Jumping in the river

The rainy season has arrived with full force; each day brings rain, rivers of rain.  The streets of San Miguel become streams and creeks overflowing on to sidewalks.  Drains cannot contain the water and so reverse pour forth like a busted water line.  On Friday, I was painting when the heavens opened.  The studio stayed dry for the most part, a leak here or there.  I had to close the door to keep the water from spilling inside.  I thought surely it would stop.  Finally I just had to brave the elements and clean up the best I could and head back home.  There was no dry place to cross the streets.  Traffic was nearly halted.  Umbrella in hand, I carried my backpack on my front in the attempt to keep its contents dry.

There was nothing to do but to step into the rush of water; nothing else to do but step right into it, no going back only forward.  When I made it to the Jardin, streams met streams.  And, there they were: the children dressed in school uniforms, released for the weekend, playing in the water.  They carried no umbrellas; they had given themselves over to the deluge and the simple, unafraid joy of playing, splashing, and jumping in the “river.”  It made me smile.

I, who had so carefully tried to stay dry, found myself, shoes and clothes, soaked nonetheless. And here these children embracing what was clearly beyond their control.

I continue to paint and pray and play in San Miguel even in the rain.

I have keys to the house here.  Keys to the studio to paint.  And there is a key in the studio to the share restroom.  The key is tied with a string on to a stick.  Somehow on Monday the key to the restroom came loose and was lost.  We did not realize it until Tuesday.  It had come loose, fallen, not realized until the need was there to unlock the door.  We searched; no key.  We asked at the business in front; no key.  The woman next door opened the restroom for us, telling us that losing the key was a grave sin.

If we could not find it, we would have to borrow another key and have one made.  Perhaps, the gardener had found it as he was cleaning.  We would ask when he arrived on Wednesday.  We awaited his arrival.  “Sir, we lost the key to the bathroom on Monday.  Perhaps, did you find it?”

Out of his pocket, he drew out the key with the string still to it.  The gardener had found it, as though it had been discarded, forgotten, dropped in the busy-ness of other things.

I’ve retied it in hopes that it will stay.  But it has come loose before.  It is though if ignored it will find its way loose by inattentiveness – who knows exactly.

The key is not the thing; it is but a way to open what is needed, protecting what needs protecting, and without, difficult to unlock and gain entrance.

Perhaps I see, perhaps I don’t.  Perhaps I am ignorant, not seeing what I need to see, saying what I need to say, or wanting something that is not mine to be had.

Guard the key.  Hold it lightly.

God, there are things beyond my control and beyond my knowing.  How does one know the heart?

12 x 16 oil on canvass

I’ve been wondering how much progress I have made with my painting.  I seem to have more questions than answers.  Although, I have found myself thinking about how the looser style fits with theme of the luminous darkness – if it does?  The connection that started was that of the notion of the beauty of imperfection.  The looser style is not “perfect;” some lines are not completely straight, colors may be odd – but in it is a beauty that is difficult to describe, perhaps in the “brokenness” of our lives, the unexpected color, how things come together to convey something left to the viewer, an invitation into what is there and more.  Like the question laid out that is not too quickly answered because in the wrestling with the question for the “other” – there is the encounter, not in providing too quickly the answer which may be mine but not necessarily yours.  It is not just leaving something to the imagination; it is in the wrestling – my life, your life.

So, the painting does not need to look like “John” or “me.”  The response of the viewer (or the question) does not need to be “That doesn’t look like _____.” Perhaps it is more of an open hand outstretched.  “Take what you will.  I am not giving you your answer or even your question.  Simply this; take of it what you will.”

Fellow traveler, I, too, have my questions.