densely packed, mouth-breathing teenage odors. When the temperature changed and even when it didn’t, we would shake our mouthpieces out onto the carpet. I always took note of the amount of spit that would come sliding out on any given afternoon. We sat in rows, not looking at each other, and not talking. So it shocked me when, a few days before Thanksgiving, I walked in to open floor space and shelved chairs. Mr. T was very calm. He told us we wouldn’t be playing; we were doing something else.

“Thanksgiving is coming up”, he said. “Your assignment today is to write a thank you letter. No talking till you are done.”

I don’t remember anything else clearly from that day; I only remember that I was deeply, unwillingly touched by Mr. Takazano’s imperative and now, every Thanksgiving I spend a couple hours in the morning writing hurried thank-you notes to whoever pops into my head. It’s become a tradition. It’s never comprehensive, it’s never comfortable, and the notes are never ever ever mailed on time. But I’ve come to accept this, I tell myself it’s part of the fun. Maybe my ex-counselor receives my thank you card mid-June–she is on vacation, finally, but at least she has evidence that her work has done good in the world.

Our work does good in the world.

Since I write these notes in late November, I’m spared the task of Christmas cards. My notes are, to use Stephen Covey’s term, proactive. I initiate them outside of social obligation and reaction and I think it makes a difference. I have every reason to believe that this practice makes me a modicum happier, and keeps me slightly more connected to the people who’ve touched my heart. It doesn’t cost much What do you think? Would you like to join me?

A note to perfectionists:

I hate the way most of my cards look. Some were written on cut-up scrap paper, in ball point. Still, I have witnessed such cards lingering on the shelves of friends for years afterwards, giving me reason to believe that the angels receiving them are happy to be appreciated in even this clumsy way. Don’t let your critical nature get between you and doing what you want to do. Yes, you can make the paper at home in your blender out of last summer’s dried daisies, you can draw perfectly symmetrical mandalas on each one, and bless it under the harvest moon. But you don’t have to. The back of an old grocery list is quite good enough, if it happens to convey your love.

Epilogue:

One Thanksgiving I tried to thank Mr. Takazano himself. The highschool sent back my card–he hadn’t worked there in a long time. They didn’t want to pass on his address in case I was a psychopath (a valid concern!) but the lady at the district office agreed to forward the envelope for me to Hawaii, where they had last heard from him. The envelope was returned. He never saw it.

Mr. T–if you ever see this–you taught me much. I appreciate now that your impatience came out of a generous vision–you believed in our capacity for excellence. Now, I do too. Thank you.

Posted in Announcements, Joy, Lessons, Practices, Refinements, Relationships, Rituals | 4 Comments

The Why and the What

Posted on November 10, 2011 by Adena Atkins

I think it’s Hemingway who once wrote that it’s not the why that matters in writing, it’s the what. Still, the why can be fun and it’s something a friend asked me to ponder. Join me in my homework! Quick! A hundred times! Complete this sentence–I make art because… 

And if you like, share a few.

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Safety and Sirens and My Supposed Writer’s Block

Posted on October 25, 2011 by Adena Atkins

I’m drinking Earl Gray tea out of a big white mug and the mug is hot. I’m sitting inside the People’s Republic Koffee Shop. Today I worked on a new song. This is a big deal because in the past year I’ve written very little, and it bothers me. I’ve called myself blocked, but am I? After all, I sit down. I write things. So what’s the trouble?

There’s a particular feeling trend I’ve noticed rising in me when I do write. It’s a lot like claustrophobia. It lingers after I’m done writing. It feels like my head is collapsing in on itself. It feels like my feet are see-through. It feels like everything is empty and meaningless. When I’m writing, I follow whatever has energy or seems to cohere. Usually what is most dire is most sticky and therefor promising, so I follow it. The habit lingers after my session is over. It’s a kind of torture, and very familiar.

This feeling has come to me in image–in one of my earliest remembered dreams the world has dissolved into lines like DNA all jumbled together and I’m scared, I can’t make sense of them. In the dream my mother comes and sweeps them up with a broom and pulls me back into the living room, where I can again recognize up and down and blanket and mother. Also what I see when I’m very dizzy is similar in texture–all these black lines and dots together in some swirling pattern that is inside me too as pins and needles and I have to grasp it right before I either catch myself or fall.

To sum up: Sometimes when I write deeply, I feel unsafe. Sometimes to avoid feeling unsafe, I avoid writing. But writing is my deepest passion. When I avoid it, nothing else works.

Today, I set a timer while writing. It was hard to keep myself from drifting away while the timer was going. It was hard to make myself stop when time was up. But I did. I’m drafting this out of my apartment, out in the world. My tea has developed a white film of half and half, cooling as I type. Next I plan to get my hair trimmed and head to work where I will concern myself with other people, specifically other people’s bodies. Though it’s my last inclination right now, I know from experience that it will be very very good for me.

The whole thing reminds me of Odysseus and the sirens–in case you’re not familiar with the story, the sirens were three creatures with irresistible voices. They lived on a remote island. Their song was so alluring that anyone in range of it cast themselves into the waves and certain death just to get closer to the sound. Eventually the ladies developed a reputation. Odysseus, planning to sail past, instructed his crew to stuff their ears and so be immune. He asked them to tie him to the mast and keep him tied there until the isle was long past. No matter what. And they did. And this is how Odysseus heard the sirens and still lived out his full life.

We have to do the same. I’ve got a solid 50 more years to write and I plan to use it. Meanwhile, I’m still learning what keeps me connected safely here in this moment–now 1:23 am with dirty socks and my usual concerns. Natalie Goldberg suggests a long drink of water. Julia Cameron, a long walk. And me? Just naming the situation is as far as I’ve gotten. I am open to suggestions.

Posted in Insights, Lessons, Well Being | 6 Comments

The Finding Stuff Trick

Posted on October 14, 2011 by Adena Atkins

For the last two and a half months, I’ve been living in a pretty tight space. I don’t mean that in any metaphorical way, what I mean is that I share a small studio apartment with another busy artist. In the space of that time we’ve gone through new albums, boyfriends, jobs, and an endless apartment hunt. We’ve succumbed to both miracles and breakdowns. The bounty of energy that we share has manifested in a variety of ways which to my mind are endearing–things like sniffing the laundry to tell if it’s clean, losing both our toothbrushes simultaneously, taking out the trash dressed in a bathrobe, reading novels on the bathroom floor at midnight so as to let the other person sleep. Last night I, in all sincerity, offered this woman my wrinkled shirt off of the floor in leu of a towel. Yesterday she found one of my socks in the toilet.

Along the way we’ve learned things. We’ve learned that boxes are really just movable tables. We’ve learned that cheese is a complete meal. We’ve learned to only buy groceries with a long shelf life and short preparation time, things like beer, yogurt, chocolate. To not drink the cream when it smells like the yogurt. We’ve learned that I talk a secret language in my sleep. We’ve learned that, in all likelihood, anything we could ever want or need are somewhere to be found in our cozy home. Again, I’m not writing metaphorically. Need false hair? We’ve got it. Need rainbow sorbet colored makeup? Check. A meditation bench? Check. Yarn? Check. Tissue paper, an accordion, plaster of paris, comic books, the handle of a purse, the plastic frames to sunglasses, a roll of quarters, an empty pickle jar, rum raisin ice cream–we’ve got them all. We have razors and conditioner and envelopes and magazines and colored pencils. We have the number to a guitar teacher, we have a rented movie, we have password protected internet we have magnates. We have postcards, we have many colors of coats–olive and purple and turquoise and aqua and black and gray and polka dot. We have cartoons. We have pasta in the fridge. We have candlesticks. We have antique rings. A plastic leopard bag. Things to do, places to be, numbers to call. We have everything!

Sometimes, though, I have a little trouble finding it.

What I’ve learned is not to panic, instead I try to remember this simple trick: when you can’t find something, clean up. One thing at a time, humming whatever tune steadies you. Breath through the panic (as complete strangers keep advising me) and enjoy the process. Then when your phone charger appears in your vision just as your phone is dying just as the love of your life is calling you to hopefully reveal the secret code to upload the last bit of artwork to the mysterious internet company that is going to make all your dreams come true, you just smile. You plug it in.

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Autumn Shift

Posted on September 27, 2011 by Adena Atkins

Each change of season requires a shift and we have just begun autumn. I’m orienting myself, first by noticing associations with this time of year, and second, by noticing how I relate to them. Though the questions are impersonal, the answers aren’t. I’m sharing them for fun, and if it’s fun, join me!

Food: What are five foods you love to eat in autumn? Persimmons from California, stewed apples, pumpkin pie, pumpkin soup, Indian food. 

Gratitude: What five things are you grateful for this autumn? My friendships, collaboration, releasing two EPs, our apartment, having enough time to make art. 

Ripeness: What three things are ripe in your life right now? The Slowest Curve–just needs artwork finalized and to be manufactured. My generativity–I’m old enough to know what I want to do and old enough to do it. My teaching–I’ve gotten to a place where I know what to ask and have fun asking for it.  

Harvest: What three things are you ready to complete? The work with Kristine, the EPs, last year’s thank you cards. 

Fruitfulness: What three things do you want to bring to fruition this season? The EPs, but also I want to start owning performance. Whatever that means. Also, I want to make our apartment really cute. And write loads.

Routine: What five things could you regularly practice to support your fruition? Sunday morning dancing. Practicing meditation and embodiment most mornings. Being present while doing dishes. Writing most days–though I don’t know exactly the bare minimum for me with that.

Feasting: How will you share? Continuing this blog. Organizing an internet presence for music. Playing more shows. The EP release party with Jessica.

Maturity: What have you grown into? What have you grown out of? I’ve grown into loving the northwest. I’ve grown out of wanting to always be in control. Now I just mostly want to be in control. 

Knowledge: I finally learned that my voice is, like, legit the way it is. Though I still want to learn to do more things with it.

School: If you could take five classes right now, from the school of your dreams, what would you study?  raga, western art composition, pop arrangement, feminine mythology, jazz piano. 

Melancholy: We’re all just passing through here. Melancholy has a bad rep, but it holds our depths. So. What do you miss? And what are a few things about this time will you one day miss?  I miss being as athletic as I was in my early 20s. And one day, I’ll miss the process of making these recordings. I’ll miss my hair being mostly brown. I’ll miss calling Grandma.   

 

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Being Doing Dishes

Posted on September 13, 2011 by Adena Atkins

We need to be–as much as possible. This experience is the basic material and medium of art. Plus, if I can look beyond the art obsession for two seconds, this is what life is. It’s living.

Meditation helps. Practicing embodiment helps. Sometimes working doesn’t. Sometimes I feel cranky at work, but exploring this feeling isn’t my job–my job is my job. And there are many duties besides work. There’s dishes, laundry, taxes, email, hair-brushing. Even in art there are chores. Even in love–listening to a loved one when we are tired or distracted is hard and often necessary.

How do we give and not give ourselves away? How do we be and do?

The answer is simple: we have to stay with ourselves as much as possible. Do the work, feel the feelings, file the taxes, and show up for life between its margins of leisure.

Bleh.

That was really easy to write and–I know from experience–really hard to do. As I write this post (the first in several weeks), I feel my belly moving soft–I feel the old aching in my chest. I see the graying light of a summer in decline, I hear cars swishing by. It’s very sweet and it won’t last long and I may not have noticed any of it if I weren’t writing on the topic. I need practice. I want practice.

So I’m designating a part of my life for this–dishes. I don’t struggle around doing dishes–not to say that do them very often, but when I do they are easy for me, they are simple. I’ll post a note by the sink–tonight when I get home! It’ll say “Being doing dishes”. It will remind me to turn down the noise everywhere I can and wash with all the awareness I can muster–for the feel and smell of soapy water, my feet on the floor, the grime in the sink, breath moving belly, my scalp and my skin against cloth and open air. It’s a place to start.

Posted in Announcements, Challenges, Practices, Tips, Well Being | 10 Comments