One thing which surprises me is that I find I want to give my paintings away... not only to organizations which have a need to benefit financially... but to each and every one who expresses a specific connection. I get a great deal of satisfaction in matching the right painting with the right person.
“What good are they stored away?” I responded to a friend who questioned my actions. “They’re meant to be enjoyed and that won’t happen if I keep piling them up.” “I can always paint more,” was my standard response.
But, even though I have an assortment of blank canvases waiting, I realize I really have no desire to paint. I think about hanging a blank canvas on my painting wall, hoping it might inspire me. But I don’t.
“Why?” I wonder. “What am I being called to do now?”
Oh, I’ll continue with my classes and workshops because I love to teach and I love the women who come. We are a family. But there’s something else... something I can’t quite put my finger on. I suppose that’s why I’m writing this. Often, when I put the question to paper, the guides respond in the words I find myself writing... so here goes...
“What is it you’re asking me to do? I have the feeling it has to do with writing but I’m not sure what it is I am to write about. Does it have to do with writing?”
Yes, it does and you must go back to your childhood to realize where it started and what happened. (I got chills as I wrote this.)
I was in the seventh grade and our assignment was to write a story. I did. Evidently it was good enough to draw the Guidance Counselor’s attention... who, in turn, called my father in for a conference. I can only imagine how proud my father was when he was told I could make my living as a writer if I wanted. I can imagine that now... not then. It was that fatherly pride which led him to insist I write another story... and because of his insistence, I rebelled. Oh, I wrote another story but, as my father laughingly said, it was the worst story he’d ever read.
“Okay. I remember. What are you trying to tell me?” (Chills again)
We want you to write. Oh, yes, the books you’ve written so far are all right but they’ve only served as introduction... practice writing... for what you are really to do.
“What am I really to do?”
You are to write of what you know... what you’ve come to know as truth. Your friend, Father Paul, said he felt you needed to go deeper in your writing and so you must. We have been patient with you, Constance, but now is the time for you to start. We will help you as we are now... as we are in your writing this beginning. We’ve showed you some of the things you are to write about... such as the maple tree you saw last night. Why not start there and see where it goes? We are always with you.
It was after I received this message that I wrote (and published) "The Maple Tree".
Love, Joy and Light to you all!
Connie
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