The making of more

by doing less

SWAN  by Mary Oliver

Did you see it, drifting, all night on the black river?
Did you see it in the morning, rising into the silvery air,
an armful of white blossoms,
a perfect commotion of silk and linen as it leaned
into the bondage of its wings: a snowbank, a bank of lilies,
biting the air with its black beak?
Did you hear it, fluting and whistling
a shrill dark music, like the rain pelting the trees,
           like a waterfall
knifing down the black ledges?
And did you see it, finally, just under the clouds-
a white cross streaming across the sky, its feet
like black leaves, its wings like the stretching light
          of the river?
And did you feel it, in your heart, how it pertained to everything?
And have you too finally figured out what beauty is for?
And have you changed your life?

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I remember a particular time in my twenties when I was in a hurried, harried state, wearing extra large bossy pants, slamming doors and snapping at my dad who was soaking up my frustration while waiting for me to be ready to leave my apartment. After he has enough, he gently places his hand on my shoulder and asks, “Jaclyn, what is the matter? Why are you speaking to me like that?”

I want to say, ‘I’m sorry for being a holy terror and taking out my emotional rollercoaster on you and mom.’ Instead, I say, “I am worried I won’t make it on time.”

He pauses, looking deeply into my eyes.

“You know what I do when I feel that way?”

“What Dad?” I say, rolling my eyes. I wonder if he asked himself whether it was worth the risk to offer advice when I’m clearly not in a receiving mood.

He continues, “I ask myself, what’s the worst case scenario if I don’t get what I set out to achieve. In this case, what happens when you don’t make it on time?”

I mumble something about being late. I hate being late. I sometimes am. But I brush his words away like I brush his hand off my shoulder, and walk in a different direction.

It has been many years since that conversation, but I have never forgotten his wisdom. It’s not that I don’t panic about missing deadlines, because to me, life often feels like one big deadline. It’s a byproduct of grief, I think. To never know how much time we or they have has spilled over into many areas of my life, such as I might not have enough time to finish this memoir I’ve been writing for years. Perhaps it is this pressure that leads to more procrastination and busyness, which then gets in the way of getting this important thing finished. I think I have been letting fear drive the car. Maybe it’s time to ask fear to sit in the backseat. But not before I ask it a question.

What happens if I ask myself to do less? Will I be any less human?

On the Eve of New Year’s Eve in 2024 I find myself laying on my yoga mat, as I often do, having craved this dimly lit room with the stillness of umpteen other bodies, waiting for the magnificent Emily to begin our class. At the head of each mat, Emily has placed a personal affirmation message on a card, which is face down. I am distracted so I forget to look at it. Glowing candles have been placed at the front of our mats and I recline and try to relax into shavasana, aka corpse pose. I reflect on our Christmas holiday, our visit to my husband’s family in Hamilton, while appreciating the beautiful times of connection in spite of the season’s busyness. I notice a surge of tightness in my chest. I notice my racing heart. I wonder why it is still there.

Emily begins our last yoga class of the year by asking us to consider an intention for today’s session, or maybe if we feel like it, for the new year. I have already chosen my word to be FRUITION for 2025. I want to pull some irons from the fire and put them to work. I want to achieve some very specific goals and I have been considering how I’m going to work on them without reverting to my old ways of harried hustling until I burn out.

As I breathe deeply, contemplating her question, my unconscious mind brings to my awareness a need for spaciousness to bring my dreams to fruition. This is followed by increasing tension in my shoulders and gut. Wait, what if it’s not the good kind of spaciousness? What if it’s unwanted? What if it’s the kind of spaciousness that surrounds illness or loneliness? Or worse - new grief. What if…”

Fortunately, I recognize my thought patterns and my sensible self chimes in. Silently I whisper, “Help me to embrace the spaciousness necessary for me to bring my goals and dreams to fruition.”

We continue the class, full of downward dogs, planks and hip openers. In yoga, I am continually learning to keep my hips open and flexible as I move forward in life. My body is currently recovering from an acute left hip and low back injury, which I sustained just before Christmas. So, today I am moving slower, more cautiously than usual. I am getting better at asking my body if it’s ok for me to move this way and that way. I find it interesting how injuries create spaciousness, whether or not we want it. Once again, I experience dread in my belly as I wonder if spaciousness means embracing a chronically unhealed hip flexor to disrupt my doing, my going. My mind is like a monkey swinging from tree to tree to tree. Thankfully, Emily repeatedly invites us back to the intention we set at the beginning, which gives me a chance to repeat my prayer every time I feel the anxiety.

Do you ever notice what triggers your fears? Do you notice your own monkeying thoughts? Ones that keep you trapped in the same patterns, the same busyness, the same obstacles? Is it coincidence? Is it a bad habit? Is it cultural programming? Is it all one big distraction?

After a breathy strength-building sequence of poses, we wrap up the class and roll our mats, but not before wishing one another “Namaste,” a yogi phrase which simply means “Bless you.” I notice the card Emily placed near my mat. As I read my “random” message, I smile to myself, laughing at God’s sense of humour.

“Do Less to Attract More”

What does doing less look like for me, I wonder? Other than provoking sizeable fear -as if a two-storey sized tarantula is staring down at me - I wonder how will I feel important if I am doing less? Does it mean being less productive? Does it mean working less hard on my writing? Or in my learning? Should I pick up less toys and clothes scattered about in our home? Should I see even less patients than I already do? What will everyone think? What will people say if I’m not doing enough? What even is enough? What will I think of myself if I’m not productive enough? Will I be deemed lazy?

Julia Cameron is a world-famous artistry coach who has written some creativity mantras that I love. They make me feel less powerless. They let me off the hook, just a little, reminding me that not everything is up to me. In November, I began repeating one of her mantras from her bestseller, “The Artist’s Way,” (highly recommended reading for the creative).

“My dreams come from God and God has the power to accomplish them.”

Somehow this mantra helps me feel less anxious about making all these things happen by myself. Maybe if I’m not doing things all on my own, I will not find myself in overwhelm. I know there are some who might hate the idea of God doing anything for us, some who have church/religious dogma trauma and I get it. Some of us Christians have degraded God into a “wish list” master, a puppeteer, a fairy Godmother type deity. I am not talking about this kind of God. Cameron says we can call God the Universe, or Spirit or whatever Higher Power we choose. Others name their inspiration as “the muse,” and as an old mentor of mine (Barry Dempster) reminds me, “We have to give our muse office hours.”

The God of my understanding is the source from which all creativity and flow arises. I like to think of Source as living inside me, waiting for me to listen. And yes, I need to give her or him the office hours to hear. Stillness. Quiet. Meditation. Doing less. Making time for beauty with my daughter. Noticing what she notices. My own inspiration also comes from outside of me. An art gallery. Music. Theatre. Poetry. A conversation with a stranger. Writing groups.

I think we - the artist, the writer, the actor, the worker, etc - do get to shape how it comes to us. We have our own unique set of skills and crafting. How my sister bakes a cake is not how I bake a cake. My close friend is a brilliant recipe creator, and because her days are so full, she gets her downloads during the night, when she would rather be sleeping. She is bursting with creativity, so she’s willing to sacrifice sleep for these surges to come through.

Is it still tempting to think I can do it all? Sure is. And I get to decide that this year will be different. I've heard New Year’s Resolutions were supposed to be a resolve to surrender something to the old year. Letting something go. Letting something be. I have to admit, that doesn’t feel as juicy or productive. But it feels more like serenity.

"There is something more than productivity to measure the days, for those who long to express the truth of who they are - makers in the broadest sense of the word. When we collaborate with reality we are makers. We are makers when we act in response to life from our true being, instead of merely doing.  On the making path we remember we are in relationship with a living world, not just conquering things on our to-do list or molding the world for our utilitarian purposes."                      
Maria Bowler, from "Making Time"

I still don’t know what my true being is, but I think I’m getting closer. My reality as a maker looks different from everyone else’s. Maybe I can learn to embrace some of Bowler’s perspective, acting in response to life from my truest being, instead of merely doing and accomplishing. This making path helps me live in closer relationship with the living world - during my nature walks, in my community of family and friends, in parenting my daughter - not just a “to-do list conqueror.”

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Journaling

Mary Oliver’s poem is an invitation to search for the meaning of beauty and how it pertains to everything. What is the purpose of the swan if we don’t notice her “wings like the stretching light?” Have I myself figured out what beauty is for? And am I changing my life? Write about what causes your life to be lived in wonder.

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