A Year In Sedona: Dwelling In Possibility

Chapter 12 Dwelling In Possibility  Red Oval, Wassily Kandinsky                                 I dwell in Possibility  --  A fairer House than Prose More numerous of Windows -- Superior for Doors  Of Chambers as the Cedars --  Impregnable of eye And for an everlasting Roof --   The Gambrels of the Sky  Of Visitors the fairest   For Occupation -- This  The spreading wide my narrow Hands To gather Paradise                                               -- Emily Dickinson            "Thirty five years!" Louis exclaimed.  I was happy my sweet but sometimes preoccupied husband had finally this year remembered our wedding anniversary. Our friends Libby and John Oakes joined us for a lunch celebration at L'Auberge de Sedona, a charming old boutique hotel and restaurant with a rustic flagstone patio overlooking the banks of Oak Creek. John and Libby had become good friends, two of the many amiable souls and free spirits who had offered us a warm and hospitable welcome at wisdom's edge.       They'd come to Sedona from Kentucky, John was the artist and Libby, the prizewinning poet. Two wise and witty fellow travelers, they were very good storytellers with tales of previous lives as university professors, world travelers and spiritual seekers. Sharing our offbeat sense of humor, these two born and bred originals could be counted on for stimulating conversation about soul, spirit and art. They also knew how to converse with civility and discretion about the remarkable changes in the 21st century political landscape, how to research and find reliable alternative wellness options and how to recall rollicking memories of our hippie days during the Sixties. Like many of us, they'd looked around a good bit then decided upon retirement to come to Sedona.      First time I met Libby she wore a necklace, the pendant engraved with the iconic quote from favorite poet, Emily Dickinson: "I dwell in possibilities." It might just as well have been a sign around her neck proclaiming 'kindred spirit on the path to wisdom's edge.' Libby had a flowing poetic aura and a soft spoken charm which worked well for her role as a veritable dervish of creative pursuit within the local arts community. A kind of muse-in-residence, she gave readings, wrote books, supported non-profits and was the creator of SiteWrite, drawing on her experience both as writer and literature professor to pull together a group of local writers who met monthly to write and read at various sites of artistic interest around town. Louis and I were flattered she'd asked us to join that merry band of bards and happy to find a new tribe of writers to nosh with.         Once the group met at the wonderful weaving studio of local fiber artist Wendy Bialek. Louis and I had met and become friends with Wendy and her husband Rabbi Bernie Kling when Louis, a now-married Catholic priest, and Bernie, an independent rabbi, were co-officiants at an interfaith wedding. Wendy's studio was a marvel to visit, generating tremendous creative energy with potentially fabulous literary metaphors inspired by the displays of woop and warf, yards of yarn, fabric and felt. It was a remarkable way station the road to wisdom's edge.     As I became better acquainted with Libby, I realized the story of her journey and arrival at wisdom's edge was one worth sharing with others. A long life of learning, teaching, traveling and healing had produced a legacy of measured and leavened wisdom that might well benefit others on the way to meet their muse. I wanted to know if she'd felt that sense of anticipatory promise that seemed to nudge so many who'd come here. I wondered what she might say to aspiring writers and artists who had arrived in hopes of meeting their muse anew.            I asked her to share a bit  about her life here and her own muse and gave her The Wisdom's Edge Questionnaire. She willingly obliged and her delightfully crafted responses made inspired reading indeed. One question got a poem all of its own in answer; another with a snippet from her journal. Anecdotes, memories and a little soul searching, all were heartfelt and poetic. I was delighted but not surprised. She was, after all, a muse herself.  What is your life about now,“at wisdom's edge”?         Looking back through old notebooks -- five years ago I asked my soul what it wanted, and here is the answer: solitude, work, fulfillment, delivery into the world, freedom, acceptance, company, fluidity, enhancement, enchantment, renewal, completion, expression, to see itself in the world manifest, to be who it is, to not hide, to be more than 1/10 of who I am, to partake of my creativity, to connect with the All, to be fully whole and present in me, to infuse the physical world.             What do I want to do now?                When I retired from teaching, I knew I wanted to live, grow, and contribute in a new way for the new stage. I am still finding out what this entails!  Where do I want to end up?  This poem says it... Poppies on the Porch To be no more conscious than the poppies in the vase To be dandelion fluff borne by wind to barren ground, gravel To be river swallowed by sea, and then salt in a stranger's shaker To be black rain at midnight on a temple roof long abandoned To throw out the poppies and the water they are in Who's coming with me the rest of the way?       My tribe, whoever and wherever they may be, and it doesn't matter if we've met or not, or if they're alive now or not, or even if they've never been in human form. What's been accomplished?        Some of what I came to this plane to do, not all, but enough, I think. I've done enough to know that the outward journey has to be a reflection of, no, has to be intertwined, with the inner one. We're born with a kind of GPS system that, if we turn it on (and this is not always easy, as it's hidden among the other knobs, bells, and whistles), it will keep us on track. The track, in my experience, is never what we thought it was. What's left to do?         To keep enjoying the material world and opening to the spiritual one, while integrating the material self and the spiritual self, so that they are one. How do I meet my muse?        Oh, it finds me! I just have to open the door! It doesn't understand money, ego, even someone liking what I write. It just understands “doing,” maybe not even that, as it is not of this world. What am I doing to honor the gifts from the muse now?        I know she/he is always with me. I honor her/him by trying never to say something that doesn't resonate with that place where he/she lives. What might be my creative legacy?          Some time ago a psychic told me that there were hundreds, even thousands, of people I had helped. Most of them I don't know, she said, as it had radiated out from those I did. She didn't know I had been a university professor. She said that “I was doing it” – what I came here to do. My creative legacy is people's lives; it doesn't matter if they create “things” or not.  My personal legacy is that I have recorded a traveler's journal on the fly! I don't think it ever ends, actually, we just segue from one life to another, not all on this plane.                                Meeting Your Muse: The Wisdom's Edge Questionnaire                       Arriving at wisdom's edge we consider our accumulated wisdom and summon the courage to compose the stories of our own transformations, not only for ourselves but also for the kindred souls -- children, grandchildren and others -- who will follow. As you embark on your journey to meet the muse, I offer a meeting with the muse, The Wisdom's Age Questionniare. 1. What is my life about now? 2. What do I want to do that I haven't done yet? 3. Where do I want to end up? 4. Who's coming with me the rest of the way? 5. What's been accomplished? 6.What's left to do? 7. How do I now meet my muse? 8. What am I doing to honor the gifts from the muse? 9. What might be my creative legacy?