What I really want this place to be is. . .a shelter for wildness. My heart beats a bit faster and I feel a breathlessness as I enter. There are no rules here, no clocks or schedules, no one waiting for me to make them dinner or answer mail. . . only the owls hooting and flapping gossamer wings and the motion of it lifts me briefly off the ground to go soaring over the spacious landscape.
Oh, but now I want to land and walk among the foxglove, and I see that a crocodile is at the door of my shelter beneath the fallen tree. “You don’t scare me Sir. My mouth is as ravenous as yours for wildness.”
In Muse group this week we “built”, painted, collaged and dreamed our way into a personal place where we could feel at home. Not the pre-planned, lawn mowed, freshly painted, laundry and dishes done, Better Homes and Gardens variety home, but the place where wild fancies take root and grow into something outrageous and truthful and, yes I have to use the word again, wildly wonderful. I think we were all a bit surprised at what came out.
Why does it always feel like forbidden fruit, this allowing ourselves this freedom? I mean, we’re grown ups now. We don’t need a permission slip from our parents to express ourselves. And lord knows, every night we dream these wild scenarios embedded with messages which we then ignore in our waking state. For me art is one way to reclaim the dreaming world to empower the waking one.