{"id":1683,"date":"2015-10-16T02:46:23","date_gmt":"2015-10-16T02:46:23","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.donnaionadrozda.com\/lifecycle\/?p=1683"},"modified":"2015-10-17T23:08:17","modified_gmt":"2015-10-17T23:08:17","slug":"the-more-experience-you-have","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.donnaionadrozda.com\/lifecycle\/the-more-experience-you-have\/","title":{"rendered":"The More Experience You Have"},"content":{"rendered":"

\u201cThe more experience you have, the more possibilities you can create.\u201d<\/span><\/strong><\/h4>\n

Tim Gunn<\/span><\/h4>\n

\"ratsnake2\"<\/a><\/h4>\n

Black Rat Snake, Drozda, 2010<\/span><\/h4>\n

Welcome to this week\u2019s art\/life trail ride. Since we last met\u2026Wren House has been burglarized and ransacked. Three\u00a0hours away at my retreat farm an email from my neighbor informs me that \u2018things don\u2019t look right\u2019 from outside. He and his wife go\u00a0in look around… Yup\u2026a break in. <\/span><\/h4>\n

Pack car, dogs, drive back to the beach. Police arrive shortly\u00a0after 10:30 pm. Forensics follow at\u00a011:30. Fingerprints dusted. Point of entry inspected. Data collected.<\/span><\/h4>\n

Well educated regarding crimes of invasion…and assault…I remain calm knowing all is (and will continue to be) well no matter what the appearances \u2018from the outside\u2019. <\/span><\/h4>\n

Morning begin cleanup.\u00a0<\/span><\/h4>\n

This week I publish a memoir.<\/span><\/h4>\n

\"ratsnake4\"<\/a><\/p>\n

Black Rat Snake, Drozda, 2010<\/span><\/p>\n

Experience is the keyword for the month of October. October provides an energetic preview for the year ahead. 2016 offers each of us a time to take inventory on what we have learned and mastered\u2026more on this in later posts.<\/span><\/h4>\n

For now, while\u00a0cleaning and sorting, I\u2019ll let the voice of Experience speak. <\/span><\/h4>\n

***********************************************************<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0 The River Beneath the River<\/em><\/strong><\/span><\/span><\/h4>\n

\u00a0Donna Iona Drozda \u00a9 2000<\/span><\/h4>\n

\u201cThe old woman La Loba\u2026who lives beneath and yet on the top side of the earth.<\/em><\/span><\/strong><\/span><\/h4>\n

She lives in us and through us and we are surrounded by her.\u201d<\/em><\/span><\/strong><\/span><\/h4>\n

A great theft takes place when I am nineteen. It is a theft of my soul in three parts.<\/span><\/h4>\n

The first loss<\/strong> comes in early June when my newborn is brought in and placed into my arms by mistake. He is being relinquished through adoption to Catholic Charities \u2018for his and my own good\u2019. He will be\u00a0swiftly delivered to his new home where a family waits to enfold him as their own. I hold him in my arms long enough to create the\u00a0tiny hand drawn portrait on the back of the adoption paperwork:<\/span><\/h4>\n

\"My<\/a><\/p>\n

My Newborn, Ballpoint pen, Drozda, 1968<\/span><\/p>\n

The only tangible memento of my solitary rite of passage into womanhood.<\/span><\/h4>\n

The second theft<\/strong>\u00a0takes place two days later when the taxi returns me to my parents suburban Cleveland home. Every one thinks I’ve been working in Chicago. There is one person, my age, who I feel compelled to see and speak with. I need to communicate with this individual. In my mind it will be a major step in my attempt to begin again, however, it\u2019s not to be. My 13 year old sister calls out as I retrieve my bag from the cab; “Donna! Donna! Guess who died.” I receive the news that his drug overdose\u00a0occurred three days before I gave birth. I seem to be toppling.<\/span><\/h4>\n

Finally I am shattered like a glass<\/strong> when within weeks of the birth I arrange to drive across town to the campus of Case Western Reserve where a group of artist, poet and musician friends (including the father of my baby) live in a sprawling campus house. The voice on the phone when I call to invite myself over welcomes me by asking when I’ll arrive. I say I’ll be there by 3 pm on this bright and sunny Sunday. <\/span><\/h4>\n

It turns out to be a\u00a0set up. I am entrapped. Guns, attack dog, 3 miscreants hold me hostage.\u00a0Grabbing hand fulls of quaaludes from a greasy paper lunch bag they flip quarters in the air to see who will pull \u00a0me up the grimy attic stair.\u00a0<\/span><\/h4>\n

\u00a0Tossed overboard without a life preserver. <\/strong><\/span><\/em><\/h4>\n

Thrown from a plane without a parachute. <\/span><\/em><\/strong><\/h4>\n

Climbing the mountain unaware of the avalanche.<\/span><\/em><\/strong><\/h4>\n

The summer of 1968 establishes my\u00a0mythic story line. <\/span><\/h4>\n

Suddenly growing up does not appear to hold the promise of\u00a0my long cherished art\/life dream.\u00a0<\/span>Yet, rising up from beneath all of the mind-numbing confusion is the instinct to keep moving. <\/span><\/h4>\n

I boldly take action and change the texture of my days…forever…<\/span><\/h4>\n

I travel, with an acquaintance, to The Farm.<\/span><\/h4>\n

\u201cYou can dent the soul and bend it. You can hurt it and scar it.<\/em><\/span><\/strong><\/span><\/h4>\n

You can leave the marks of illness upon it, and scorch marks of fear.<\/em><\/span><\/strong><\/span><\/h4>\n

But is does not die, for it is protected by La Loba in the underworld.<\/em><\/span><\/strong><\/span><\/h4>\n

She is the finder and the incubator of the bones.\u201d<\/em><\/span><\/strong><\/span><\/h4>\n

The Farm reminds me of idyllic summer days visiting grandfather\u2019s five acre home and enchanted orchard in the countryside of Peninsula Ohio. \u00a0When I’m eleven Grandpa and Grandma die within weeks of one another taking with them my\u00a0deep and nurturing connection to the natural world. \u00a0<\/span><\/h4>\n

\"sheep\"<\/a><\/p>\n

The Farm, begins my healing. I wake each\u00a0morning, walk outdoors and breathe in the harmony of land and sky ringed by the beauty of the forest. I feel home. I want to live the rest of my life on this 300-acre Twitchell Farm. <\/span><\/h4>\n

I\u00a0see that something serene exists in the world beyond the chaos<\/span><\/strong><\/h4>\n

I\u00a0wander, hiking the land until tired, leaning against a tree watching what happens to pass by\u2026<\/span><\/h4>\n

A snail<\/span><\/h4>\n

\"snail\"<\/a><\/p>\n

A spider<\/span><\/h4>\n

\"spider\"<\/a><\/h4>\n

A butterfly<\/span><\/h4>\n

\"butterfly\"<\/a><\/h4>\n

A rabbit<\/span><\/h4>\n

\"rabbit\"<\/a><\/h4>\n

\u00a0A hawk<\/span><\/h4>\n

\"hawk\"<\/a><\/h4>\n

A doe…<\/span><\/h4>\n

\"doe\"<\/a><\/h4>\n

My meanderings link morning and evening collecting\u00a0eggs<\/span>…<\/span><\/h4>\n

\"rhodeislandreds\"<\/a><\/p>\n

Days flow with a nourishing rhythm. On my way to visit the Rhode Island Reds\u00a0I pass the large fenced vegetable garden.<\/span><\/h4>\n

\"Vegetables-Garden-Fences-DIY\"<\/a><\/p>\n

A sacred space; far more private than the rest of the surroundings I give this area\u00a0a wide berth\u2026until several days into my visit. Now, I need to see what it feels like to be among the large leafy rows of greens, amidst the tripods holding vining plants and heavy gourds. <\/span><\/h4>\n

I unhook the rusted latch on the slatted wooden gate. I enter. Life is burgeoning. My inner senses dance among the variety of shapes and colors, textures and earthy aromas. I breathe in the perfection of the leaves and fruits. Bees and butterflies are at work in profusion. <\/span><\/h4>\n

I realize immediately that in order to be whole again I need a garden in my life<\/span><\/strong><\/h4>\n

Something catches my eye. I squint through the over-sized foliage of a summer squash. Two hundred feet up the slope, lying snug against the earth, I see the main residence, a low single story contemporary home, a natural pond outside the back door.<\/span><\/h4>\n

I stare<\/span><\/h4>\n

The sun is reflecting off of the surface of the water. Through the dazzling\u00a0light I see an apparition. I watch as a graceful nude rises up and steps out of the water. There\u2019s fluidity to her movement and dignity in her posture. She wraps in a\u00a0white flowing garment. She stands in the sun and idly creates a long single braid in her pure white hair walking slowly as the shadows absorb her into the house.<\/span><\/h4>\n

\u201cWithin each woman there is a wild and natural creature,<\/em><\/span><\/strong><\/span><\/h4>\n

a powerful force, filled with good instincts, passionate creativity,\u2019\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0<\/em><\/span><\/strong><\/span><\/h4>\n

and ageless knowing.\u201d<\/em><\/span><\/strong><\/span><\/h4>\n

The following day, as I wander near\u00a0the garden I find, squatting low among the rows of beans, a clay pot at her feet, my vision. She smiles and asks about me; my name, my length of stay. She introduces herself as Alice Twitchell.<\/span><\/h4>\n

After our\u00a0initial meeting, Alice silently invites me to spend time with her.We become companions. The days take on mysterious depth and substance. I am entranced. I observe the manner in which this angelic woman glides through her days. There is a\u00a0frailty that visits her\u2026 frequently she excuses herself. She floats around a corner like mist and disappears into a\u00a0room down a long hallway.<\/span><\/h4>\n

Reappearing from her quiet time wrapped in the embroidered white caftan she speaks quietly to me of things foreign and exotic like India and Tarot, Ba\u2019 Hai, meditation and miso; of the rigors of art school, sculpting marble, lingering effects of polio and chiropractic adjustments. I don\u2019t understand her or her ways yet I know that I want only to be\u00a0with her and I want to be more like her than like myself.<\/span><\/h4>\n

After two transcendent weeks on The Farm I must\u00a0leave. I don\u2019t recall any part of the departure. I disassociate.<\/span><\/h4>\n

Alice has so much to teach me and I have so much to learn. I sense that I will follow\u00a0in her footsteps (to the best of my ability) for the rest of my days.<\/span><\/h4>\n

I write to thank Alice for all that I have gained as a guest on The Farm. A week later a large manila envelope is delivered. I find five pages of her poems, four sheets of her small abstract watercolor paintings, and an\u00a0enraptured letter. It is the first of twenty-six years of delightful correspondence and visits. <\/span><\/h4>\n

This\u00a0first treasured\u00a0letter kept me alive for years:<\/span><\/h4>\n

Dear Lovely beautiful\u00a0<\/span>Donna<\/span><\/span><\/h4>\n

Tis my turn to thank you and also to thank that Unknowable Beyond Our Knowledge God which gave us both, Life\u2026on whose path we walk towards Life\u2026Your gracious and penetrating letter plumbed the heights of my depths! How about that for a paradoxical impossibly feminine construction?!<\/span><\/h4>\n

We learned anew, deep truths anew! You and I!<\/span><\/h4>\n

Man changes\u2026man becomes Man, girl becomes woman and woman becomes WOMAN! Our humanity is potentially, no more than that! It must become high, Donna, higher than the angels, for so it is decreed!<\/span><\/h4>\n

Our Lord Jesus Christ so said\u2026and others as well\u2026<\/span><\/h4>\n

I am thanking Him for the gift of you\u2026and \u2026since I first saw you; your lovely self has firmly imprinted its image upon my heart, my inmost heart! Yes you will never leave the farm\u2026always I\u2019ll look up to see your piquant face and slender strong figure, your eyes with the depths of the High Ones shining through their lustrous grays\u2026and wherever you walk, I\u2019ll be with you\u2026my strength is vast, and from Beyond, for without Him I am empty, a nothing\u2026but O my path is that razor sharp Path\u2026He helps me to be strong. So take from me what you will\u2026I know that you will use it wisely. We rejoice at your gift of yourself\u2026it gives us joy, deep as well as sweet,<\/span><\/h4>\n

Lovingly yours,<\/span><\/h4>\n

Alice<\/span><\/h4>\n

Thank you for writing\u2026thank you\u2026Please let me know where you are as you follow where your special star leads you!<\/span><\/h4>\n

********************************************************************<\/span><\/h4>\n

In 1991 I camp beside the\u00a0Rio Chama, in Abiqui, New Mexico where Alice and Larry live. Next to my campfire\u00a0under the brilliant October night sky\u00a0Alice shares the\u00a0story of the<\/span>\u00a0loss of her eighteen-year-old daughter.<\/span><\/h4>\n

The fatal car accident\u00a0occurred six months before I arrived on The Farm as a young girl\u00a0in a deep\u00a0state of\u00a0trauma. <\/span><\/h4>\n

We had bonded as surrogates…each unaware of the others shattering injury.<\/span><\/h4>\n

\u201cWhat is La Loba? \u2026she is the female soul. Yet she is more;<\/em><\/span><\/strong><\/span><\/h4>\n

she is the source of the feminine. She is all that is of instinct.<\/em><\/span><\/strong><\/span><\/h4>\n

Of the worlds both seen and hidden-she is the basis.<\/em><\/span><\/strong><\/span><\/h4>\n

We each receive from her a glowing cell which contains all the instincts<\/em><\/span><\/strong><\/span><\/h4>\n

And knowings needed in our lives.\u201d<\/em><\/span><\/strong><\/span><\/h4>\n

*******************************************************************<\/span><\/h4>\n

Alice Emma Buscher Twitchell
\n<\/span>November 4, 1917 \u2013 January 28, 1994<\/span><\/h4>\n

\u201cShe who we love and lose is no longer where she was before.
\nShe is now wherever we are.\u201d<\/span><\/em><\/strong><\/h4>\n

English gravestone inscription<\/span><\/h4>\n

All quoted excerpts from Women Who Run With the Wolves<\/u><\/em> <\/a>by Clarissa Pinkola Estes<\/span><\/h4>\n

The trail ride goes\u00a0deeper inward. \u00a0How do you rebound after you Experience a wounding?
\nHelp us gain strength. I invite you to leave your comments.<\/span><\/h4>\n

\"detail<\/a><\/p>\n

I am a working\u00a0Heartist\u00a0<\/i>with more than thirty years of practice in supporting the creative best in each of us to come forth and shine.\u00a0<\/i>Join the movement:\u00a0make joy the vocation of your mind<\/b>.<\/span><\/h4>\n

\"Droz_2013\"<\/a>Connect with\u00a0the uplift of \u2018Luna See\u2019 and\u00a0Lifecycle<\/a>; these are time\u00a0management tools for aligning with natural creative rhythms. \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 Discover and uncover the ecstatic thrill of \u2018making life the master peace\u2019.Let\u2019s travel together\u00a0into realms of calm and\u00a0renewed heart-centered emphasis.Through our shared journey with our\u00a0monthly newsletter\u00a0 \u2018Luna See\u2019 and the\u00a0creative consult service \u2018Lifecycle\u2019 you will discover and expand your ability to experience,\u00a0express, create and contribute your deepest\u00a0and wisest <\/i><\/b>most\u00a0authentic gifts to this unspeakably beautiful world.<\/span><\/h4>\n

 <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

\u201cThe more experience you have, the more possibilities you can create.\u201d Tim Gunn Black Rat Snake, Drozda, 2010 Welcome to this week\u2019s art\/life trail ride. Since we last met\u2026Wren House has been burglarized and ransacked. Three\u00a0hours away at my retreat farm an email from my neighbor informs me that \u2018things don\u2019t look right\u2019 from outside. […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_monsterinsights_skip_tracking":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_active":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_note":"","_monsterinsights_sitenote_category":0,"jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":"","jetpack_publicize_message":"","jetpack_publicize_feature_enabled":true,"jetpack_social_post_already_shared":true,"jetpack_social_options":{"image_generator_settings":{"template":"highway","enabled":false},"version":2}},"categories":[36,2,3,32],"tags":[75,74,22,10,38,16,30,55,76],"class_list":["post-1683","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-artlife","category-natural-time-management","category-slow-time","category-starting-over","tag-alice-twitchell","tag-clarissa-pinkola-estes","tag-donna-iona-drozda","tag-natural-time","tag-natural-time-management","tag-slow-time","tag-starting-over","tag-tools-for-change","tag-women-who-run-with-the-wolves"],"jetpack_publicize_connections":[],"aioseo_notices":[],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/p6htPT-r9","jetpack_likes_enabled":true,"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.donnaionadrozda.com\/lifecycle\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1683","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.donnaionadrozda.com\/lifecycle\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.donnaionadrozda.com\/lifecycle\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.donnaionadrozda.com\/lifecycle\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.donnaionadrozda.com\/lifecycle\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=1683"}],"version-history":[{"count":15,"href":"https:\/\/www.donnaionadrozda.com\/lifecycle\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1683\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":1711,"href":"https:\/\/www.donnaionadrozda.com\/lifecycle\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1683\/revisions\/1711"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.donnaionadrozda.com\/lifecycle\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=1683"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.donnaionadrozda.com\/lifecycle\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=1683"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.donnaionadrozda.com\/lifecycle\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=1683"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}