/Art\ as a cure for madness

… remember that story I told you about the old man at Saint Gobnait’s well, who, when asked if that well had a special cure, calmly replied, “Sure it cured me of madness” ?

I write this in the garage, my laptop balanced on the stereo speaker in a kind of make-shift standing desk I’m realizing may become permanent.

I like to glance over at my proper desk, an adorable roller-top antique drawn off into the corner by string lights and costume racks, just like I never knew I wanted. But if that desk turns out to be more of a storage unit for binders and notecards, so be it. This set up makes it easier to turn for a dance break the second I need one.

It’s technically the last day of my SMOOSH week, when I should be back to regular schedule after travel, and I feel a pressure to report first on the time I spent away — almost seven weeks this summer, two of them abroad — but those scéalta will probably trickle out in a few posts… Right now, I’m trying to focus completely on preparing for the EAL board member’s visit on Saturday. He’ll be filming for a piece to screen at our 9/9 group show.

Because I’ve had (created!) big outreach opportunities in the past where I didn’t fully “take advantage” due to shyness, inadequate energy, divine timing or whatever, I checked in with myself about how much I really want to prepare to tell the story of what we’re doing at Hybrasil, or if I want to keep semi-preparing & winging it, which is what I’ve done in the recent past to not-quite-quit-but-still-lay-low.

And I’ve found that there is still fear, and heaps of self-consciousness — but I’ve also found the peace of truly understanding that those feelings belong there with this experience.

Because they’re the normal human sensations of growing into new comfort zones.

So not only do I not have to wait until I feel no fear — if I do wait for that, I’ll be stuck in Phase 1 forever, probably blaming others.

So here we go, I’m feeling V-U-L-N-E-R-ABLE, because, as I told Ryan, I’ve realized since my live painting sesh at the Far Out that if I really want to help people connect with my “multimedia poetry” about Irish, I have to start offering more of my personal story, i.e., what (American) experiences compelled me to seek comfort in my roots — spiritual nourishment, groundedness, liberation, shelter from despair…

And it occurred to me that the most accessible way I could tell the personal side of the past year’s projects are in the context of Religious Trauma.

To really let myself name that an inflammation of apocalyptic anxieties during Covid lockdown forced me to more deeply face stories I was still unconsciously carrying from my Mormon upbringing, and even intergenerationally through my Catholic heritage, and the way that process transformed my whole life.

In my corner of the internet this is a very hot topic and feels kind of overexposed, which can turn me off from weighing in, but I realize that I may be in a cultural silo there — and even if so, my voice is still needed.

Not only because I did survive an incredible amount of stress through creative tools that I want to share (and some coping mechanisms that may have done more harm that good, from which I’m learning), but also because my crisis / quest has not been ALL gnarly shedding & grief work — it has also been WAY more rediscovery, reclamation, forgiveness, and hope than I ever thought I’d get out of a Christian experience, and I think that’s inspiring. Plus, I want to celebrate.

I have to say, I felt held back by fearing how others would react to learning that I’m capable of winding up in such distress. It’s the ‘mental illness’ bias again — I’ve had to find that bias in myself over and over and over. But I realized, if someone is going to be close in my life, I want them to know this part of my story, because it’s important in how I need to care for myself. So potential future lovers and friends, here’s how you can find out. Why assume that my truth will always push others away from me?

Besides isn’t the medicine telling our stories — putting them behind us in the shape of words, feeling heard, hearing through the body that we are not the ONLY body who has clashed with that particular dragon?

Well there it is, a bit of intention for ya.

I’m going to lift the veil on a bit of my madness, show a few angles of my body, and let people see some art that is not precise or impressive or beautiful in the way I used to insist — but is instead vivid, brave, and noteworthy in ways that prize resonance over flexing.

Kind of a first for me !!