Sunday, May 25, 2014



I feel too deeply. But the more I write, the better I feel. I can process pain this way.

I feel too deeply and it feels like the feelings will kill me. But of course they won't. I have to write to get it all out of my body. Out of the heart, through the pen and onto the page. It's out now: the more I write, the better I feel. I can process pain this way.

Why don't I write more often?

There is a higher calling here. There is a higher realm, not the mortal realm. Chaos Theory says that in the midst of chaos, there is actually a beautifully divine order to everything — when you can get a high enough perspective.

Love (God) is in charge. Love (god) is not a dirty word, although religious people have often smeared this term for political purposes. Love is "god." God is not what you think: not a big scary man or anthropomorphic being in the sky casting fear and judgment and punishment. Obviously not. It sounds ridiculous.

The theme of the week is collaboration -- letting go of my "precious" work —  the work I cannot let go of. The work I coddled and perfected and strangled the life out of.

I wish I could let go and not be perfect.

Perfectionism is death to an artist. Let it go into someone else's hands. As John Lasseter said at last week's CalArts graduation: "Show business is a collaborative business. You can't do it alone."

We must all, as artists, writers and actors, stop being in fear that someone else might beat us to the punch.

There really is no such thing as competition. When an audience sees a great film or a great piece of art they want MORE. They constantly want more. There is a never ending demand for creative expression.
Stop trying to control everything.

Let te FORCE write through you.
Help others to find their dreams.
Let's all start an artist's camp or colony where we collaborate and join forces and stop competing. Competition kills our souls. We have to work together to bring movies and plays and games and adventures and businesses and schools and shows and restaurants to life.

The other theme of the week is 'the long road." I just found out that I have to move out of my home in the next few months. This is the home I raised my children in and have lived in for over 14 years. And despite the fact that I have hundreds of things to sell and get rid of, and I have no place to go — I am not afraid anymore.

I am not scared of being homeless the way I was two years ago when I was about to move to the stalker's farm and live in a tent on his property. I was actually going to live in the home of a psychopath. I'm the only woman I know who asked permission to move into the home of a psychopath. Of course at the time I believed he was a federal secret agent and war hero. This makes me laugh out loud.

I am the only person who requested to move into the house of a criminal. I was willing to move into the backyard of a convicted felon (granted, at the time I believed he was a JAG-C federal criminal attorney and secret agent -- an angel who had come into my life to help with my divorce paperwork)

At the time I was facing a devastating loss. I had lost my income and sole support system. I only had enough to survive a few months. I was in desperate fear. Although I was working on the greatest art I've ever created --- selling my work was still a long way off. I had to survive. I was still an artist.

But I discovered ways to survive; I discovered that I was resourceful and resilient and incredibly productive. After listening to a spiritual tape based on the Bible story about a woman who was so desperately broke she was forced to sell her sons to pay off her debts until she meets the prophet Elijah — who told her to "sell what is in your house" —  I found things to sell on eBay. Then I found other amazing ways to cover my rent. It has been exciting to discover that you always have enough -- that you can always survive and even thrive during hard times.

I prayed a lot. I prayed for a miracle, an instant success or book sale. But that was not meant to be. I was meant to take the long road so the lesson would "take."  Instant gratification wouldn't have taught me anything. I had to learn to fish.

And on the long road, there are no short cuts. Taking two years to grow and live by my wits and learn to survive made me more confident and more solid. Instant results and instant healing are always what we want, but it's not always in our best interest to have And along the way, I quit all medication - I quit Adderall and Vyvanse and Dexedrine -- all the ADHD drugs I had been using as a crutch.

It's funny, but two of my best friends told me that I was not easy to talk to when I was on the medicaiton: I was productive and had great ideas but I was a motorized bunny. I didn't pause to listen to others. I wasn't quite "connected" or thoughtful or humble. I had lost my connection to Source and to love. I was pasting on emotions, and bulldozing over my friends in conversation. It was "my way or the highway."

Lately I've been stopping to reflect on loss and love and all the things that hurt so much this year: losing our dog Chazzy, moving out of my home, moving past some illusions. Reflecting on myself and my behavior has been the healthiest thing I've done in years.

So the moral of the story is that I took the long road - I did not get instant results and instant cash or win the lottery or suddenly have the courage to get a literary agent and sell my work. No, I took the long road - and learned that I never have to be in fear again.

Now I'm in a similar position - having to move out of my home. And yet this time I have no fear about being homeless.

It's like that woman in a 12-step meeting I heard say: "When I was drinking, I had a car accident at the corner of Santa Monica and Melrose. I hit a white Mercedes and got a D.U.I.  Just yesterday I had another car accident at the same corner, but the accident went really well this time (because I'm sober.)  

And this year I've learned to turn every tragedy into comedy.

I also read the War of Art and it changed my life Have to read it again.