It is when we travel within  and embrace our limitations that we can then begin to grow as a human.

Staying in the Lines

I’ve often expressed that colouring brings about a feeling of relaxation—it’s almost a therapy of sorts. I also find it a creative way to meditate. After carefully selecting the right picture and desired colours, one begins to live in the now. Whether by swirling circles or straightly sweeping the crayon, one must focus to keep within the lines. Through this focus, this mechanical blankness, comes the channel of enigmatic thoughts, distant memories or an entertaining fantasy. At other times, it is but a moment of peace and quiet – an uncomplicated pleasure.

Inspired by a Halloween sugar rush, I decided upon a friendly image of Frankenstein holding a jack-o-lantern. His gentle grin and soft, kind eyes inspire me to return the kindness with careful crayon strokes. Just the right pressure… just the right tone. A cheerful green complements his face, hands and legs. I wonder what colour his coat should be? His hair and shoes will definitely be black.

I couldn’t help but laugh when I read Steven King’s theory on how we are all suffering from some sort of mental disease or insanity. At some point, we have all been tainted with an unpleasant experience.

His words inspired me to think about my own state of mind, being just a little curious as to what psychological condition I have. I’m sure I could somehow fit in the delusional department.

If I say that I believe in fairies, does that make me crazy or delusional? Would I be called mad if I said that in a past life I was a druid, or a shaman? Perhaps it’s just all DNA memory anyway? Would I be shunned if I said that I believe in God and a man named Jesus who could walk on water? Would I be labeled a lunatic for thinking that I may one day manipulate the laws of gravity and levitate? After all, St. Joseph of Cupertino, St. Teresa of Avila, St. Edmund of Canterbury and over 200 other Catholic saints were discovered levitating. Would I be thought eccentric for believing that love is the highest vibration of the spirit – the key to other dimensions?

I’m hoping the answer is yes. What a wonderful line to cross into the depths of such insanity, and then to know that I am not alone in this mass hallucination.

Jack and Jill tenderly carry a bucket of water together. They are so young and innocent. Jill is obviously shy but enjoying this moment with Jack, without truly understanding why. He walks tall and proud. Carefully, I outline his shirt and her smock in an orangy-red. Instinctively, I make his shirt brighter than her smock. This connection seems important to me. Lovebirds come to mind.

I was really touched when Lucy Grealy said, “I was secretly hoping that in the process some potential lover might accidentally notice I was wearing my private but beautiful heart on my stained and fraying sleeve.”

Being a born romantic, I read that line over and over again, absorbing every word until I was finally satisfied that her words had become part of me. But try as I might to restitch my heart upon the centre of my being, it quietly finds its way back down to the place it knows so well- some days hiding, other days singing to the world, but mostly, patiently, waiting on the limb that overlooks it universe. Battered by storms, this heart of mine holds strong, refusing to be detached, knowing that my stained and fraying sleeve will one day become a garment of silk and lace.

As a ghost rises from a pumpkin basket, an Arabian snake-charming skeleton blows his horn. I decide to colour his turban orange and brown, while his ribs alternate yellow and brown. This way it looks like he is wearing a vest – everyone has a skeleton they want to cover up. I will colour the ghost purple. After all, life is about the little choices we make.

Although you committee a crime that is almost unforgivable, you were still one of the greatest teachers of my life. In many ways, I was blessed to have such a disturbed man as my father. Your mind was full of wisdom, your curiosity was like a cat’s and your spirit remained free as a child’s. You were a psychic and a clairvoyant. A dreamer of dreams. You are my eternal guru.

Do you remember when we were living in Hamilton and we took Nana to the little mall where she loved to stroll the aisles of Woolco? You and I decided to let Nana go on her own adventure while we found refuge at a Tim Hortons. We made camp on a couple of orange cushy stools, ordered a couple of coffees and lit up a cigarette or two. I thought it was so cool that you let your 16-year-old daughter smoke. After sitting quietly for a moment, you pointed up to the fern that was hanging high in front of us. You said, “Your mind is a powerful thing. See that fern? Try to concentrate on seeing the fern moving.” I looked up at the fern and willed it to move. Nothing happened. My cigarette had burned out and I agreed to practice again later. We went searching for Nana.

The Halloween cat leaps off the front doorstep, clenching a bag of Halloween candies in her teeth. I decided she would not be a traditional black cat. Instead, she will be a cat in a cat costume – cotton-candy pink with a black mask. I’ll give her green eyes.

A couple of girls and I were chatting about how nice it feels to have cleavage with a little or, in my case, a lot of help from the right bra. If there is one thing that I miss about my twenties, it’s my breasts. With childbearing comes an incredible force of gravity. Would I consider breast implants if I could afford them? Personally, I would love to have myself restored. But just as my ego starts to enjoy thee thought of perkiness, I receive this vision of my breasts exploding when I am flying over the ocean on the way to Peru. Maybe I’ll just stick with getting a tattoo.

Enough of the Boo brothers: I’m moving on to Batman. The Caped Crusader stands in a ready pose, his Batarang in hand. And for some unknown mischievous and forbidden reason… I want to awaken his manhood with altering colours. His cape and tights become royal purple, rich in mystery and passionate energy. His body suit left white, a purity of strength and light. The belt, gloves and books are anchored in black. I decide the white would give him too much of a lower bulge and go for the blue instead. And carefully, lovingly, I stay within the lines.