Amongst the "Thin Places".

The last week and a half has been a time of deep thinking, creating and living in the "thin places" (places on earth where the Presence is so strong that they serve as portals between this world and another.) There are specific things that make my soul complete, things that I have seemed to move away from over the last few years.  My moments of "movement" as I have been calling them in Ethiopia and now Zimbabwe have taken me back into those “thin places” that I find while painting in my studio, writing in a small cafe, or spending time in creation.  Here are a few poems from those moments in the last week, accompanied by the places and people that have inspired my soul here in Africa. Time has once again stood still,

here on the other side of the waters,

my thoughts are moving like the wind

in memory through the trees,

it feels like floating,

symbolic yet mysterious,

as it was once said,

“Let there be a firmament in the midst of the waters, and let it divide the waters from the waters”,

I disappear in thoughts of the beginning,

my eyes focused, follow the fog,

as it slowly walks amidst the reeds and grass with

no where to go but away,

I think of eternity being here, now,

I exhale…

The clouds rest misty over the Ethiopian skies,

miles of green run wild through the vast open air,

the great wild exists beyond the hills,

what are the stories that have gone before me?

where are the souls that have left to early, my thoughts flow with the breeze,

I want to stay, I want to learn,

I want to read the faces and put pen to paper,

so that you can feel the beauty and the weight…

Grew up with freedom and never knew a struggle,

other than mental or spiritual,

we truly are a reflection of everyone,

Yet circumstance and culture seem to change the colors and dreams,

we are skin, bone and water,

we breath by miracles and magic,

the wind still feels the same and tears still feel as wet,

our faces tell story or hide it, and I wonder,

I observe and I ask,

when is my time? how can I be? a

s the wings of the seraphim hold me,

my lungs show dust and my hands feel clay,

this is now, this is today, this is forever...

The walls are cracked and peeling,

feet worn down and hands full of story,

I feel the sun from the corner,

bringing warmth and color into space that breaths life,

this is perfection, a beauty rarely seen,

there is movement here,

a presence of the divine,

and my soul sways,

my heart gives,

my eternity echoes,

I feel, I know, I see...

Between the Dreaming and Coming True.

We are somewhere over Casablanca right now at 1:00am. I can not sleep, this is normal for me on a plane.  So I make a new play list on my ipod that consists of… Bon Iver, Daughter, Hammock, Motopony, Jose Gonzalez, Active Child

…all in order to set my mind at ease.  I am surrounded by beautiful people that been captivating me with their stories. Stories of their Ethiopian heritage, the struggles of their culture, the differences in their tribes, and the corruption of their government that keeps the people in a constant struggle.  Children walk by me and smile and laugh every hour or so. One kid walked by straight into my stomach with a head butt laughing! I am already in love.

I am yet to meet a face that does not come with a smile, not a curtesy smile, but a smile in the truest of form.  My friend Yahvia (pronounced Yahweh) behind me is from Togo, he has liver cancer and does not have much time left.  He just had radiation treatment in Maryland, is heading to Togo to visit family and then going back to Maryland for more treatment. He must weigh 90 pounds, and carries one of the sweetest dispositions I have ever seen, especially while being in great pain on a 13 hour flight. I help him lean his chair back, because he does not have the strength to to do it himself.

My eyes are full of liquid on the verge of loosening, but I hold fast. He looks as if he was once a strong and steadfast, I see it in his eyes as his face tells me that he is holding fast as well.

Yahvia is alone, yet everyone around him is caring for him in ways that I never see at home.  My soul weeps at the way they are loving and serving him. I am in love.

I have felt this feeling before in Romiana during the fall of Communism, in Rwanda post genocide, in the underground church in China- why does oppression bring such strong love to the surface?  God moves strong in the midst of it, a place that he works magic thicker that anywhere else! I sit here with my elbows on the tray, resting the bridge of my nose between two fingers, massaging the small area between the eyebrows to relax.

I am in deep anticipation of the movement this week, the wind in the trees, the life in the city and the Divine Presence as Barbara Brown Taylor calls it.

My good friend Sarah who sent me a text message as I boarded yesterday, “ Paint with the colors the seraphim extend to you…whether in word or touch.” The movement has begun.

I can no longer hold back the liquid behind my eyes as I have turned around in my seat to help Yahvia open a few of his 12 medicine bottles, he is looking extremely worn down after 8 hours of sitting in an airplane.  He apologizes to me again for needed my help.

I tell him, “Yahvia, we are now friends, so I am here to help you.”

He answers very excited, “You speak french?!

I laugh and speak slower this time, “No, We are friends!”

His eyes bury deep into mine as he grabs my hand  with tears in his eyes, “You are my friend?”

“Yes, Yahvia we are now friends!”

He doesn’t let go and my heart is lost as I see his wedding ring and beginning to think of his wife, alone, waiting for his return and hoping for good news. I stand watching him finish his medications, he grabs my hand again, his grip is weak, he thanks me and I slide back around in my seat. I had no idea where my soul would lead today, between the dreaming and coming true, as Barbara Brown Taylor would say.  Tomorrow holds more and I will await the Divine Presence as it meets me on the road to Grunchire.  The reason that we are here.

To find out what we are doing in Ethiopia with orphan prevention, please visit: http://bit.ly/love_hope

In Flight Thoughts on Movement, Writing and Family.

My greatest moments in writing have always come while flying.  I can’t really put my finger on why. Maybe my soul falls into the the spell of the many different forms of movement involved physically and mentally that it is stirred to make words. I have written 3 books and countless prose over the 5 continents and 17 countries that I have spent time in. Flight amazes me, the same way a pencil moving across paper caused my soul to stir.  The ability to watch my thoughts come together in form and meaning is miraculous in it’s action.....I ramble.

Today I leave for 3 countries that I have never set foot upon.  Today my heart pounds in anticipation and my soul feels true movement. My senses are awake in the way they were created to be.  While “Sleeping at Lasts” Atlas EP’s plays in my headphones, my cells collide as if the world were being created…I begin to dream as Ryan sings…

“I’ll keep you safe,

try hard to concentrate,

hold out your hand,

can you feel the weight of it,

the whole world at your fingertips,

don’t be…don’t be afraid.”

I can feel the weight of it, the whole world at my fingertips.  I  try not to be afraid at the weight of it, but I am an artist and I understand that the whole world is meant to be seen. This is my role to play in this life and possibly the next.  I think of my family, the story behind generations, the webs and lines that connect every side, the years of love and loss, future and past. I think ahead to where my feet are taking me. Taking me to visit, love and listen to 150 families who may lose their children, 150 children who may lose their family, who may lose a son or daughter, a brother or sister, who would lose those stories that I hold so dear. Just like the millions around this sphere made out of water and dirt that we inhabit and take for greatness every minute of the day.  I pray that my eyes can see the story to paint, to share, to give to you so that you may care, may see, may feel the things that I do.  I pray I can show you in a way that you may not have seen or felt before.  

As my favorite writer of all time once wrote:

“There is no denying that the artist is someone who is full of questions, who cries them out in great angst, who discovers the rainbow answers in darkness, and then rushes to canvas or paper. An artist is someone who cannot rest, who can never rest as long as there is one suffering person in this world. Along with Plato's divine madness there is also divine discontent, a longing to find the melody in the discords of chaos, the rhyme in the cacophony, the surprised smile in time of stress or strain.

It is not that what is not enough, for it is; it is that what is had been disarranged, and is crying out to be in place. Perhaps the artist longs to sleep well every night; to eat anything without indigestion; to feel no moral qualms; to turn off the television news and make a sandwich after seeing the devastation and death caused by famine and drought and earthquake and flood. But the artist cannot manage this normalcy. Vision keeps breaking through, and must find means of expression.”  Madeline L’Engle

(If you want to be a part of the story with me, please visit http://bit.ly/love_hope to see how you can help us support 150 kids so that they do not become orphans and are able to build a story with their families.)