How to capture and define your system’s own unique waveform

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Last week’s pantless adventure has had a curious effect. I’m seeing the world differently, and I love it! I feel my cognitive paradigm shifting; the world around me is suddenly bursting with possibilities. I recognize this freedom from childhood, but I am very much an adult, and by definition must commit to an internal framework or risk losing whatever I try to build – only by knowing the tides can one place one’s castle with confidence. Sigh…beaches, even metaphorical ones, seem a long way off on this icy January night.

A slip of moon shimmers above the frosted sidewalk. Standing at the bus stop, I rate my little path of footprints. I feel a bit ashamed, they’re duck toed and should be straighter. Ms J would be incensed! And according to an article I read who-knows-where, my steps are too far apart. I wonder if my stride is consistent? I know how to test it. I walk the same stretch while matching up the toes. Sure enough, it’s the same.

The cold air catches in my throat – a pattern is emerging in the frost. The sidewalk becomes an oscilloscope, and I can’t resist filling in the waveform. I don’t care if I look silly. This is fun! My duck toed shame disappears; I am alone with my own individual waveform. It is unique, personal – any judgment is gone. I’ve mapped a key feature of my body system, and seeing it exposed on the sidewalk gives me a private thrill. I don’t want to give up this new freedom of perception, of creation, but am I brave enough to take the next step? Can I really commit to Blank Canvas Living as my internal framework?

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The ugly pants burn! An old resolution is torched and a new 2012 personal style makeover begins

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…Continued from Previous Post – ‘Burning the ugly pants’ personal style makeover comes to Blank Canvas Living

“I’m wearing longjohns underneath in case the tape quits, but I can’t walk around the office in them.”

“What do you do down there?” she asks.

“Roll and fold epic seismic printouts.”

“Sounds like a lovely pattern for a skirt – you have tape and scissors down there don’t you?”

The elevator doors open, but I can’t move. She’s right. So right my whole body tingles and my eyes start to water. I’ve made clothes before, even staged fashion shows – of course I can do this! The skirt is effortlessly designing itself in my brain. Ideation is a sparkling high I’ve spent too long trying to teach myself to live without. Somehow I let the world convince me that creation and imagination was valuable only when channeled for profit or praise. But this strange woman is speaking my truth, my own deep guttural soul truth, and the sky blue lettering on the glass doors at the end of the hall puts it into words.

Blank Canvas Living

“Are you coming?” she asks, and reaches to take the package with the same name.

“Anywhere you want me to go,” I answer quietly.

Her glowing pink smile flashes with understanding. “Wait by the stairs; I’ll be right back.” She disappears behind the frosted glass.

Up on the roof we stand side by side watching the ugly pants burn. She leans on the child’s red plastic snow shovel (handle wrapped in toilet paper and soaked in lighter fluid) that she’d used to light the hideous grey legs on fire.

“What else do you have down there?” I ask.

“How about I show you sometime.”

“I’d love that,” I say, keeping my eyes on the smoldering rags as my heart begins to thrill. “Thank you.”

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