Beliefs, Day in the life

The Invisibility Cloak

Anyone who knows the Harry Potter story remembers his Cloak of Invisibility that turns out to be one of three objects that helps him cheat death.

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Not so fast.

Three years ago, I traded cars. Since the change, I’ve lost count of how many close calls I’ve had. (Although it is a newer model, it is not so new that I drive more cautiously than normal.) I’ve have more near collisions in the last year than I have had in my last four decades of driving. People don’t see me, even when I’m the only other car on the road or right in front of them. I feel as if my car is wearing an invisibility cloak. It’s probably nothing to do with the car itself, but my energy. My field has shrunk so small that I’ve become invisible.

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Many people have been scuttling through their lives under invisibility cloaks. They want to quietly fly under the radar. They’ve retreated to their caves to avoid the new energies stirred up by recent world events. Folks have been keeping close to home, feeling safe in their nests.

I have too. My senior dog is slowing inching his way to his end. The old boy is not ill, but in steady decline. Yet I need to go to work, do errands, or just get out of the nest for a change of energy. Still, I find that I don’t want to leave my comfort zone.

The longer I stay cocooned, the smaller my energy shrinks.  I risk becoming invisible. Right now, I feel as if I would go unseen by a drone in the middle of a salt flat. For now, that is fine. But driving? Short of painting my car a brighter color, I can use thought, movement, and creative visualization to grow my energy. And the horn. I’ve used that more than ever.

Being invisible doesn’t always keep us safe. In today’s climate, we would all like to be seen and heard. When we aren’t, we can shift our own energy to step out into the open, wear colorful clothing, look both ways – more than once – and say a little prayer before crossing the road. You might not be invisible to the unseen.

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Arts, Beliefs

Be Responsible for the Energy You Create

A sign hangs in my friend’s shop that says something like “Be Responsible for the Energy You Bring With You.”

Yesterday, I attended a theatrical production at an inaugural art festival showcasing female artists. I went without expectations and had not yet carefully perused the descriptions of the presentations before show time. Now, being all female creations, I expected some anger and rebellion in the performances. What I had not anticipated was a presentation making me physically ill.

I work with energy on a daily basis and am usually able to deflect unwanted ones. I use various techniques, but in the case of theatrical performance, folding my arms in front of my stomach usually does the trick. As well as reminding myself that I am witnessing an artistic expression and not an actual event.

Art is all in “the eye of the beholder” and consumed through the perception of the individual. Part of that process as a consumer is trying to interpret the artist’s intent. But when you imagine that the intention was to turn a subject completely around for the sake of being different or provoking, the disturbing content takes on a whole new level of outrage.

The subject was child molestation, from the perspective of the predator believing the child enjoyed what adult was doing to him.

I don’t make a habit of rudely exiting in the middle of an actor’s performance, but I couldn’t sit through it. Even after enduring it for only a few minutes, the pain in my stomach felt as if I’d been sucker punched. I kept asking myself, how was that art? Why would any female artist choose to present such a topic from a male perspective?

I realize horrifying subjects are presented in a variety of artistic mediums – war, murder, rape, etc. But as a consumer, I have the right to decide how I feel about it, whether to continue to allow myself exposure to it and if I would recommend it to others or not. The energy hit me like a vicious slap from someone who was smiling at me. Yes, the actor was smiling as she described molesting a child. I felt like I had been assaulted and was totally unprepared for the stabbing pain that stuck with me for several hours afterward.  I could only imagine what it might have done to someone in the audience who had experienced such an atrocity as a child.

Be mindful of the energy you put out into the world, even as an artist performing to a captive audience. Energy doesn’t die and can penetrate whomever it touches like smoke absorbs into fabric. I like my art like I like my food, with enough familiarity to identify with it while presenting something new and intriguing to make me think. I don’t believe either should cause physical pain.