This morning, a beautiful fog dimmed colors, softened outlines, made the world a more mysterious place seemingly full of hidden possibilities. I have never lived in a place where fogs were a common occurrence and so they seem special, dream-like, alive with unknowing.

My health has continued to decline. As my physical energy drains away, my thinking is becoming slower and foggier. I create less & sleep and bury myself in novels more. I still feel delight and amazement and curiosity, but in a dampened, reduced way. I seem to have entered a new way of being — one that I would not have chosen.

But this morning, as I saw the fog, I was called outside to enjoy being a part of it, The bird songs were not lessened but even felt somewhat intensified as the visual experience softened. I suddenly realized that I could look at my own interior “foggy” state in a different way, perhaps a way that can revive and heighten my sense of joy. Today’s gift of fog reminded me that it is all a part of the Mystery. And how we choose and use the metaphors for our existence can make a tremendous difference in our experience of life.

I will explore and play with this — And already my curiosity is brightened as I ask myself “What if…?”

During the last month, I have taken occasional Expressive Arts classes — where the emphasis is on personal process and experience rather than outcome. The class I enjoyed most focused on mark-making. I was reminded of a long ago class with the artist Rosamond Casey in which she quoted someone as saying “Every time you make a mark you change the world.”

As did Ros, my current teacher Betsy Bevan began by inviting us to make quick marks (lines, not drawings) to show our feelings in response to prompts such as chaos, serenity, fear, etc. It was a delightful limbering-up exercise for hands, fingers, and imagination. We were all fascinated by the marks we had made and by their similarities to & differences from those of our classmates. Then we were invited to simply make marks as we liked on a blank sheet of paper. I immediately discovered that what my hand liked doing was making curving, organic, upward sweeps. It just felt so good! Out of the jumble, a tree emerged. And out of the tree, figures emerged. There was no planning, no thinking, just movements in response to movements, marks in response to marks. I could never have drawn this if I’d tried to work from a concept. And I would never have discovered so much about myself and my feelings as I did by waiting to look at it after my hand felt complete.

In his remarkable (and much beloved) poem “The Layers,” Stanley Kunitz writes:

" Though I lack the art
to decipher it,
no doubt the next chapter
in my book of transformations
is already written.
I am not done with my changes."