K's Bloomin' Art Garden

1-21-21

2021-01-24T06:51:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, my heart broke open

and four years of negativity floated away.

Today, the air is lighter,

the sun is brighter,

and I can embrace the potential of tomorrow.

Reclaiming the Feminine

2020-12-30T12:41:00.003-07:00

Reclaiming the Feminine

Taking back my womanhood one house project at a time

Photo by Brooke Lark on Unsplash

When did the patriarchy decide women were incapable of so many things? In what exact year did men take the power unto themselves and subject women to generations of oppression?

That is a question I often ponder as I find ways to take back my feminine power.

Today I changed the fill valve in my toilet. It was a simple task that I ruminated over for days, wondering how much a plumber would charge me to do it? But then I’d have to worry about potential Covid-19 exposure from allowing a stranger into my house, so I was not eager to call. Plus, that whole contractors who talk down to women thing, and possibly being overcharged for simply being female. Not cool.

Toilet fill valve project. Photo 12.30.20 by K. A. Bennett

So I did what I’ve been doing since I no longer have a man in the house to do those handyman chores…I watched a YouTube video.

Changing a toilet fill valve is not difficult and should be up there on things for everyone to learn, like changing the tire on a car. The actual part cost me around $8.00 and took all of 20 minutes, even with my steep learning curve and trouble getting the water supply connecter nut unscrewed. (Why did the ex always overtighten everything???)

Plus, the fill valve box had directions, and detailed paper instructions were included with the part. Why did I think it was going to be so difficult for me to do such a simple thing? Perhaps because the last time dude changed the fill valve in that toilet, he made it seem like it was such an ordeal. Really?

Toilet fill valve installed. Photo 12.30.20 by K. A. Bennett

Why do men do this? Or is it just the special kind of men I attract into my life?

As I round the corner on the second half of my life, I do finally understand how the patriarchal system has groomed us all (men and women) to maintain the status quo of men having the power, being more intelligent, and more capable than women.

Well, I say bullocks to all that nonsense!! No more. Not for me. I have wasted too much time listening to what I can’t do and feeling incapable.

Now I am learning. In this age of technology, there is absolutely no reason why I can’t do the research and watch the videos and give it a try before I call in the experts. Maybe I won’t have to call anyone and I can do it myself.

I am aware that a lot of my self-talk is steeped in patriarchal nonsense, and my fear is based on the lies I was taught by a society hellbent on keeping men in the power seat.

So today I changed the toilet fill valve.

Last month I fixed a ceiling that was damaged by a roof leak last summer. I procrastinated that repair for months and finally called a contractor for an estimate. Not only did he come into my house and wear his mask half-assed, but he wanted to charge me 1400$ for the job, inflating the cost of materials (which I happen to know the price of), and explaining how difficult it would be because of the 10 foot ceiling height. Hogwash.

I fixed the ceiling with drywall scraps I found in my basement from other jobs. I stood on a ladder. It took me a solid week of 8 hour days to get the ceiling fixed, the entire 200 square foot room walls repaired, everything textured, primed, and painted. The materials cost came in at about $200.

Bedroom repair project. Photo 12.30.20 by K A. Bennett

Go me.

Sure, my back hurt like a mother every day, and my hands are still recovering, but I did it. I didn’t need a team of men, although to be honest, my two teenage kids helped prime and paint. We did it. We were and are perfectly capable.

Last week I installed new outlets and a light switch in the same room. I overcame my fear, turned off the power, and just did it.

I am celebrating my accomplishments now.

Today I changed the fill valve on my toilet, and although it was not a big thing, it was huge, absolutely f’n enormous! I am well on my way to becoming an empowered woman.

Thank you for reading.

This article was first published 12.30.20 on Medium.com

Kerry Bennett is a Creative Gen X, divorced, single mom, who holds an MA in Cultural Resource Management and a BA in anthropology. She blogs at K’s Bloomin’ Art Garden and her artwork can be found at Kerry A. Bennett Fine Art.

Straight Edge

2020-12-12T11:44:00.003-07:00

Industrialized Isolation (2000) by K.A. Bennett

Straight Edge

A simple line defined us,

separated us,

kept us true to form--

you on one side,

and me on the edge,

trying not to fall into your uptight reality.

A line, the shortest distance

between two points--

me at one end of the Universe

and you at the other.

You could not tame the wild.

I could not color inside the lines

you drew around me

to contain my absurdity.

I jumped over your lines

and played hopscotch

with your predictable boxes

until it became too much

for both of us.

My scribbled lines

turned into a roadmap away

from you.

Now we stand

in separate lines

and wait for our lives to unfold

in different directions.

You conform to the rigidity

you crave

and find comfort

in your own predictability.

I scatter the lines like pickup sticks

and let them fall into chaos

I deliberately sweep away.

Bring Back the Victory Garden

2020-03-24T14:15:00.001-06:00

How to start seeds and get a garden going in times of mass hysteria and economical upheaval

Photo by Christian Joudrey on Unsplash

It might be a good year for a garden, considering everyone has a scarcity mindset and is cleaning off the grocery store shelves. Times are crazy stupid right now and people are in panic mode, stockpiling whatever they can find at the store.

Personally, I am too afraid to leave my house, and I plant a garden every year out of habit anyway. When I heard COVID-19 hit the US, I upped my garden anty. I started more seeds than usual and prepared my outdoor garden beds with some lovely alpaca manure I found locally.

Now I am getting texts and questions from people passing by my yard on how to start a garden. It is kind of late in the game to start seeds, but worth a shot. We could all use a little food security right now.

And with all of our time off, gardening will give us something productive to do besides feed our own anxiety. But by all means, do it alone. With your family or housemates. Stay away from others. At least six feet. Probably more.

If you have seeds, get them started. If you can still find seeds to buy, do it.

To start seeds, put them in little containers of soil — hey, make tiny planting containers out of all those toilet paper rolls from the TP you overstocked up on. I’m sure you’ve nearly used it all up by now, right?

Use old cans — you know from the canned goods you also stockpiled. Give them a good rinse and they are good to go.

Use dixie cups or plastic cups. Use newspaper. Whatever. Google it.

Find some soil. Good luck with mail-order delivery options. (I am still waiting on soil from Amazon and it may come too late to use for seedling transplants.)

Fill your containers and get those seeds in the dirt. Try to put a light on them if you can. You can mail order LED shoplights for pretty cheap. That’s what I did and that’s what I am using. Seems to be working fine.

Keep the soil in your containers moist and warm. Keep your mini garden inside and keep an eye on your cups of dirt. I use a spray bottle to water my seeds and seedlings.

It is so exciting to see the sprouts start to poke through the dirt. They will. It may take a few days or even up to week or so for seeds to wake up.

Germination time is usually mentioned on seed packets. Most of my seeds come from last year’s garden, so it is always a surprise to see what will come up. Coax those little seeds on with words of love and positive energy.

That’s it. Baby those babies until threat of frost in your area passes.

Prepare a garden bed outside. If you are lacking in funds, just find a plot of dirt and double dig it — turn the soil twice to soften it up. About six to eight inches deep. Rake it smooth. Plant seeds and seedlings when it’s time.

If you have the means, get some soil delivered from your local landscape company. Topsoil. Compost. Mix it up and make some beds.

Raised beds can be created out of wood, stones, concrete rubble, cement blocks, old tires, or just about anything that will sort of hold the dirt in. You might use the empty bottles from your liquor store hoard. Turn them upside down with the necks stuck in the ground to create a garden bed perimeter. It looks kind of cool with the sun reflecting off the colored bottles.

Get creative in your garden!

Amend your garden bed soil if you can. Add fertilizer. Most fertilizers need to be composted before they can be added to the garden or they will burn your plants, i.e. kill them. Camelid (alpaca, llama) manure doesn’t burn and can be added directly into the garden.

If you can buy garden soil from the landscape company, do it.

Start a compost bin. You know, save all those plant-based food scraps and give them back to the Earth. Your garden will love it. Composting is another garden lesson (Google it). You can also compost eggshells to add minerals to your garden.

So that’s it. Start those seeds and watch them turn into real-life plants. If your plants get too big for your tiny starting containers before it’s time to plant, transfer them carefully to bigger containers. Use what you have on hand (margarine, cottage cheese containers, etc.) or buy pots if you are wealthy. Whatever. Put in some clean potting soil and move those seedlings to a bigger home.

Because I over plant each seed start container, I have multiple seedlings sprouting in each pot. Normally I would thin them out and leave just one or two in the container, but because the world is crazy, I am trying to transplant every plant that looks healthy.

I am planning on having a big garden this year!

Photo by CHU TAI on Unsplash

What about you? Are you ready to take your food security into your own hands?

Get that garden going, even if it is in pots and containers on your balcony. You can do it!

This year we need to bring back the Victory Garden in a big way. I hope to see gardens in all of my neighbor’s front yards.

If we all grow a garden, we can trade plants and harvest in the new economy we will have to create when this mess passes.

Good luck and stay healthy!

Thank you for reading.

Originally published on Medium.com

Mirror, mirror

2020-01-12T08:00:00.000-07:00

I can never expect to be seen if I remain invisible to myself.

My perception of who I am is changing.

The mirror is not my friend, but I must look at myself
to discover who I am becoming.

Who do I want to be?

I am only invisible
when I do not see myself
for who I really am.

----------

Photo by Paul Blenkhorn @SensoryArtHouse on Unsplash

Perception fluctuates--
fluid viscosity.

Thoughts stir anxiety
within layers of expectation
that freeze into bridges
that I burn
again and again.

Reality melts and bends
to fit my unclear focus.

I don't know
where I belong
anymore.

My vision is blurred
by too many colors
of a past no longer relevant
and a present displayed
through dirty, cracked lenses
I wear with obvious regret.

The river runs blind,
south, towards dreams
I thought I left behind
and the same old desert signs
haunt my tormented, lonely mind.

It is all just liquid--
energy puddling at my feet,
running back and forth
between here and there,
then and now.

And so, I haphazardly finger paint
with my unwanted emotions,
trying to see a pattern
in the madness,
in the swirling, whirling
nonsensical coincidences
that form the stepping stones
out

of the murky, vague, stagnant pond
that has become my day to day.

Realign.

Follow the water under the bridge
past the screaming demons
and back into the familiar chaos
of constant change.

The sun sets in fiery hues
as spirits call me back home
to a high desert landscape
that quenches my soul.

I am awakening.

© 1.12.2020 K. A. Bennett. All rights reserved.

Because She Can't Resist 11.17.19

2019-11-17T09:54:00.001-07:00

A woman determined and possessed,
wielding power tools, no less,

left alone in an historic home
will undoubtedly fidget with history
to uncover hidden treasures
and solve the nagging mysteries.

A woman with a hammer
and a prybar in her hand
might be compelled to break and pull
at things that don’t belong,

with glorified ideas
of finding underneath the lies
some old Victorian charm.

She will attend deliberately
to painted wooden trim
with lofty goals to free the wood
and find history untouched within.

She will rip out dated carpet
in search of hardwood floors,
ponder uneven disgrace,
and wonder, what was there before?

She will file her chipped and ragged nails
shrug it off with mild chagrin,
promise herself and a neglected house
to find beauty once again.

A woman with tools and too much time
is a force for renovation,
she will demolish the unwanted
with little hesitation.

She will scratch to-do items off her list
renovate to heart’s content,
consider work and time well spent —

an investment in herself
and a gift to the beloved house

who gives back in security,
in satisfaction, hope,
and fleeting moments of serenity.

This poem was originally published in Poetic Ramblings From the Spiritual Abyss on Medium.com.

My Heart Belongs to Sage 11.17.19

2019-11-17T09:26:00.000-07:00

My Heart Belongs to Sage

Photo by Dan Meyers on Unsplash

eternal longing

for rays of healing and warm

desert sunshine days

I used to live in Taos, New Mexico, out near the Taos Gorge, in a sea of sagebrush. The adobe dirt was soft and supple. I still dream of building a clay house to hide in the high desert — a place uninterrupted by the trappings of mainstream society; a place to simply enjoy the sky and create art. For now, my memories remind me of the sun and the smell of sage after a rainstorm. It is enough. For now.

© 2019 K. A. Bennett. All rights reserved.

This poem was originally published in Poetic Ramblings From the Spiritual Abyss on Medium.com.

Own It!

2019-11-14T10:33:00.003-07:00

Photo by Antoine GIRET on Unsplash

Listen to a reading of this poem.

Ownership
of the material
is fleeting and ambiguous.

We borrow space
to simply be
in community

with seven point five billion
other souls
on our wonderous,
spinning home.

We all share
responsibility
to care for one another
and our Mother.

Our occupation
of our Earth
requires an awareness

of our physical actions
and our mental energy

in planned reactions

to give and take
in conscious equilibrium.

Gaia weeps and waits
for balance restoration.

We are One in concert,
creating,
or annihilating our home.

We must live gently
in possession
of the space and place
where Nature exists.

In honor, we are grateful
for air and water and soil,

and remaining opportunity

to fight for our rights
to build a better future
for all.

It’s time now,
in world partnership,
to clean our house
and repair our home.

This poem was originally published in Spiritual Ramblings from the Spiritual Abyss on Medium.com

Surrender Into Flow

2019-11-13T08:52:00.002-07:00

Photo by Sensory Art House on Unsplash

I reluctantly forgo
my own need and desire
to create reason
out of madness.

It is when I refrain
from playful musings
that the seriousness
of my own unhappiness
sneaks up on me —
an ominous shadow
— apathetic and foreboding.

Desist, black mood —
I resist your call
and subtle attempts
to trap me in
resentment.

I waive my rights
to be morose
and relinquish
all attempts
to control negativity.

With determination,
I quit the trappings
of depression
and find courage
to seek joy and meaning
in life represented.

I abandon myself
to simple creativity
and settle into quiet awe
of birthing new ideas
in anticipated glee.

Serendipity sits
in silent queue
waiting for opportune moments
to appear and be recognized.

I give up and give in
to the Universal pull
that carries me forward
on urges of creative flow.

Unobstructed,
I am free.

This poem was originally published in Poetic Ramblings From the Spirtual Abyss on Medium.com.

Learning to Breathe

2019-11-11T08:22:00.002-07:00

Photo by Noah Silliman on Unsplash

Rampant, wild thoughts,
fleeting,
pass through
and beyond;

silence sits
in concentrated effort
holding space,

timeless grace
in studied breaths
of peace.

This poem was originally published in Spiritual Ramblings from the Spiritual Abyss on Medium.com.

Halloween Snow Day

2019-10-31T16:02:00.001-06:00

Photo by Josh Hild on Unsplash

Listen to a reading of this poem on SoundCloud.

October snow heavy on the ground,

on the cars and roofs,

on the bending deciduous trees,

on memories of children playing

in bubbled snowsuits

with red noses and steaming breath

--in past Decembers.

Shivers underneath thick coats,

and mandatory interior sweaters,

unable to fight off chills

from subzero fall weather

that grabs at fragile water lines

and pulls every bit of heat out

into the white, frigid landscape.

Chilled inside and out,

snuggled into blankets,

insulated from winter thoughts

with dreams of Autumn days lost

to snow falling in waves of cold fluff,

hiding orange and black decorations.

Halloween will come tentatively this year

with furnace raging and mugs of hot chocolate,

every child dressed as

the abominable snowman--

herds of snowsuits

wading through the winter white

in search of candy and warm toes again.

-----

This poem was originally published in Blue Insights on Medium.com

Kerry Bennett holds an MA in Cultural Resource Management and a BA in anthropology. Kerry is restoring/renovating a Victorian house in the arid southwest where she lives with her two children, a plethora of pets, and the creative ghost of her unpredictable muse. She has written for local newspapers and won awards for poetry published in literary journals. She blogs at K’s Bloomin’ Art Garden and her artwork can be found at Kerry A. Bennett Fine Art.

Money Makes an Old House Sing

2019-09-22T10:40:00.003-06:00

A house restoration poem.

Change of Seasons

2019-09-17T10:58:00.000-06:00

Wind blows in, ruffling
the delicate colored skirts
of Fall's new wardrobe.

© K. A. Bennett 2019. All rights reserved.

Kerry Bennett holds an MA in Cultural Resource Management, is an anthropologist, environmentalist, Ordained Minister, Certified Life Coach, visual artist, and writer. Kerry is restoring/renovating a Victorian house in the arid southwest where she lives with her two children, a plethora of pets, and the creative ghost of her unpredictable muse. She has written for local newspapers and has been published in literary journals. She blogs at K's Bloomin' Art Garden and her artwork can be found at Kerry A. Bennett Fine Art.

Lamenting the Loss of the Sacred Cow

2019-09-12T19:59:00.004-06:00

Wishful eyes set adrift on pompous dreams
of cotton candy fantasies;
superfluous words fly into the gaping mouth
of an uncontained, unrestrained ego;
vomit an epiphany of absurd redundancy;
swift thoughts vanish into the sludge abyss of mediocrity;
blackness rapes paisley fields of nevermore--
sweet melancholy, rejoice--
bittersweet rejuvenation sings a solemn song
of celebrated anguish;
stampedes of ailing coyotes take wing
and circle the moon;
the ending's arrival makes a grand display
none too soon.

© K. A. Bennett 2019. All rights reserved.

(This poem of absurdity was originally published on my profile page on Medium.com 9.12.19. You can see it here. The poem is in itself a commentary on my experience with being a writer on Medium.com.)

Kerry Bennett holds an MA in Cultural Resource Management, is an anthropologist, environmentalist, Ordained Minister, Certified Life Coach, visual artist, and writer. Kerry is restoring/renovating a Victorian house in the arid southwest where she lives with her two children, a plethora of pets, and the creative ghost of her unpredictable muse. She has written for local newspapers and has been published in literary journals. She blogs at K's Bloomin' Art Garden and her artwork can be found at Kerry A. Bennett Fine Art.

What Can I Do Today?

2019-09-06T14:08:00.000-06:00

A free verse poem
published on Medium 9.5.19

In silence, I sit,
seeking significant moments
of awakened realizations.

It’s divine to be alone,
to celebrate a coming home —
a delectable return to self-awareness.

Before me lies the world,
in all its burning glory.
My heart is heavy with acceptance
of the failed human story.

My hands bleed.
I am guilty of mindless capitalism,
trapped in nihilism,
reaching for answers in the status quo.

In silence, I sit,
seeking ego validation,
wanting my solitary actions
to have meaningful intention.

Going within,
I spin into anticipated potential
and own personal responsibility
for choices I have made.

Perception changes
when I climb out of stagnation,
release ego,
and move to focused action.

I sit in silence
and contemplate my words and my power.
I reclaim my feminine and ask Earth Mother,
What can I do today?

I Am A Lazy Gardener But My Garden Persists

2019-08-23T11:41:00.002-06:00

"I Am a Lazy Gardener But My Garden Persists," published on Medium.com 8.23.19

Without You 8.19.19

2019-08-19T08:37:00.001-06:00

A free verse poem
Published on Medium 8.19.19

Without you
It has taken me a year
To learn the landscape of my empty bed;
To become comfortable
Taking up space;
To remember who I am

Without you

I release
A tightly held past,
Learn new skills--
Forget how to argue;
Let judgment fade

Without you

My hands have forgotten
The shape of your body
Next to mine.

It all fades into yesterdays--
The taste of your lips,
Your morning sounds,
Our shared dreams

Without you

A liquid future slips through my fingers--
An unknown thing,
That pools at my feet.

With the courage of a warrior goddess
I take one step into uncertainty,
Into myself,
And begin the journey forward,

Without you.

~K

The Art of Journaling--Holding Space for Myself Through Words

2019-08-14T09:29:00.003-06:00

Published on Medium.com 8.13.19

I have stacks and stacks of old journals. Some have pretty covers that urge me to reach out and pick them up. Others are plain little books that seem drab and unworthy of holding the written treasures of my life. Sometimes I use a simple spiral notebook to record my thoughts and feelings. Ultimately, the vehicle in which I take my written journey isn’t all that important.

When the need to write calls, it doesn't matter where I write, just that the page is blank and willing to hold my thoughts and ideas.

My journals have been my safe space to "talk" about my life and the feelings I have as I navigate the ups and downs of daily living. Filling empty pages with my feelings, hopes, and dreams has always been my personal home-based therapy.

When I write, I have the opportunity to purge my mind of negativity and find clarity in my thinking patterns. As I practice the art of daily journaling, I begin to recognize my own toxic thoughts.

With recognition comes the ability to change.

For the past couple of days, I have been reading my old journals. Whenever I am feeling down or in a depressive funk, I pull out an old journal and become reacquainted with a younger version of myself. Often, reading about my past lifts my current mood and allows me to consider how far I have come in my own life.

The two journals I picked out of the stack this past week were from 2011 and 2012. At that time my husband and I were living in a rural setting trying to run a Permaculture homestead with chickens, goats, llamas and a multitude of gardens. We would sell produce, eggs, and raw goat milk shares to members of a local food co-op.

Back then, I was having some success selling my watercolors at the Farmer's Market every week. I was thrilled to be painting and selling my work. My youngest children were so little then at two and three years old. My older girls were sixteen and nineteen and in well into the throes of their own teenage angst.

There were ups and downs during that time period. My husband hurt his back working on an Earthbag llama barn and was barely able to move, let alone work on the homestead. I had to take up the slack and take care of the animals and gardens. I also had to run the household and take care of the children. It was not an easy time. Because my husband was unable to work as much, our financial situation quickly began to falter. I was a stay at home mom without an income at that time. It was rough, but I got through it. We got through it.

Now, as I clean my house of unwanted clutter, I ponder my stash of old journals that hide in boxes under my bed. What do I do with them? Is it time to let them go and release my past for good? It seems like the symbology of tossing out my old journals might require some sort of personal ceremony. I am not sure what that looks like right now. Maybe I am not ready to let them go just yet.

Reading and rereading my old journals shows how resilient I have been when times have been tough. My journals also contain so many memories of children's birthdays, goat birthings, abundant garden harvests, and our connections to the local community. They are full of poetry and an occasional sketch. Stuck in between the pages are ticket stubs, photographs, dried wildflowers, and my children's art--tangible evidence of happy times. The journals are my life in words, contained in little bound books, which I can go back to again and again when I need to.

Writing works as a creative meditation that brings me back to myself.

When I journal, the mind chatter stops and I focus on what I am feeling right now, in the present moment. The emotions come out onto the paper and I have a chance to think about what it all means on a deeper level.

The patterns of unhappy thinking in my journals have not surprised me, but my ability to bounce back from my depressive episodes quickly has. What did I do?

Through my journaling, I was able to release the negative thoughts that swirled in my mind and set them free with positive affirmations.

My spiritual gurus--Eckhart Tolle, Wayne Dyer, Louise Hay, Byron Katie--always show up in my old journals. Their teachings have brought me out of my negative funk time and time again, and for that, I will be forever grateful.

Positive affirmations go a long way. I have pages and pages of one sentence affirmations. Maybe writing the words over and over again helped me to believe them.

"I love and approve of myself."

"I trust my intuition."

"Right now, at this moment, I am okay."

Journaling has kept me present in my own life. Through writing, I am able to keep my emotions in check and counterbalance the negative with positive.

I don't know when I stopped my daily journaling practice. It might have been when I went back to college to get my graduate degree and time became such a valuable commodity. I was so focused on the external things that were happening in my life that I forgot about my inner well-being. I fell back into the depression that has been ever-present at the edges of my mind. I got stuck in the "pain body" as Eckhart Tolle refers to that state of mind that feeds itself on negativity.

I have been so trapped in my own mind cage of sadness and despair that I couldn't see any way out.
The mind chatter is all negative. My inner critic is relentless in reminding me what I do wrong and what could go wrong if I try anything different.

But my inner critic is not to be trusted! I have learned to dismiss the negative self-talk and replace it with positive affirmations. I learned this by reading numerous self-help books, but also by cementing those ideas through my journaling.

Journaling has been my lifeline in times of turmoil.

It's time to go back to my daily journal. It's time to revisit positive affirmations and simple gratitudes. I need my journaling practice like I need fresh air. It keeps me sane.

My boxes of old journals under the bed have reminded me that today is a new day and it is never too late to start again. When you live with depression you have to hold that idea next to your heart and take it out and remind yourself.

Every single day and every single moment I have the opportunity to simply begin again.

I am looking forward to reestablishing a writing relationship with myself.

Now when I look at my old journals, I realize that I am not ready to discard them. They are filled with negativity, sure, but they are also filled with joy and so much hope. Those prose filled pages hold the weight of my struggles with myself; they tell the story of who I was, who I am and who I want to be. They are old friends.

I could leave the journals in boxes, hidden under my bed, but I think it would be more appropriate to take them out, one by one, and thank my past self for having the courage to express herself through words. I am proud of my words. I need to give them the reverence they deserve on a shelf where I can see them and remember my stories.

Today begins a new chapter in the book of my life. Every single day I get to turn the page and start again if that is what I need to do.

Welcome back, my beautiful words! I can't wait to get to know you as you fill the empty pages of my new journal. This next chapter is going to be absolutely wonderful!

© K. A. Bennett 2019. All rights reserved.

Conquering Self-doubt 8.1.19

2019-08-01T18:34:00.001-06:00

Conquering Self-doubt
Published on Medium.com 8.1.19

We all have moments when self-doubt creeps into our lives. Some of us who live with the symptoms of depression experience this more often than not. Self-doubt combined with anxiety is a strong combination that fuels procrastination.

This past week I have been trying to finish something, and I am happy to say that I actually did it!

Spurred on by a call for art for a local art show, I managed to finish a piece I have been procrastinating about for more than a year. I also created an entirely new piece. Those were major accomplishments for me.

I have been isolating myself socially for about two years now. I have been afraid to put myself into a public setting where I might have to actually have conversations with people. Real conversations.

I have gone to a few art shows where the conversations have been trivial, and that suits me fine for now. I have personally been having issues with sharing too much of my own struggles inappropriately. I embarrass myself and make people uncomfortable. This is not the key to strong social networking.

As a result of my inopportune need to spill my guts in front of unsuspecting potential friends, I have not allowed myself to interact with others on a very frequent basis. The trauma to all of us is just too much.

Entering my art in a local art show was a big step for me towards getting out of my self-imposed prison of solitude.

I finished the art, which was the first step. The second step was actually taking my art to the gallery and leaving it there to be hung in the upcoming show. That was hard. I almost didn't make it.

I tried to come up with all of the reasons why I should not enter the show. The entry fee was too expensive. My art is no good. I wouldn't finish in time. No one wants to see my art anyway. I might have to explain my art to strangers. That's a big one.

This particular show is about suicide awareness, which for me means shedding light on all of those things that make me unhappy. While I am not in any danger of taking my own life, I have had thoughts about it in the past, and still wonder what I have to contribute positively to the world. Why am I even here?

My art pieces explore my emotional issues on a deeper level. I have always used art as a therapeutic tool to discover things about myself on a deeper level. I have used art to express my moods and fears. So putting my art, this particular art, into a public setting for others to see was an act of courage.

I conquered my self-doubt and did it anyway, knowing that I don't have many opportunities to show my art. I procrastinate my way around almost any chance I could utilize to become more known as an artist. I want more recognition. Wouldn't it be great to sell more art? But at the same time, I don't want to have to explain myself to others. I don't necessarily want to talk about my artwork.

Ironically, the part I like best about attending art shows is talking with artists about their work. What does it mean? Why did they create it? Is there a deeper meaning that goes beyond the surface? Artists are wonderfully deep people and I enjoy spending time getting to know them.

But me? I am still pretty sure no one wants to talk to me or get to know me. I know this stems from just coming out of a relationship with a man that never really had an interest in me as a person. I was just an accessory in his life. My childhood was similar. My parents had little interest in me and my sister absolutely wanted to avoid me at all costs.

My self-esteem has been pretty nonexistent for my entire life. That's nearly half a century of just putting up with myself without giving myself the attention that I could never get from anyone else. I see a pattern.

Putting my art in this art show was validating. Not because my work will be seen by others, but because I found the courage to do something for myself. My creativity has been my only constant. And in spite of the fact that most of the important people in my life dismissed my artistic tendencies as trivial, I persisted.

My creativity is one thing I really like about myself. My work may not be as good as others or good at all, in some cases, but I keep on creating regardless. I am a creative person. I have to create. I have to use my mind and my hands to make things. Even if people don't understand my work or it doesn't resonate with them, I still have to make it because creating makes me feel whole.

This particular art show resonates with me because of the funk I have been in for so many years. I get it.

Depression is hard to live with--get out of bed every morning and function--hard to live with. It is difficult to talk to others about what is going on in your head when you are in the grips of depression.

It is difficult to explain to people you haven's seen for years why you just dumped a load of emotional garbage into their lap when you don't understand it yourself. (Actually, it's about never being heard, and the overwhelming desire or need to just have someone listen and validate your feelings.)

So yeah, maybe I have some ulterior motive about entering my art in this show. Maybe I am looking for validation of some sort. Maybe if people see my work they will see me, or at least a part of me.

I don't want people to think I live in a dark place all of the time. My art for this show is not all of who I am, but it is a piece of me and tells the story of my journey in some little way.

I think art does that. It takes us on a journey into another place, both as a viewer and as an artist. Without expression, who would we be? Who would I be?

When I took my art to the gallery for this exhibit, it was with trembling hands that I filled out the intake paperwork. I was anxious. I was in the clutches of my own self-doubt and my inner critic was wreaking havoc on my mind.

But if ever there was a show I need right now, this is it. I need to conquer my own self-doubt and be a part of the artistic community around me, not as a bystander, but as a participant. I need to show my self-expression. I need to share my message.

I still have time to procrastinate going to the opening tomorrow night. I will be anxious and downright afraid of getting negative responses to my work. I know that won't happen. The art people in my town are wonderful, caring beings who fully understand that artists see and live life a little differently than the mainstream. For that I am thankful.

I hope I decide to go to the art opening. I need to see everyone's work. I need to see how other artists cope with the subject of depression. I need to see hope hanging on the wall. I need to experience that journey as a viewer into a different perspective so that I might gain some perspective on my own life.

If I don't go, I will never know how my work looks hanging next to the talented artists that surround me in my community. I will not get to be a part of something bigger than me. I will not get to feel the loving energy in the room when such a sensitive subject as suicide is tackled.

Everyone's life is worth something. Everyone matters. Each expression of creativity is unique and should be appreciated as such.

We can't let our own self-doubt hold us back from reaching for a dream, from striving to heal and become better, or from sharing our stories. We all matter. We all have worth. Our voices deserve to be heard.

Love is the answer.

Climate Change Apathy -- A Personal Story 7.24.19

2019-07-25T11:30:00.001-06:00

Climate Change Apathy — A Personal Story

I am extremely disheartened by the apathy in my country. Not only is there a lack of compassion towards people (re: migrants fleeing violence and climate change — i.e.climate refugees), but there is a seemingly huge disinterest in solving the climate crisis.

People continue to go about their business of supporting capitalism with little to no thought about what the capitalist paradigm has done and is doing to our planet. Certainly, there are the naysayers who don’t even believe in climate change, although with the hard science to back it up, I am not sure why that is still an issue. Maybe denial. If people continue to live in denial they don’t have to take personal responsibility for anthropogenic induced climate change. Is that it?

The bizarre weather around the planet should be setting off alarm bells. Everyone should be paying attention to what is happening — if not in the world, then in their own communities. The flooding, the superstorms, the abnormal heat waves, and frigid cold spells are telling us that something is going on with our climate.

It is going to get worse before it gets better. Personally, I am very afraid. So much so that for the past twenty years I have been trying to find a suitable place to land to create a sustainable future for my family.

My husband (now ex-husband) and I started growing vegetables in our back yard as soon ad we started cohabitating. When we bought our own house, we added chickens. It only took a few years to realize that we wanted a larger space to garden and maybe keep goats for milk. Our lovely house was more expensive than we wanted to deal with long term, so we sold it and moved to the country.

Our entire homesteading experiment was a learning experience. (Read about our homesteading experiences here: https://onelittlefarm.blogspot.com) We got our goats, learned to milk them and make cheese. We sold eggs, milk, cheese, vegetables, and plant starts through the local food coop. It was never enough to support our family financially, but our diets had changed for the better from the Standard American Diet (SAD) to one that was mostly organic and made of real food.

We had about two and a half acres at our country home. We kept chickens, goats and I got two llamas in the hopes of utilizing their fiber and teaching them to pack. Some of our neighbors were supportive of our endeavors and I often gave farm tours of our little homestead. My husband taught classes in chicken keeping, gardening and other homestead skills. Life was almost good.

We had our ups and downs as a family with two small children and two teenagers, but we were getting by and building our dream. Until they (horrid Big Oil Industry) started fracking the land around us. This was never disclosed to us when we bought our property. Perhaps none of it started before we signed the mortgage, but it was a deal-breaker for us. We couldn’t stay there when we knew the potential harm that fracking could cause to our family and to our homestead. We became climate refugees--migrants looking for an environmentally clean place to live.

We ended up bouncing around the southwest, renting houses with acreage so we could keep our livestock and have room to garden. Some of our rentals were nightmares and some were a dream. We rented an Earthship outside of Taos, New Mexico for a little over a year and that was one of the best experiences I have ever had. That’s a story all its own.

Needless to say, we had to find our own place that we could put down permanent roots. Renting did not give us the ability to really do the things we wanted. We bought land in New Mexico and in Colorado, thinking each time we found our place to be. We even grew hemp on our property the first year it was legal to do so in Colorado. But code regulations or finances eventually sent us back to a city to look for a stable income. It turns out that not many people were really interested in our homesteading classes or organically produced food — not enough to support our family financially. Capitalism was killing us.

When we were in Taos we tried to belong to a community barter system and timebank with less than successful results. Everywhere we ended up, we struggled to make ends meet and decided we could move back to the city and try to make a go of our homestead in an urban setting. We had to sell off all of our livestock because the city we chose would not allow anything, not even backyard chickens.

At that time, I was pretty disillusioned with our homesteading endeavors anyway. We were spending more in organic feed than we could justify. Nothing was balancing out. We couldn’t find organically grown hay or alfalfa, although those crops were not sprayed as far as we knew where we bought it. I was tired.

Country folks seemed resistant to organically produced crops. A lot of people raised cattle for their livelihood and were not interested in changing things in how they ran their operations. We did meet a few organic farmers and were delighted to do business with them when we could. Sometimes we had the opportunity to learn from them as well, and that was the silver lining in our rural living experiment.

Everything my husband and I did for the past twenty years was geared toward living sustainably and trying to create some place our children could have to make it in a quickly changing world. We were afraid of what the future looked like, knowing most of the people we encountered were in denial about the climate or resistant to change. No one wants to give up their comforts. I get that. We experimented with off-grid living. We hauled our own water. We lived off of power from the sun and the wind. We ate the food we produced and grew in our gardens. We reduced our consumption and learned to live without. We boycotted consumerist American holidays (almost all of them) in an effort to resist cultural capitalism. We lived frugally and simply.

When we moved back to the city we were inundated by the capitalist culture. The lights, the stores, the spending, the cars…it was insanely overwhelming. Culture shock. Our homesteading past became our little secret, shared with only a select few. Most people we encountered were not interested enough to have conversations about Permaculture or how we could use community building to create sustainable local change. It was depressing. In the jobs we did find, we both continued to work towards being a part of creating sustainability in our community without necessarily advertising our own personal beliefs. People are resistant to others who are different than them. (Note the immigration crisis). As a family, we started to fall back into mainstream American consumerist culture and as a couple, we grew farther apart.

I am a cultural anthropologist by education and I have a Masters in Cultural Resource Management. My husband got his Masters in Sustainable Community Development. We have both studied Permaculture for years and at some point, my husband got his certification in Permaculture Design. Certification is expensive and I opted to get certified in other things like Life Coaching and Art Therapy.

Because of our educations and experience, you would think that we would garner some respect when we talk about climate change and the solutions towards combating the devastating crises coming. people just don’t want to hear about it. They don’t want to talk about it. They don’t want to take action in their own lives to slow the changes that are coming.

The apathy scares me more than anything. The polite stares and the nod and smile attitude I have gotten from people over the years has weighed heavy on my heart and mind. Before I went back to Grad School, I decided I would become a minister and start a church for the planet. Eco-spirituality. I am not religious. I don’t believe in any god anywhere, and I think leaving everything in the hands of some mythical being is a human cop-out. I respect people’s belief systems, sometimes. When people start hurting others or the environment and justify their actions through their religion, I have to personally denounce said religion as hypocritical nonsense.

Most of us know right from wrong. In my mind, taking care of the planet we live on and treating people with compassion and respect is the right thing to do. I wanted to base my church on that ideology. I had a church blog ( https://greendesertchurchfarm.blogspot.com) and wrote many a sermon on living as our higher selves because I firmly believe that if we heal the hurt within ourselves, we can heal the cultural hurts and in turn heal the planet from the wrongs we have done.

I gave up my church idea (I had like seven followers) and pursued my Masters because I thought if I had the credentials people would take me seriously. In my graduate work, I turned every paper and project into something about sustainability or social justice in the hope that at least my words might trickle into the minds of my cohort and subtly cause a change in their own actions and lives. I was very much trying to implant mind viruses everywhere I went, knowing that when enough people finally believed, things would begin to change (The Hundredth Monkey idea).

Not much has changed over my lifetime or the past ten years. Sure, there have been a few subtle changes: mainstream media now reports on climate change more often than they ever did ten years ago; people I know that used to brush me off are now bringing attention to some of the climate crises they see happening around them; the beloved little community I have chosen to live in is trying to go greener through active promotion of electric vehicles (my then-husband played a big part in that), recycling and creating its own city power company instead of being trapped and beholden to energy giants. I guess any good change is a step in the right direction.

Unfortunately, we are running out of time, which has been true for many years, but I feel the urgency upon me again to do something — to shout from the rooftops that humanity (and all species) are in dire straights unless we do something now.

But what can we do when nobody is interested in even hearing the problems? What can we do when people are blinded by capitalism and stuck in their day to day just trying to make ends meet?

Sigh. I still believe that humans have the capacity to solve the problems we are facing. It may be far too late at this point to do much about the climate changes coming, although it would be great to stop this runaway train right now. We may be at the juncture where we have to choose adaptation over ending climate threats. But maybe through adaptive practices, we can lessen future impacts so that humans can survive in a hostile climate environment.

The answers are all around us. Yes, we need to heal ourselves so that we can heal others. We need to look at alternatives to capitalism. We need to live more sustainably in every way. We need to build more sustainably and change building codes to fit new, greener practices. We need to teach and practice Permaculture in our communities and in our own yards. We need to give up everything that is contributing to climate instability. This is where it gets hard because people just don’t want to give up their comforts or change what they know. But we have to if we want our children and their children to survive.

Taking responsibility for ourselves, our own actions and emotions is a big tenet of Life Coaching. With my recent divorce, I have been living in a san and dark box of my own making — victimhood. I blame my ex-husband for a lot of what has gone wrong between us. It doesn’t matter. Obviously, we could not overcome our differences enough to remain together. I am responsible for me and he is responsible for himself. What do I choose to do with that?

I vow to get back on track. I want to finish the food forest I have been creating in my urban yard. I will continue to homeschool my children so that they are exposed to many ideas and belief systems and are not indoctrinated into the American capitalist culture. I will continue to recycle and shop at thrift stores. I will continue the reduced shower schedule to conserve water. I will continue to work on my house to make it more sustainable. I will walk more and drive less. I will continue to heal myself from my own childhood and relationship traumas so that I might begin to help others to heal themselves too. I will focus more on being the change I want to see and use my voice to educate others instead of whine about my own personal emotional crap.

Apathy. Maybe I fell down that hole too and forgot that every individual can make a difference. I want to care. I do care. As the world continues to move in ecologically unfriendly ways outside my front door, I will remember that I can choose to live differently and teach my children the skills they will need to survive in a rapidly changing world.

What can I do today?

From the Ground Up 7.25.19

2019-07-25T11:18:00.000-06:00

Destroy the illusion,
The fabricated house of delusion.
I don't live there anymore.

Demolish the unreal!
My hands are dirty now,
Soiled with the emotional decay
Of my own heartache.

I will rebuild
One solid brick at a time
On a foundation of me.

~K

Solitude - Friend or Foe?

2019-07-23T11:51:00.001-06:00

Solitude - Friend or Foe? published on Medium 6.23.19.

Circular

2019-07-20T07:32:00.000-06:00

Spinning in circles
I find myself back again
At the beginning.

~K

"Circular" published on Medium.com

Faith

2019-07-20T07:18:00.000-06:00

"Faith" published on Medium 7.20.19

Raccoon Medicine

2019-07-20T07:16:00.001-06:00

Shed the victim mask
And become a stronger me
In the face of fear.

~K

(Originally published on Medium.com June 24, 2019)