So there I was in the desert of southern Utah. My paintings weren’t selling because this new population hadn’t yet responded to my work, and the place didn’t really fit me. But the land was stunning and I’d been sent there, it seemed, by Spirit, so I chose to stay.
I was surrounded by ancient sites, which my dog and I explored on a daily basis. They were what I called “raw”, completely undeveloped, existing pretty much as the ancients had left them. I knew what to look for and found them tucked everywhere, in canyons, on mesas. I had a deep knowing of the lives lived there. It felt as though I had come home but to a home I couldn’t exactly remember.
I took a job guiding horseback tours—on animals bred from wild Mustangs—across the desert to the ancient pit house villages and rock art. One day in particular, riding with a small group of women from China, I marveled at the surreal nature of my life. In a million years I couldn’t have dreamed this up for myself. It’s why, I believe, we’re meant to be less goal-focused than our culture tries to impose. When we let go of control, when we remove the blinders directing us to a determined destination, we’re made available to enjoy the journey, to explore the magical side trips Spirit has in mind for us. We can’t know what adventure awaits us there or how it will affect and direct our lives, or what we miss when we don’t go.
I did other work in Utah. I painted two shows and taught but, most importantly, I was of the desert, of the land. Three Land Masses, the Colorado Plateau, the Great Basin and the Mojave Desert, all join exactly under the small town where I lived. The rock literally vibrates with its own power and radiates heat. I believe the ancients were drawn to the energy of the place for the same reasons we are: To heal. When I painted in my studio my back was to 1500 foot red sandstone cliffs. I felt the place drawing old poisons out of me like a long soak in Epsom salts. I gave myself over to mother earth. She wrapped herself around me, cleansing the past from my very cells. She took generations of sorrow deep into her molten core, seared it back to dust and it was no more.
I know, now, it’s why I went to Utah. It’s also the reason I had to leave. There is too much pain memory for me there. The land took my sorrow but it also spilled my blood. The desert there is stained with it.
Utah prepared me for New Mexico. I had no dream of coming here, no plans, no intention, just a suggestion from a friend to do a road trip. I followed the messages of the universe and they led me here. But it is because of the work I did in Utah that Spirit gave me to this land and it to me. I would not have been ready for it otherwise.
I Love the visuals and unknow to me tidbits of your Utah life’s open souled and wide eyed undertakings….we all have so many gifts we hold close to our hearts – thanks for sharing yours with love and eager honesty:)
Thanks for honoring who you are and who you are becoming, keep following the brightest star…For we will all grow with each of the others unfolding.
Your heartfelt anguish and gratitude are appreciated in the greatness of their human potential unleashed.
Grace
Yes, every single one of us carry powerful stories and offer growth each to the other. So glad you feel the gratitude in my words. As hard as it may be sometimes, I am so deeply grateful for all of the lessons. Jeane
This is the first time you’ve mentioned leading horseback tours of the desert and plateaus: now your keeping horses makes sense to me. That must have been pretty demanding too, dealing with the animals and elements.
What you wrote about letting go of control and discovering other adventures, that is exactly why I plan to retire from this career while I’m still young enough to enjoy. What might the next adventure be? I want to find out.
The biggest stress for me was gearing up all the horses. When the groups were large it was a real challenge. The thought that I might not have cinched a saddle well enough, as I led people close to a canyon rim, rankled me some. And, yes, these horses were a little wild–definitely not broken-spirited trail riders. But it was an amazing thing to do, all the same.
I’m so glad you’ll be retiring soon. Have you decided when yet? What might the next adventure be, indeed. I want you to find out too!
I just read your story from the first post, thank you. The idea of not feeling fulfilled in one’s life, of sensing there is more that could be experienced, more to be had and more to be given is a universal feeling. For me, the emptiness fills when I am at my work of painting, for it is then that I am in the service of beauty and creation. One need not serve beauty by painting only, but in everything one does, in every thought one thinks. Gratitude is the healing ointment, and only when we realize that everything we touch will pass away, and take time to listen to that which does not die which lies just beyond our seeing will we find our purpose in the mystery of the goodness of creation.
What a very beautiful way of putting it, Sheila. Thank you. I agree that it’s the mystery, the magic of the universe, where meaning lies. When we create I believe we touch into that.
I think your photos turned out great, by the way. I’ll be working with them tomorrow.
I’m loving reading all of your blogs even tho some of it makes me sad!
Ah, no reason to be sad. It’s all just life and lessons. I’ve been blessed.