The Truth As You See It

I've been in my South Florida home for a month now, and today, I finally got to the beach. What took me so long? Weather, of course. But today was hot (89 degrees!) and sunny and a perfect beach day. I wore a mask and walked quite far until I found a relatively isolated piece of beach. Spent a couple hours reading and staring at the ocean. It was all perfect . . . except for the plane that flew by with a banner that read "Best President Ever . . . Donald Trump." Okay, so some dude with a plane and a lot of money got to advertise his political preference for all to see. I convinced myself to not let it get to me. And then he was gone. Sort of like the president he was celebrating.

I am not a swimmer, but I am a beacher. (Auto-correct wanted to change that to "teacher," which was also true, but not anymore.) I was quite content with my 100% whole wheat Sun Chips and my water and my book. Okay, I'll be honest here . . . I also had a cold can of Goose Island "So-Lo," a 98-calorie IPA, which I bought by accident . . . last year. I guess canned beer cannot hold up over a year of refrigeration. When I opened the can, I got quite a shower of beer head, enough so that I had to travel down the hot sand to the water and clean myself up. And a low-calorie IPA? Bad idea! What was I thinking?

But the book I'm reading is quite compelling. My Name Is Asher Lev by Chaim Potok. My friend Shelly recommended it to me. Years ago, I read The Chosen by the same author, so I figured, okay. Now, I'm not that far into it yet, but I am definitely into it. Topic? Joseph Stalin's persecution of Jews in Russia. But it's never that simple, is it? Asher Lev, the young narrator, has artistic talent, which is not honored by his father. As a character in the story tells Asher, "As an artist, you are responsible to no one and to nothing, except to yourself and to the truth as you see it."

So I've been contemplating that wisdom. I have always known that my sanity relies on my inspiration, my accessibility to materials, my desire to BE CREATIVE. I need a project. That can be a blog, a poem, refinishing furniture, painting a room, even doing a jigsaw puzzle. For Shelly, it's painting. Rocks, canvas, it doesn't matter . . . she's painting, she's creating, she's responsible to the truth as she sees it. It grounds her.

And so that begs the question: what if you don't have the means to express yourself creatively? I've often thought about young people who don't have access to a piano, a guitar, an array of paints? What if they possess an amazing talent, but never have the means to discover it? It's a heartbreaking thought.

So crochet your afghans, paint your landscapes, write your poems, build your picnic tables, play your guitars, bake your casseroles, sing your songs, decorate your homes, plant your gardens, compose your memoirs . . . do whatever it is that you can do, and know your truth. Namaste.