Meeting my Inner Artist

Traveling up the path to a small secluded cottage, walking next to hand built bird houses, clothes lines, hand painted signs about hope and peace, and then being greeted softly and gently from the man inside the cottage. He was thinner than me, a little older, yet he seemed more youthful and playful. He didn’t force me to come in. He simply opened the door, looked out, waved at me, and then left the door open for me to smell the wonderful aroma of coffee brewing on a stove, as if he psychically knew I’d be arriving that morning.

He and I took walks, looked at birds, spoke of ideas for peace, did drawings and coloring together. We painted stones that we found by a nearby pond, and sipped coffee with cream and cinnamon. This Scott, the inner artist, could let things in emotionally. We cried over people and animals companions that we lost in our life. He missed his friend, the bluebird that would come to nest in the birdhouse he made. The bird, he named Felix, had not been back for a month, and tears filled his eyes as he spoke of how he missed this friend. He missed many friends, but felt their spirit in everything around him.

We finally went through the boxes of cards, letters, and pictures that friends and family had sent to him the past year. He didn’t leave his cabin often. He loved his solitude, and the days he felt lonely, he allowed himself to putter, to wander, to cry, and to be.

I left knowing that I had touched greatness when I convened with him. He was a man full of spirit and love. He cared deeply for nature, for peace, for people, and for the world.

Sharing this experience after doing this meditation the first time was difficult, because while I was touched by the imagery, I nearly cried as I wanted to go back again. I wanted to sit with him more. I wanted to wipe his tears and cry with him. I wanted to ride bikes with him on the trail, pretend we were pirates, roll in the grass, and let my worries only be for those that truly and deeply mattered.

This meditation has shown me that I need to connect with this inner artist every day. Moreover, I believe that this man, this “artist”, is who I am meant to become in this lifetime. I felt the same way about this man as I did relatives that I felt I visited all too infrequently. Our time is so limited with loved ones, and we need to embrace them as much as we can. I cannot let years and years pass again, only to find that I’ve grown substantially older than, and “distant” from, my own inner artist.