The chuckle on the end of the line is soft but holds compassion fatigue. When I first got sick, back in 2014, long before we found an effective treatment for my autoimmune disorder, I made a similar call to the desk clerk at the Stanford Anderson Collection and asked about viewing Rothko's "Untitled (Black and Gray)." They told me an almost identical story about this painting - that only terminally ill people ever request to view this piece. In that case, I can focus on tangible actions like paying for an Airbnb in Ukraine that I'm not going to stay in and hassling my reps over the phone 3x a week to provide direct aid -knowing that it's not enough and still trusting that the slightest ripple can reverberate into waves. Or suppose it's something I shouldn't surrender to. Whenever I'm trying to consume something too big for me, I hear Sharon Olds say: "and my job is to eat the whole car / of my anger, part by part, some parts/ground down to steel-dust." and I can start laughing at myself, and in turn surrender to whatever that giant thing is. It's easy to laugh at it now because I can be in the ocean of experience and feeling vs. ![]() As if being in love, in recovery, and an artist were things I could choke down. ![]() ![]() ![]() Nearly all of my failures have revolved around attempting to bring something into me. It reminds me of another Rothko quote that I've clung to, "is an immediate transaction it takes you into it." I love that concept.
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