Trippy Thoughts Musings Newsletter #7

♋︎ Cancer Edition

Intro

Hi everyone, welcome back!

I hope I’m not confusing anyone about the astrological seasons with my release schedule here. Cancer season has come and gone some time ago, and my intention was to release a newsletter every month. I feel like it’s a more honest “flub” of my plan though, to release them in order - but out of season, than it would be to skip a zodiac sign altogether, so here we go.

I picked up a freshly fallen acorn on my walk today, and it reminded me of my soul.

I’ve been feeling a bit of an “audacity hangover” after my last newsletter, although I enjoyed sharing it at the time. I’ve had thoughts like “Have I been too honest? Too authentic? Too audacious? Should I reign it in and play more respectably?” Well, actually I’m still committed to being as authentic as I can. Those thoughts come from Resistance, which tries to prevent me from expressing myself and doing my creative work. (The War of Art, is a great book on this concept.) Last time I wrote (if you recall,) I had a pretty audacious Part in the driver’s seat, but this month I have to admit, I’m feeling quite a bit more meek.

I’ve been learning about Parts Work, Dreamwork, and Symbols recently, and those will be some of the topics I touch on this month. Parts Work, or Internal Family Systems, is a frame for seeing our psyches as multiplicities - that we each are more like a “cast of characters” if you will, than a single consistent personality. I won’t go into the details of it here (check out the book No Bad Parts for more) - but I’ll be using that language to frame my own experiences as I write.

Not long ago I took part in the ArtisTree Festival here in Victoria. I showed my paintings and sold prints, cards, and stickers of my work. It was a lovely weekend, and very gratifying to have meaningful conversations with so many of you about my paintings. Thanks to everyone who spoke with me, supported me with a purchase, or who signed up for this newsletter! To tie this back in with the topic of Parts, I was able to observe simultaneously throughout the weekend one Part of me that enjoyed all the attention and compliments, and another Part that felt shy and was compelled to deflect compliments rather than owning the success of my work (not too helpful for making sales, that one!) - a very interesting observation.

Chapter 1: Symbols vs Signs

In learning about Jung, and dreams, one of the key concepts I’ve come across is Symbols. Symbols have meaning, resonance, depth, and associations. Symbols point to something beyond rational comprehension and they never have one single meaning. Symbols are the kinds of images we find in dreams, and in art. Signs, on the other hand, are constructed by the conscious mind - they mean one specific thing (a stop sign, for instance, sign language, etc.) you can tell someone what a sign means and they either “get it” (right) or they don’t. Simple. Art doesn’t work like this, and neither do dreams.

There was a time that I was reluctant to say much about what my paintings mean, for fear of being prescriptive - and in favour of hearing varied interpretations from others. Now, with a better sense of Symbolic meaning generally, I really enjoy telling stories about my work - and I enjoy changing or adding new elements to the story when I uncover a new resonance or interpretation. So here are two of my oil paintings, and some stories around their meaning.

Chapter 2: Dharma

I call this painting Dharma, and it’s one of my favourites that I’ve created.

🌙 The image of the multi-phasic moons: Sets it in the mythic dimension. In sci-fi terms it would be another planet, but to me it’s indicating that this isn’t a literal depiction of anything “of this world.” Instead, it exists in the realm of myth and of dreams - in fact, I certainly think my subconscious had more to do with the creation of this painting than my conscious mind did, which is one reason it feels strange to accept compliments about it!

Many phases of the moon are shown at once, and this suggests the compression and expansion of time. Let’s say the time it takes me to complete an oil painting is 2 months. It’s a slow process, and many moments are woven into the tapestry of the final piece - it’s like a long-exposure photograph that way. It plays with the question; “How long is a moment?” which depends on the perceiver.

♒ The image of the man: He’s pouring water on a small piece of a vast arid landscape, and he’s pouring it where it will join the water of the river. He reminds me of Aquarius, the water bearer. He’s using his attention and his feeling (the water) to feed a small part of the world that he’s able to tend, to begin to regenerate the land. He is not being selfish, hoarding the water he has, he’s humbly contributing to the collective.

👁️ The image of the child: The child is covering their eyes while “looking” directly at the viewer. It’s like the practice of meditation. For the duration of a sit, we don’t give our attention to anything external. Just one breath after the other, bringing awareness back to this “moment,” attention. The child is innocent, and in order for us to do our work with joy, with love - to water our garden, so to speak, we should help our inner child remain so. The child blocks their eyes from the cynicism that can paralyze us as adults and rob us of wonder - the wonder that we need to be curious and creative at all.

📕 The story: A symbolic depiction of living in dharma. We focus on a small part of the world that is within our power to nurture, to love, to cultivate, and to improve. We give our gifts to the river of life, and work on behalf of the more-than-human-world. We do not cling to our ego as one set apart. Our attention is our most precious resource. There are things we must refrain from looking at when we are doing our work, when we are feeding our soul (which is an acorn.) How long will this task take? Aeons perhaps, or eternity, because it isn’t about the end. Carry water, carry water, carry water.

Chapter 3: Phoenix

I call this painting Phoenix. It has an almost celebratory feeling for me.

🕊️ The bird: Is a dove. Peace, flight, liberation. Renewal and hope. He too, traverses between worlds to fly in an impossible sky. He has reached the other side of the sun.

🔥 The red sphere: Is the essence of fire. It separates what has been from what could be. Ra. Horus. An eye. A hawk.

🌆 The crumbling city: Is crooked, chaotic, and falling down. What are we building here, really? The inertia of a mind with too many thoughts, one upon another, upon another, upon another. Rumination. Feeling stuck,

📘 The story: There is always the potential for the feeling of hope when it seems like the world is crumbling. Be reminded!
In the microcosm, when our inner world feels janky, chaotic, oppressive, or in ruins - a feeling of hope, renewal, freedom, and lightness is still available (through disidentification from the messy mind, that’s one way.) This image resonates with experiences of spiritual liberation that I’ve touched, however briefly in my life, in moments like that.
In the macrocosm, it’s important to hope that a more peaceful and free world can still rise from the ashes - somehow, sometime. If we don’t hope, we won’t try to build it. I’m reminded of Tim Leary responding to the question, “Are you an optimist?” - with “Yeah! But what choice do I have?” and Robert Anton Wilson - “The optimists do everything!”

What I’m reading:

A Wizard of Earthsea by Ursula K. Le Guin
&
The Secret of NIMH (Mrs. Frisby and the Rats of NIMH) by Robert C. O’Brien
(My favourite childhood story, I still enjoy it very much as an adult.)

What I’m listening to:

Beethoven’s Middle String Quartets
&
Bach’s Cello Suites

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That’s all for this one, if you’d like to connect, feel free to respond to this email. Thanks for reading!

Clark