The Everlasting Note

The Everlasting Note

Were but my world contained

in a note of music

I would be ever satisfied

ever filled on harmony

riding on eternity of living

in all the fullness of affirming

breaths in and out.

 

But chaos consumes when that note

is seduced by the ugly pride

and runs wild with its tentacles

in open fields of weeds

seeking something… anything

to latch on to

hissing out its poison

hurting anything its path.

 

Oh, Most High

my heart, my head, my spoken words

would your love unite

until my dying breath

that I may never again wallow in regret

instead be only praises

on the melody that beckons the living

in the ever and a day.

 

Throughout my life has been a habitual process of beating myself up when I screw up and it creates a spiral leading to nowhere good and fast.

Studying the scriptures and living in a prayer of asking the Holy Spirit to come alive in me every day has been extraordinary in transforming my life and how I interact with people. With the focus on love, I try to remain, but there are circumstances that test me and I will be honest, I fail – gloriously.

Recently, I experienced a moment my ego, my stubborn pride wanted to make a point and I didn’t have the fortitude to suppress something that was the opposite of love. I hurt someone dear in this pointing out. I didn’t build her up as scriptures tells us to, and I might have felt justified in the moment, but boy was that moment short lived because I stewed and stressed about it for all that day and the next.

 

“So then we pursue the things which make for peace and the building up of one another.” ~ Romans 14:19

 

Hurt feelings. My mind was spinning it over and over. My heart and body was not happy.  That’s what I accomplished.

Not only did I finally (hopefully finally) get that it was not worth it to give my pride the floor, but another opportunity presented itself. I could continue to let my misguided ways fester or I could give it to God expressing my sorrow and ask him to make it right, or use it for his good purpose.

In that giving, there came peace in knowing it was in his hands now. There came ease and softness with myself, which was a welcome gift.

I can live in the knowing that more opportunities to learn to be and speak with love will come. I also know I’m not always going to get it right, but I’m sure going to work on emulating that love.

Poem: The Everlasting Note by Kiernan Antares

Once Upon a Time…

Once Upon a Time…

What is the word upon my soul,

the pen

the colour

the brushstroke

that begs everything to come alive

with the beating of my heart,

the blood coursing through my veins,

the in and out of breath,

that was shallow… lifeless

before You called me,

before You spoke my name.

 

I turn the pages of my past

and I see brokenness,

in the midst of hellfire

tender hearts cry out,

the eyes say it all.

 

What is the story that wants

to be written.

With arms stretched out,

my head slumps down…

What voice beckons

to be heard.

 

Can I take what’s hard to examine

and make beauty of it.

Will I see You

there beside me

through it all.

 

Through Your eyes

will I see.

Through Your ears

will I hear.

Through Your heart

will I feel.

 

Promise me You’ll not let me

wander.

Promise me You’ll not let me

waste, while and whither

life away,

always learning and never knowing

You.

 

What needs to be asked.

What needs to be seen.

What needs to be heard

in the word upon my soul.

There are several ways to write a memoir. Perhaps the easiest is to just sit down and write about whatever memories come up, then sift through and see what theme or patterns would become apparent.

I’ve been sifting and sorting through the recesses of my mind, and I became determined (maybe obsessed is a better description) with having just one word that would claim me. In a Life Worthy of One Simple Word I explore this notion.

My one word did indeed demand my attention… the theme that will inform and guide me in my memoir writing process… I’m not ready to divulge it just yet, but it stands as the working title of my book.

Now, as I’ve sat down to begin the actual writing… yes, I could simply begin, but before I do… before I get in too deep… new questions arise. Questions that will impact everything.

In what voice shall I write? From which perspective?

I don’t just want to blather on about things that happened. That’s for journaling. I want it to be exploratory, informative and interesting to write and to read.

Maybe I’m procrastinating. Maybe I’m making it harder than it needs to be. But, then again maybe the story has a mind of its own and its working to get my attention, so that I don’t get in the way and muddle it up.

I think sometimes we forget to soften into quiet moments, or even to create space for our minds and our hearts to listen to the gentle whispers of our soul.

We’re so anxious to move forward, to take steps, to be actively doing something. Our worlds so noisy, so busy, so demanding with doingness. What happened to being and feeling the presence of the moment?

My day had been planned. The photos would come out and it would all be revealed. Then I would be able to dive in and write.

The photos did come out. Memories and feelings swamped me. My head did indeed slump down in empathy. My cheek resting on an old beat up album, and I asked the questions.

I waited. I listened. I waited some more. I reflected on my artworks… on the photos… on a notebook I purchased specifically for times I would need to write, pen to paper, ideas or thoughts for the book.

Some things need to percolate.

I have a fascination with notebooks. Maybe all writers do. I love mine to find me and not let me walk away.

Sorry honey, the dollar store kind, they’re the ones thrown in the compartment in the car, when I need something I can scribble on and tear out. But, to write with, really write with… we need to have a relationship.

I love to love how they feel in my hands. How does the cover feel and what does it say, if anything? What about the design? The line spacing… it needs to be just right. Not too squished together and not too far apart… just right that I don’t feel restrictive, but not wasteful either.

My most recent purchase, the one specifically for my memoir is a simple black leather notebook. It has a strap to wrap around it. It makes me feel like a writer with a purpose. And, embossed in silver on the cover is the phrase,

‘Once upon a time…’

Hmmm… Once upon a time… long long ago…

I don’t know why, but it invites me to open my mind… to possibilities.

Writing is a way for me to lean in close… to listen and explore the world God created inside me.

I’m well into reading the Pulitzer Prize winning memoir, ‘Angela’s Ashes’ by Frank McCourt and there is one line (just one line in the whole book) that I have highlighted on page 202.

“It’s lovely to know the world can’t interfere with the inside of your head.”

I stopped. I smiled. I nodded… yes, indeed.

A Life Worthy of One Simple Word

A Life Worthy of One Simple Word

In a world of words, I want just one.

Just one that jumps out and claims me.

One that tells a story within a story. One that speaks to the deepest darkest depths… of the heart of this writer’s life… the word that makes sense of the wild and crazy journey I’ve been on.

The word that has compelled me, sent me out into the world to find its meaning, because it existed inside of me before I understood it… and then went into hiding, but always… always it was there.

A word that has taunted me to seek it in the daily grind, in the excruciating pain that consumed me, and in the beauty of fleeting moments that I believed were sacred… but, discovered haunting loneliness instead.

Through ugly loves, choices of spirals that were misguided and flawed, because I believed in the lies that were not real, but acted against everything that on some level I knew was right.

Through beautiful loves too… loves that have given me hope in the seeking of a sustaining truth.

A word that sums it all up and turns it all upside down… inside out… makes it all right in the soul… in the breath… in the wings that hover and protect.

In the loving eye that has always kept me in sight… in the uttering of the word… in the qualities of holy… of the holiest of holies whispering.

In the gentlest of breath uttered by my ear and fluttering along my cheek that it makes me quiver.

A waft of it swirling up into my mind, down into the ventricles of living life pulsing with particles expanding… drawing me somewhere closer to the only known that matters.

There is a book, a second book. A memoir. It’s waiting for me to write it. It’s preparing me. I’m sifting through moments to explore it, to investigate what wants to be rescued, inviting the theme that wants to be revealed.

A word has moved ever so gently in… and onto a Post-it Note where I can gaze upon it, and give it space to shape its essence.

I was visiting my parents this week. It was a good day, a good visit. I brought out their tin of photographs and let their memories come alive. I had mum write names on the back of the old tattered black and white photos.

I listened to tales of long long ago. Eager and attentive to catch glimpses of parts of them I never saw, never knew. Maybe I would learn something that would help in the making of sense.

Then my breath caught and my eyes wettened, not quite spilling over, but close. There in the listening grew a certain amount of anxiety in me, maybe even panic.

Their recollections… their memories… their sagas would soon be lost. Where would they go? What tales would I remember, or not remember, because so often in the grasping to hold near what is dear, it slips away.

Where do all of our lives… just us ordinary folks… the memories of them… where do they go? Generation after generation?

Does it matter? I don’t know.

But, I began to comprehend that there was so much that I didn’t yet know about them. At 92 and 88 time is running out for me to find out.

Short catching breaths.

What happens if our family tree dies off? Who will remember? So many precious moments… where do they go? What meaning do they have… in their having once been… and then no more?

Maybe I should make time for more visits. Maybe I should write these recollections down… capture them somehow. So much to be grateful for that I have been blind to all my life.

Where we hurt. Our trials, our suffering, our rage, our injustices.

What if they are meant to be our gift and our strength. If only we look up and see through the eyes of God’s love. We might see something altogether different.

In a world of words, I want just one. No flashy subtitles. Just one word.

Maybe… because…

In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.

~ John 1:1

This one sentence, it speaks to me daily. It informs me in ways I do not understand yet. Somehow, I feel it defines my life, or the life that I am in the unfolding.

The Word… the word… it gives itself to me. It chases me. It’s so good to me. It presents itself as a mountain to climb and a living water to swim in. It creates me alive.

In a world of words, I want just one. May it be so.

I wonder… if you had a word that told your story, what would it be?

In abiding love,

Kiernan

Mysteries of Creation

Mysteries of Creation

One of the ultimate mysteries of creation is the life force contained with a seed. When planting a garden we cover the seed with rich soil in order to allow it to gestate. Soon, it blossoms into a triumphant plant, bursting forth from the ground and reaching upward to the sky. The metaphor of the seed is applicable to every aspect of our lives; the seed of knowledge, the seed of truth, the seed of consciousness and on. This piece has powerful healing properties symbolized by its pure, white bursts of light, which embody the seed and the power of transformation as they blossom out of the dark earth. They are elixirs helping one find inner resources, such as courage and strength, for overcoming self-destructive patterns and emotional dependencies that undermine self-confidence. True liberation may follow, as the soul gives rise to the luminous purity of the essential self, reborn.

Mysteries of Creation—with close to 40 layers, became a meditative process inspiring me to create awareness of the beauty of being true to ourselves and casting aside doubts that only serve to keep us living small. The use of lines create added depth and dimension—represent our many aspects and layers of growth. ‘Go boldly forth!’ this piece says.

Come, Great Mystery, come
I breathe in
your tendrils
of light

and love cracks open
a space

for soul to speak.

I would be the sky
I would be the wind
the sun, the ground

to lift you higher, and
grow you stronger.

I am calling you.

Live the breathings
of your heart
with surety and fortitude
that others may gather their presence

and illuminate the invisible
embrace of beauty.

~ Kiernan Antares

Mysteries of Creation

Acrylic Abstraction on Gallery Wood Panel, 24″ x 24″

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Copyright 2016, Kiernan Antares, All Rights Reserved

Morning Glory

Morning Glory

‘Morning Glory’ was my third of four abstract paintings I did while in France.

My post Thunderstruck by love in France shares snippets of our trip – a very basic overview with also a sense of how I connected with the land and the voice within, while in The Lookout I share more intimately how I was moved to express this voice – claiming more and more of my authentic self.

Our time in France was during a Venus retrograde period; a time of reflection and emotions coming to the surface, and boy did they ever. I experienced some magnetically moving moments of love filled with so much grace as I connected with this land and my heart, but there were times it took some really low low’s to overcome to get there.

It was so indicative of this whole year, powerfully transformative, love and gratitude, mixed in with a whole lot of challenging and overwhelming moments.

It’s interesting that when I posted a work-in-progress photo of this piece on Facebook, the responses back indicated that they felt it was a depiction of a sea or ocean – very watery. My reaction to that was, ‘no no – it’s not finished then’ because to me it held more elements than just water, which represents our emotions.

It needed to be touched or balanced with more depth; from Above and Below – a processing to move the emotions into something of more substance.

Here’s another view of Morning Glory – as it was drying with the sun shining upon it. The colours look richer here probably because of the dark stones reflection around it. Hmmm… I see a hummingbird in there, reaching for its nectar…

 

“The hummingbird spirit animal symbolizes the enjoyment of life and lightness of being.” ~ Spirit Animal

~ Morning Glory by Kiernan Antares ~

Awaken me, oh Morning Glory
to the essential harmonies of nature,
inspire within me a renewed sense
of soulful enthusiasm
and I am yours for the taking.

My offering to the seen and unseen…

May my shimmering brilliance and vitality
spread light like a flowering vine,
In radiance,
I speak my truth, I live my dreams,
I am Vibrant, alive, and fully seen.

~ Morning Glory by Kiernan Antares ~

Abstraction on Canvas Paper, 12″ x 16″

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Copyright 2015, Kiernan Antares, All Rights Reserved