My Monhegan

*

Oh! to find relaxation. Get lost amidst the Monhegan sea air.

I once honored the rapt attention of the island’s evening. Witnessed the homeward gulls, floating above. Shhhh! i warned them. I desired the whispered stories unfolding below the ocean waves.

I witnessed their goodbyes descend upon my eyes. Their limelight emitted farewell and invited the lesser stars to partake in the feast. Satisfied, i bid farewell, in hopes my soul would once again return.

*The finished painting from a previous post.

My Monhegan

I am currently working on a painting My Monhegan, an island off the coast of Maine. Monhegan is a place that encompasses 95% of my spiritual thought while a mere 3 days and 2 nights were physically spent there. It amazes how much an impact the place had on me. A healing calm took me over and i only have to slip on those hiking shoes to feel the embrace around my soul.

At least the ones i have conquered.

In the meantime, while rushing from one idea to the next, for the past three days, i realized something important. I don’t hear the rattling noises in my mind. At least not as often as i use to and only when invited in. The loudness has abated with a new found courage. I have tamed the angry heart that broke and mended the fabric tears. The tears in my eyes have dried.

The scared child that cowered in the corner has found light. She has grown since last spoken to. The sex fiend has retreated and allowed a wholeness to take place. I convinced her sex is nothing compared to spiritual ecstasy. A spiritual relationship, with someone who can read my mind and play off my every mood, move and energy, is enticing. I have a few girlfriends like this. I have yet to make a pact with such a guy friend. I have a few in mind, but they don’t seem to understand the concept as i had envisioned they would. Such a collaboration is still open to anyone. Even long distance. I am open and my heart twirls in excitement to find such a guy. If such a person exists. 🤨

As if a light switch was flicked on and off, on and off, the hurt, which once overcame me, has now been overcome. The chaos inside has relented and been subdued.

I win! I won!
I run! I swim!
I fly away…

Regarding Beauty

Please click to read Sigrun’s “Regarding Beauty” Sub Rosa’s quiet and contemplative blog that never disappoints.

Her post is in regards to Andrew Wyeth. Mr. Wyeth was an American artist, who happened to vacation on Monhegan Island, Maine with his son Jamie Wyeth, also quite a remarkable artist.

Yes, my Monhegan that I hold so dear to my heart and mind!! This is how I was introduced to Andrew Wyeth’s art work. Exploring and learning about this magical place of many storied artists.


May 2016

The United States Post Office recently issued postage stamps, in 2017, to commemorate his skill in painting that demonstrates a sheer witness to spelled-out emotions, with quite an obvious definition.

beauty often cracks the surface of happiness and leaves a depth open to more, than had beauty not succumbed to let us know it had arrived. 

This is how i experience Andrew Wyeth’s paintings. I feel the breeze breech my soul, witness the longing of a girl far from home, and welcome the sunshine through a clear pane of glass. Mr. Wyeth moves us to feel life without knowing what tomorrow brings. He always brought with him mindfulness on his brush.

I purchased the stamps with the purpose of enjoying his art work. They remain intact on my desk, waiting for an opportune time to write a beloved friend.

What friend exists to warrant a stop in my day,
to comprehend the comings and goings of shadow
a written note to alert
the wings of a dove descend.

Bird in the House, Andrew Wyeth June 6, 1980

Wake, Jamie Wyeth

more than

should i live again
i would sail to
rocky cliffs hanging high.
Sturdy -the rising tide
ocean waves sweep my feet,
greet my silent highs.

the one-room schoolhouse
hollow now
voices passing through.
Captured -i let them sail on by
and the stones grow ever higher,
i hear they’ve reached the sky.

grow nearer
more than ever now
pine seedling promise
my heart grows weak

the fisherman worn
the sea mist and salt
his maiden lights a candle.
Hope -listen to the humming
the footpath travels ’round
her windows iced shut.

the church bells ring clear
dogs lie in the drying soil
prairie grasses colored in oils.
Closing -the dawn fastens
and her easel sits upon bones,
bones and gravel.

grow nearer
more than ever now
pine seedling promise
my heart grows weak

-Monhegan Island, ME