e.m.claytor

“Don’t bend; don’t water it down; don’t try to make it logical; don’t edit your own soul according to the fashion. Rather, follow your most intense obsessions mercilessly.”

Anne Rice, about Franz Kafka

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My heart ached for New Mexico this weekend.  There’s a heartsickness I experience over that land like I’ve never experienced before. It’s what I feel when I’m away from my husband.  It’s what I feel when I miss my family.  It’s a feeling that’s hard to explain, but I can only describe as a grieving, deep-seated longing. 

Since we’ve been back from New Mexico, the longing comes and goes.  It doesn’t seem like it’s ever fully gone – but it just settles beneath the surface of the day-to-day demands.  Life carries on as usual, but there’s a new dimension – a new thread – that has been woven into our existence. 

I feel like I’ve been constantly processing the impact of our trip for months now.  When we got home, we were met repeatedly with the question, “How was your trip?” and I found myself unable to put our experience into words.  It wasn’t good or great or wonderful or exciting.  It was… something else altogether.

I’ve tried for months to write about our trip, and document it somehow.  But it has felt premature (even 3 full months later) because it’s still impacting our lives in ways.  And even now as I sit down with the intention to write about the trip, I’m met with an intuitive resistance that tells me it’s still not time.  So I will wait until the words come to me.

Until then, I’ll write about the here and now.  What’s changed since we’ve been back from New Mexico (other than this underlying heartsickness for the desert)? 

For me, I’ve been more connected to the creative source.  I have written songs.  I have written poetry.  I have painted.  I left the desert with a dose of creative energy that I wasn’t even entirely aware of at the time.  And it’s not just the process of creating – it’s a shift in the mindset of creating and a shift in understanding my purpose. 

I have created in various forms since I was a child, but like many people, I have endured imposter syndrome.  I’ve dealt with an internal struggle of not being “good enough” or fear of ridicule and rejection.  My writing was my soul – and how could I bare my soul only to have it rejected?  Not an uncommon struggle for artists.  But I let it inhibit me.

For many years, I’ve borne the mark of the creative soul buried beneath the protective cloak of invisibility and acceptable behavior all the while resenting the fact that I could never fully be me. 

I’ll create quietly and alone while I appear “normal” and “professional” to the outside world.

I’ll create in my spare time, so that I can focus on being a contributing member of society.

No one has to ever hear my songs for them to be valuable. (This one is tricky – because it’s true, but it’s also a self-defeating statement that kept my art buried to protect my sensitive skin.)

If no one hears my songs, then no one can hurt me.

I don’t mean to make it sound like I never put myself out there.  I did sell my paintings and put them out in the public eye at one point.  I did write poetry, and in a painful attempt to overcome this critic, I put some of my poems online. 

But there was always a nagging voice that told me you aren’t good enough. People will think you’re trying too hard.  You’re a fraud – no one cares about your art, and they are laughing behind your back. 

And just seeing those remarks on the screen is startling.  What a hateful voice.  And unfortunately – it’s a voice that is not uncommon. 

I think this change has been coming for a while.  I’m not sure exactly what part New Mexico played in all this if I’m honest. Perhaps I did absorb some of that creative energy from Mabel’s house in Taos.  Maybe taking a leap of faith and listening to that voice that called us to New Mexico broke through something on psychological or spiritual level.  I have no clue.

I do know that I experienced a freedom in New Mexico that I’ve not felt anywhere else.  There was a freedom of expression there – an appreciation for art, playfulness and nature that is not found many places. 

As we were told multiple times while we were there, “This truly is the Land of Enchantment.” 

And yet here I am – back in the humidity and zeal of the Bible Belt – experiencing a new freedom.  A freedom to create and a power to call down that hateful voice of oppression. 

I am walking into a new era of identity.  I am not perfect nor am I completely confident. I am woefully flawed, and of that I am proud.  I am shaking off the belief that perfection is the standard. I am walking away from striving and moving toward allowing. 

Creativity is a beautiful, spiritual thing.  And it has been highjacked by a system of faulty beliefs that cause us to abandon our gifts and rewrite our identities. This prevents our creative expression from being born or witnessed by others who need it. 

Art promotes healing.  Art promotes change.  Art is a power all its own.  And until we reclaim our power as artists and creatives and silence the voice of judgment (from society, from friends, from family, from ourselves), we are robbing the earth of beauty and change, and we are robbing ourselves of purpose.

Once again, the link between all of this and New Mexico is fuzzy.  But since I’ve been home, I have more clarity on my purpose. I have more clarity about me. About life.  And I am embracing the child that lived to create. I am embracing my purpose. And I am nurturing my creativity, so that it can continue to grow.

The beautiful thing is that for now New Mexico is my muse. The desert is my inspiration.  The experience has been a catalyst for creation.  And I can’t wait to eventually share the poetry and songs that have been birthed through this altogether wonderfully bizarre trip to the Land of Enchantment.