All day I think about it, then at night I say it.
Where did I come from, and what am I supposed to be doing?
I have no idea.
My soul is from elsewhere, I’m sure of that,
And I intend to end up there.
— Rumi, thirteenth-century Persian poet
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The other day, while going over some very early posts from this blog, I came across this short poem from Rumi. It had been passed on to me by my friend Scott Allen from the Cleveland area after my 2008 show at the Kada Gallery. It was what he himself had felt in my work. The poem had, I’m sorry to confess, slipped my mind over the years and coming across it again immediately rekindled my original reaction to it. Then and now, I felt as though this little wisp of a poem captured the secret behind what I was doing.
Like Rumi’s voice in this poem, I have spent most of my life in an existential quandary, filled with doubts about who I am and what I should be doing. I often felt like a stranger in a strange land, ill at ease in my surroundings and feeling, like Rumi, that my soul is from elsewhere. Initially, I felt as though my uncertainties and doubts could be allayed externally. I was simply not in the right physical location. But it was soon apparent that it was not an external problem. Regardless of the location, I would not be at ease on the outside until I sought and found where I needed to be internally.
That’s where the painting came in and filled the void in my life. If life were an ocean, painting gave me a hope, an endpoint for which to navigate. Without it, I would still be rudderless in an ocean of doubt. With it and through it, I feel that my soul is headed in the right direction. I don’t know exactly why I feel the need to share this intimacy with you this morning. Perhaps that openness is part of the journey or even the destination. But for me, seeing this poem again reconnected me to the journey at a point when it felt as though I was going slightly off course. Sometimes in the process of seeking one forgets why they set out on the journey in the beginning. Ant that why, that motivation, sometimes needs to be revisited during the journey. It gives the destination definition and immediately puts you back on course.
This morning, I feel like I am sailing on smooth seas again, knowing why I am going forward.
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The new painting at the top is called Abundant Life, a 12″ square canvas that will be showing at the West End Gallery during the upcoming Little Gems show. It is definitely a destination piece, something to aspire to, internally and externally.
Redtree Times 
Beautiful expression of searching – both the words and the new painting. Be well~
Many thanks…
of course i grasp totally what you’e saying; when i ponder the many chapters of my life, there were always moments when i felt very foreign. for me, art distances me from the world of materialism, of gossip, of excess. it is there where i go inward and am at total peace – unless i am struggling with a painting. when i finally give up control, it paints itself! it’s comforting when i meet others who are ‘not from this planet,’ as they remind me that i’m not alone! z
Thanks, fellow traveler…
Your poem by Rumi (who is always spot on) brings to mind another poem by Joni Mitchell
“We are stardust, we are golden.
We are caught in the devil’s bargain.
And we’ve got to get ourselves back to the garden.”
I, for one, am glad you found where you needed to be internally. These refractions of your spirit called “paintings” help to add color and beauty to the lives of those who own your works and those who view them here and in galleries. We each of us have a landscape of the spirit. Some of us find it; some of us are still looking; and, unfortunately, some of us don’t even know there is such a place or where to begin looking for it.
You know, sometimes I feel like I have found that safe and spiritual place and sometimes I feel as though my search has only began. And other times I find myself envying those people who don’t seem to know there is such a place or even care.
I’m grateful you wrote this blogpost. It’s good sometimes not to feel alone in the search — and in the envy of those serene souls who seem to glide through life without care. But in the long run, I think I’d rather be aware and therefore struggle than live in blissful ignorance (at least some days, I do.)
Your talk of journeys, destinations, forgetfulness and perseverance reminds me of what may be my favorite poem – Cavafy’s “Ithaca”. I couldn’t find my favorite translation – Lawrence Durrell’s in “The Alexandria Quartet” – online, so I had to go searching – I found an old type-written copy. For me, it’s the perfect restatement of what you said above.
Ithaca