Focus, Rubi, Focus
I meditate with my hands.
My brain is a whirling dervish of words, thoughts, ideas, images, scenes from movies, dialogue of books I intend to write, song refrains, soul-crushing current events, clever retorts that didn’t come in a timely manner, anxiety-inducing what-ifs, useless trivia, random strings of numbers, poems I memorized in high school and all other manner of curiosities.
I struggle to make this raucous parade stop or even slow. I meditate and medicate. I read all the books on mindfulness and listen to calming music.
But it’s my hands that calm my restless brain. The repetition of strokes and stitches slows the flow of my million sparkling and shiny multi-colored thoughts.
With each line drawn and each stitch worked, my breath falls back into rhythm. The hummingbird that is my attention span rests her tired wings.
Thoughts and motions are intertwined. As I work each piece, my meditative thoughts are imbued in every stitch and every mark. A sense of presence and stillness occurs during the creation of each piece, but further, the experience of the meditation is available upon its contemplation by the viewer and creator alike.
Each drawing is a mandala, with my initial breath beginning in the center and working outward. I enter into the drawing freed from expectations of outcome and the tyranny of representation.