I'm thinking of my father this morning because today is his birthday. This third weekend in June always belonged to him with birthday and Father's Day all falling together about the same time. He died a little over a year ago at the age of 93. He caught a cold and five days later, he didn't wake up in the morning. I will be forever  grateful for his peaceful passing, but still, I miss him. 
     My parents lived with me for the last seven years of my dad's life. When they were still able, we went for daily walks on the Mendocino headlands. My mom couldn't walk very far so  I stayed with her while my father went on ahead. He found a big old driftwood log further out the trail and he would sit on that log and rest for a bit while he gathered up the energy to walk back.
    My father was a quiet man and kept very much to himself. I used to watch  him out there, sitting on that log in his red windbreaker, his walking stick in hand, knowing he was enjoying that bit of time to himself. He would sit there for quite some time watching the ocean. Then I would see him rise. His crooked, bent body would  press into the wind, and posting with his walking stick, he would make his way back to join my mother and I.
    That image stays with me as it took on a mythic quality.  He looked like the "eternal traveler" facing into the elements, his tall, strong body now bent and worn by the journey, but none the less, he was traveling on. Its an image fitting for the old ones among us. And they do travel on, until they stop. Then those of us who remain remember them, learn from their journey and from what they left behind.
    Since he died I have been very grateful for those last years we had together. And I'm grateful to live where I have so many memories of his presence. I find the places where we spent time together very comforting. But especially comforting are the places that belonged to him, like that old driftwood log on the headlands. I go there now and sit. I talk with him, sometimes ask for his help, something I rarely did when he was alive, and I thank him again and again for everything he gave to me.

If you could sit on this bench and have a conversation with someone you love who is no longer here, who would it be? What would you want to talk to them about? Write an imaginary conversation between the two of you in your journal. Ask them for advice about something important to you, and thank them for their contribution to your life.

    Welcome to my new blog. This is the place where I'll be sharing thoughts and reflections about art and life. It is also where I will be posting new expressive arts therapies experiences for you to try on your own. 
    This blog will be all about encouraging a new way of looking at the purpose of the arts in our lives. While we can all appreciate the artists who make the art we see in art galleries, the musicians who perform in our concert halls,  and the writers of great literature, it is good to remember that expressing ourselves through the arts belongs to all of us. It is part of being human.
    The old saying, "A picture is worth a thousand words" is a shorthand way to get the idea of how it works to use the arts for self discovery.  In just an instant, a picture,  a piece of music, or a poem can take us out of the stories we tell about ourselves and into our direct experience of what we absolutely know is true. Like a compass directing us to true north, we can instantly orient our selves toward home. There we find the "still small voice within" waiting for us to listen.
    I hope you will come along on this exploration. In honor of  new beginnings, for me this blog and for you, whatever is new in your life, here is a little piece of expressive arts therapy to try out on your own. Let me hear what happens. All my best to you, Marilyn

    When we hold a new baby in our arms, we hold a great promise.  What will become of this new life?  That question and the great potential of this new beginning explodes inside of us as we stare down into the face of the miracle of life. And so with our own new beginnings.
    Our creative spark lights up the darkness in a new land pointing the way towards something that wants to become real.  How do you honor the creative spark in your life when it flashes.  Is it met with love and gentle nurture?  Do you hold it as you would this newborn baby?  
    Imagine for a moment cradling a newborn baby in your arms. Actually let your arms hold this “imaginary baby” that is a new something that you would like to make real.   Write in your journal reflecting on your experience.