Mariposa Azul
By Helen Sadler
Today I wrote a poem about all of my unfinished projects. Well, almost all. Turns out there were quite a few I
forgot about and they didn’t make it into poetry.
When I was done, I could have easily sunk into depression. I
had this feeling of grasping at something that was just out of reach. I suppose the logical and sane thing
would have been to get started on one of those projects.
Instead, I just sat there. This is one of those cases of
just wanting to think about the problem instead of solving the problem.
Yes, that’s a problem. Falling into a daydream instead of taking
action.
Strangely, in my gloomy state I found myself standing in
front of the Magic Cottage, a converted garden shed. And there was SARK, standing
in her full blast of color wildflower garden.
“Why so glum?” she playfully chided, stepping away from her
place and somehow into mine.
One more day of feeling
stalled on what I say I want to do. One more day facing my own incomplete
projects.
Her eyes were wide and bright.
“Micromovements. You know about them, right?”
Well, yeah. After all,
my friend Carol used to talk about that all of the time. And sometimes I
remember. But really, SARK, don’t I need time to make all of this happen? Don’t
I need those long stretches of quiet to get the writing done?
“And what do you call spring break?”
She had me there.
“Look,” she continued as she perused my collection of
elephants and Beatles memorabilia, “I truly thought that procrastination and
unfinished projects would bother me forever. Now, instead of a habit of incomplete
ideas, I really have a habit of completion.”
But…
“Stop with the “yea butts” already and listen. Whatever I
begin, I complete in some way, and it is not a strain at all. I now see that it
is a learned behavior – just as the other was learned.”
I know all about
learned behaviors. I have studied mine in-depth. Very few have ever changed. It
kinda sucks at sixty to still be dealing with the same shit.
“You can change it.”
Damn, I know that.
“So…micromovements. Try it.”
Just to prove something – not sure what – I immediately went
to my studio and added some orange paint to my butterfly painting, the one I
started a couple of weeks ago and has just been sitting there waiting for me to
brighten up its deep blue roots.
I feel a teeny bit
better.
“Devote your life to being creative,” she said, taking some
of my apple slices from the fridge and nibbling on one. “You need to share your vision of the
world. There is only one you.”
I blushed.
“Do you have anything to drink?” she asked, peering back into
the refrigerator.
I poured her some Arnold Palmer drink over ice. I poured
myself one, too. We settled onto the lanai.
Help me think through
how to incorporate completion into my life, my day.
SARK sighed a big sigh. “Hey, look at that turtle poking his
head above the water.”
Yeah, they’ve been
doing that a lot lately.
“And you’ve noticed?”
Doing my best.
Well, that’s good. How you watch can shift your soul. What you watch isn’t as important as
how you watch. It’s a small way to be invested in the world.”
Invested. I like that
word. I rarely use it.
“Well, start. You can become an Investment Counselor. You
can en-courage others to practice self-investment and check in with them as
investments begin to “pay-off.” Then you can celebrate together.”
I like your thinking,
SARK. I think you’re my Investment Counselor.
“Well, you’ve ignored me long enough. It’s about time you invested in reading
my scribbles and squiggles. You have my permission to believe in magic, even if
it means giving up procrastination.”
It’s kinda scary.
“Isn’t anything that is worth it?”
That which I seek is
seeking me.
“Well, that’s profound.”
Roseanne Cash sings
that in a song. Means a lot to me.
“This is what I have to say to that. Allowing has much to do
with surrender. Allowing your own process brings discovery.”
Like orange paint on
my blue butterfly?
“Exactly. Allowing the dark truly allows the light. Allowing
your fears gives them no more fuel to grow. Your strengths are already in
place and can be nurtured. Micromovements. Revel in the moment.”
Like these last few
days of spring break?
“Yep.”
Micromovements?
“Yep.”
Wanna go to the beach?
“I’m all for giving myself gifts. The beach sounds like one
perfectly wrapped for me right now.”
I’ll get us some towels.
“Maybe we can stop for lunch? I’m hungry.”
What could I say?
She was my Investment Counselor. The least I could do was buy her lunch.
3/30/16
9:22 a.m.
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