Kathleen Avins
Crafting a life of art and heart.
  • Blog
  • About
  • Contact Me

7/24/2012 0 Comments

Summer Rerun #4:  Lucid dreaming and sacred storytelling.

(Originally appeared in Spiral Songs and Grace Notes, November 22, 2010.)

When my daughter was younger, we watched a lot of children’s television programs together. One of our mutual favorites was Blue’s Clues. I mostly liked it because of Steve Burns — and no, I wasn’t one of those fans; I just enjoyed his gentle charm and his subtle, sly humor.

As I recall, the show covered a number of preschool-friendly topics — colors, shapes, and numbers, sharing, friendship. There was one episode, however, that introduced viewers to a more abstract and very useful concept: lucid dreaming.

A character was shown being troubled by an unpleasant dream. Steve and Blue entered her dream and offered encouragement: “If you don’t like this dream, change it!”

Now, I don’t know how many preschoolers (or, for that matter, adults) are really capable of altering a dream’s direction in their sleep. What can be done, more easily, is to introduce changes after waking up.

“I was falling and I was going to crash and I was so scared!”
“Can you change that part of the dream? Can you grow some wings, ride on a friendly dragon, land in a Jell-O lake and just start bouncing and bouncing?”

I have one memory of being able to shift one of my dreams in this way. In my dream, I was a secret agent, and my cover was blown. My enemies were chasing me, and they had guns. Down hallways, in and out of motel rooms, until I found myself cornered, trapped, doomed.

Then I woke up just a little — just enough to think, “Wait! This is a dream! I can do anything I want!“

And I dove back into that dream, fists a-blazing, and stepped straight into my superpowers. Pow! No one could hurt me. I was invincible.

Now, here’s the question that recently popped gently into my head: If we can do that in our dreams, can’t we try it in our waking lives?

I mean, half the time lately, I feel as if I’m sleepwalking through my days anyway.

What if I can stop, take a breath, take a look at the dreams that I’m living — at the stories I tell myself daily — and simply ask, “Does it need to be this way? What would I like to be different? What can change?“

Quite a bit, I suspect. I’ll keep you posted.

0 Comments

7/6/2012 0 Comments

Summer Rerun #3:  The day I believed that cats could paint.

(Originally appeared in Spiral Songs and Grace Notes, June 30, 2011.)

I’ve been wanting to tell this story for a while now. Some of you may have already heard it, but perhaps you haven’t heard the whole thing.

It was, oh, let’s see, about fifteen years ago. I had spent the morning immersed in rehearsal, and now I was having an artist date: lunch and shopping at a mall in the city. I had some money to spend, and I was enjoying myself. I’d had sushi for lunch, and had just bought a gorgeous pottery mug, earthy purple and brown, adorned with figures dancing by the fire. (I still have that mug.)

Then I went into the bookstore next door, and began poking around.

I was having a wonderful time. I was in total artist date mode: blissfully solitary, delighting in my own company, following my nose and open to everything. Wide open. That’s the best explanation I can offer for what happened next.

I saw a book. Maybe you’ve seen it yourself. It became fairly popular, but at the time I believe it was still quite new, and certainly I’d never seen it before: Why Cats Paint.

I picked it up, and began flipping through the pages. I was enchanted. Wow! There are people who believe that cats paint? Cool! Hey, maybe they do! Why not, after all? Yeah, why not? This is fabulous!

I bought the book, of course. It was that kind of day. Besides, I was eager to know more. I flipped through the pages on the train ride home, splashing joyfully rather than drinking deeply. I was so happy.

Then I got home to my partner, and excitedly showed him the book. “Look at this!”

He looked at it. Smirked. “Cute. It’s a joke, of course.”

“What? No, it’s not a joke! I know it looks like one, but they’re serious! The authors have — wait, let me show you…”

And I looked.

But something had changed.

Suddenly, it was a joke.

Satire. Rich, detailed satire. Tongue firmly in cheek. Sly, witty, droll.

How could I have missed it?

I was so embarrassed, I couldn’t even bear to keep the book. I ended up giving it as a birthday gift to a friend who loved cats. I think she liked it. She certainly seemed to appreciate the humor.

Before I gave it to her, though, I showed the book to a number of other people. Most of them chuckled: very cute, a good joke. Only a very few people lit up inside, eyes widening, and said, “Wow! Is this true?”

(They were my siblings. Coincidence? I’m guessing not.)

The whole thing is still a bit of a mystery to me. I mean, I’m not an idiot, and I’m usually not a fool. I understand satire; I love satire. And no, there were no pharmaceuticals or other foreign substances involved — nothing tangible, anyway.

For a few hours, I lived in a world where cats might paint.

And it was beautiful.

Perhaps I’ll find my way back there someday.

0 Comments

    Welcome!

    I'm Kathleen Avins, a music therapist and an artist.

    Archives

    April 2014
    March 2014
    February 2014
    January 2014
    December 2013
    November 2013
    October 2013
    September 2013
    August 2013
    July 2013
    June 2013
    May 2013
    April 2013
    March 2013
    February 2013
    January 2013
    December 2012
    November 2012
    October 2012
    September 2012
    August 2012
    July 2012
    June 2012
    May 2012
    April 2012
    March 2012
    February 2012
    January 2012

    Categories

    All

    RSS Feed

    Picture
    The Dragonfly Effect! Created for me by Tori Deaux. Thanks, Tori!