Woven Threads

[Image 1]

If you were to look at any woven object up close, the pattern and threads would appear quite differently than they do when observed from a distance. There is an intimacy and singularity in the working of the thread that would be difficult to make out the further back the viewer stepped.

A similar experience occurs when observing the archaeological record more intimately versus through a broader, more generalized, lens. Ancient people and their practices can take on new and different meanings and interpretations depending on where and how they are viewed.

The natural world as observed through a materialist’s microscope versus a telescope has a similar effect. Therefore, what we observe up close and more intimately, is very different from what we observe generally or more broadly.

My mind, as of late, has been drawn toward a greater understanding of this principle of perspectives, from the intimate details to broader fundamentals and how they weave together to form a larger tapestry of thought and experience.

One of the ways in which I have been exploring this concept is through spiritual observations, both intimate and general. As a consequence of these meditations, questions have emerged, and inevitably, those ideas, thoughts, and feelings play out in my art practice.

Here are some of the questions I’ve been playing with that have inspired this “Woven” series of paintings, from the broader perspective of “other” and the more intimate perspective of “self”.

Questions from the telescopic view…

What are spiritual observations and encounters like for others?

How do worshipers of the many different religious persuasions experience communion with the divine?

Does the experience of interacting or communicating with different gods or beings give off the same energetic vibe or feeling across cultures and ideologies?

Does communion with a particular divine being have a distinct characteristic and energetic presence that is common or easy to identify by multiple worshipers? Does the worship of Buddha feel the same or different as the worship of Shiva?

Transitioning to microscopic views…

What are the energetic and emotional differences between divine presence, ideologies, and personal experience?

How do I experience divine presence? What are the distinctions between my own thoughts and feelings and an outside source?

Is what I feel during my spiritual practice markedly similar to what others feel, or is my experience, like so many, a novel one?

In a similar vein, although it is difficult (maybe even impossible) to relate to or comprehend the spiritual and emotional experiences that ancient worshipers of divine presence may have had during their religious practice, through their writings, symbology, and the expressions of their modern descendants, can I glean some aspect of what worship and the feeling of spirituality was like for them, and through that understanding relate to my own spiritual practice a little bit better?

Weaving the two together…

If the answer is yes—all experiences of worship feel similar—would there be any way of confirming that connection and relativity? Is common experience even important in worship?

If the answer is no—each act of communion with divine presence is singular and unique—is it possible for worshipers to describe the emotional, chemical, spiritual, or mental experience of interacting with the divine in a way that outsiders can understand and relate to?

In attempting to answer these questions, I’m not interested in what material science has determined regarding the impossibilities or improbabilities of divine presence or interactions with such, or using empiricism only in this exploration. Materialism and spiritualism have yet to meet on friendly terms, at least in dogmatic circles.

Instead, I’m simply curious what it feels like when others recognize an encounter with what they would describe as the divine. Is it a familiar and universally consistent experience, or is every encounter unique and undefinable, or is it somewhere in the middle?

For me, this is an “in search of” episode of greater understanding of the tapestry of human emotion, creativity, and the woven emphasis of spiritual and religious expression over the course of ancient and modern, traceable history; a comparing, of sorts, of my spiritual practice to the proverbial and not so proverbial other, to understand better this phenomenon of human experience that I take part in.

Through my own microscopic lens of spirituality…

Personally, I’ve found there are some aspects of my interactions with divine presence easy to explain, while other, more intimate and emotional moments of communion, impossible to articulate with any clarity, so I’ve chosen not to share them.

What is clear and what I can describe, from a lifelong spiritual and creative practice, has been a growing recognition and awareness over time that I am encountering, communicating, and even building a relationship with a particular, distinct, and consistent divine presence that I can reach out to and communicate with; a presence who is much smarter than I am, who has a definite personality and identity that is different from my own, and I can enjoy this communion on a regular basis whenever I intentionally speak to them.

For some reason, I have yet to fully comprehend, they want to talk to me. It feels like a mutually happy communion, and I appreciate that.

When I meditate, pray, and reach out directly to this certain divine presence, my interaction is, from my own perspective, real and unambiguous in the same way that recognizing my husband’s voice, his walk, and his unique energy is familiar and easy for me to distinguish from a crowd.

Each of my relationships have a distinct feel, because the individuals I’m sharing that connection with are unique. I recognize my husband, Erik, or my children, or friends and other family, as separate individuals. The more intimate we become, the more I get to know their distinct personality and energetic vibe; the more I interact with them, the easier it is to recognize them quickly and with confidence.

I see them and I hear them empirically when we talk, but I also feel and sense them too. The feeling of them helps to build trust in our interactions, and that feeling has grown from a slight sense to a real understanding of who they are over time.

From another perspective, one that is a further step back from my own, is how my children experience Erik. Although they haven’t enjoyed (and I do mean enjoy) the same kind of intimate relationship with Erik that I have, they have had a deep and meaningful relationship of their own with him, and we all agree on general observances of his personality, temperament, and energy. He puts off a very trustworthy, gentle, yet very grounded and resolute, vibe. We all feel it. We have all interacted with it in our own ways.

We have come to know him both physically and emotionally. The experience of being with Erik is relatable among those who know him, although, I imagine we’ll never know the exact and unique ways we’ve developed that understanding or how it feels internally. We’ve just learned how to use the English language, and we’ve found similar words to describe our experience of him.

In many ways, I can relate this familial interaction to those I consistently have with this singular, distinctive, divine presence. I recognize the energy and personality of this being I’m communicating with, despite not being able to tell you a single thing about how they wear their hair or whether or not they have tattoos. It’s never come up.

What does come up is personal and meaningful, and that is, for now, plenty for me to ponder on and be with. Perhaps, someday, I’ll find out what they’re wearing, and not in a creepy way.

From the telescopic lens of others:

An outsider, especially one who prefers material over spiritual relationships, may find my experience quaint, absurd, or empirically improbable. That makes sense. It’s difficult to describe the experience of any relationship to one who hasn’t encountered it for themselves.

What feels familiar to me, may not feel familiar or relatable to another, and there are many materialist methods for explaining away what one has not encountered for themselves with academically and scientifically accepted explanations, like psychological phenomenon.

Weaving the two together:

As one who appreciates curiosity and exploration, I enjoy hearing these perspectives, so long as they aren’t obnoxious or bull-headed, and I have wondered how much of my own spiritual or worship practice is full of superstitions, psychological phenomenon, or delusion.

In fact, because I want to be as honest with myself as possible, I have abandoned a number of behaviors and attitudes that were based in superstition and delusion. It’s important to me to know the difference between what is fake or of my own imagination and what is real, in terms of responding to energetic resonance, presence, or communing with an outside source, even if that source doesn’t wear jeans, a cape, or glasses; to go a step farther, what they’re wearing isn’t even important to me! I know, sacrilege.

As I play with, work to understand, and hold myself to higher standards of scrupulous analysis, not letting myself off with an “I believe, therefore I am right,” approach to my faith, an interesting thing has happened. The more I analyze and put myself in the “prove it” box, the more real and honest my spiritual practice has become.

Not only has this constant attempt at moving in and moving out to see different ways of looking at the same thing—that thing being my relationship with the divine—but how I see others and my relationships with both friend and foe has taken on a new and more harmonious framework.

Viewing the world and the universe, as well as myself as an entity within it, through multiple lenses and perspectives has helped me relate with more generosity and honesty, with more compassion and empathy, and to view those, who are very different from myself, as an important, integral, and intricate part of the woven tapestry of human experience.

Conclusion

As I continue to paint these detailed threads of a broader and distinct woven element, both through my art practice and spiritual musings, my lens will shift and change. I’ll imaginatively observe up close each strand and move farther back with my arms crossed and my finger tapping my lip as I think about what it all means.

Humans are a curious bunch. The whys and wherefores that compel us to explore ourselves, others, nature, and the greater universe doesn’t always make perfect sense, at least to those of us trying to use different types of scopes and lenses to view it all from.

Whether I am able to answer the many questions I have shared with you here today or not is not as important to me as the process of becoming someone who feels rooted in joy.

At the end of the day, I just want everything, even my lowly creative and spiritual practices, to be honest expressions that will bring greater peace and happiness to the world. We have enough of the other.

Please feel free to share your thoughts and comments below. Can you relate to what I have shared? I’m always curious and interested in you as a unique individual. Thanks for spending sometime here with me.

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Images:
[Image 1] “Woven 2”, original artwork, Thalia Black, Mesoamerican series