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I like to move slowly and intentionally, so how nice after teaching at the Snow Farm Art & Wellness retreat to spend Monday morning moving with care, finding my way to a wood bench under a tree to sit happily and reflect.

During the opening session, I guided mindfulness and close-looking at artwork. Everyone went from silent to bubbling: 

“We noticed that we each had a character in the artwork that we thought of as ourselves…“

“I noticed every time you guided me to close my eyes and go inside, it changed what I saw on the outside when I opened them…“

The invitation was to reflect on how you’ve been feeling lately and then notice what you see in the artwork. Questions implicit in this process are, how does who we are right now in the moment impact what we perceive? And how can our perceiving impact our internal state?

Looking closely lets the nervous system notice that we’re safe.

Breathing slows, heart rate slows, and then we might begin to see ourselves projected and gain insight, just as much as we might begin to bring the calm from outside in. 

As I sit and reflect now, it’s the same. Everywhere around me, I notice the cacophony of birds. Near, farther, far, I hear layers of sound on repeat, pause, repeat. I hear them pecking and landing on the apex dorm roof. I hear a flutter of wings gushing past, a burbling babble, a wobbling warble, a piercing straw call. I hear a scratching short guttural putter and the long, low coo-o coo coo coo of the mourning dove. 

Last night I was teaching about welcome and wonder, compassion and curiosity. Inside me now, I notice I feel dazzled and proud to be living by these tenets that are at the core of mindfulness. As Pema Chodron said, “Let your curiosity be greater than your fear.” 

So here I am in this special, sweet place, teaching and learning in this way because I let my curiosity be greater than my fear. 

I manifested this moment—right now with my feet on the moss, my butt in the chair, my pen on the page, and my senses doing their delectable sensing that lands me in the present—because I let myself want what I wanted. Fully, truly, unapologetically. 

I didn’t want to settle for a career that excluded crucial parts of who I am, so I created a way to welcome all of it.

And my friend, if you want to, you can too.

I didn’t want to choose between my passions or do what was safe or expected of me, so I stayed curious, followed joy, and enlisted compassion. 

And if you want to, you can too.

All my agendas are paused, now. I can’t remember for sure if they matter. It feels good. 

The black fly lands on my thumb. The breeze is cool and damp and carries the smell of the apple blossoms. The sun creates shadows, tree leaves dancing against the leaves of my page. Outside meets inside. Integration.

I wrote this poem on mother’s day morning. It’s about my one experience as a mother, but maybe you’ll resonate.

There are many, many, many kinds of mothering, including (I believe) one’s creative practice.

If you’re in a space where the topic of mothers is triggering, I encourage you to show yourself care and sit this one out. If not, I hope you enjoy.

Love, India

PS – my sister had a great idea that there should be a Grandmother’s day. So we don’t have to share. All in favor say aye.

Mother’s Day 
By India Clark

On Mother’s Day, 
I wanted gardening shoes.
A massage, a date with a friend,
Waking up to breakfast in bed with
A perfect cherub who looks 
In my eyes and says 
Mama, I love you. 

Scratch that, all I care about is 
A cup of tea, a sliver of mental space,
And to worship my own mother, 
Who is still in stunning, temporary bloom.

To be a mother
Means to stay 
Beyond the scope of sense and reason,
And discover I am bigger.

That I can live
A ransacked life
And still flourish. 

Staying when my cherub
Is full of the devil,
No interest in kisses,
No interest in quiet. 

Staying even though almost everything 
That’s rightfully mine
Is now imminent domain—

My body, my sleep,
How I present myself aesthetically, 
Even my behavior, sometimes. 
But I stay. 

I stay when my work and friendships,
Art and marriage,
Get ritualistically interrupted,

Like I stayed when my body
Split open 
And this nonsense began,

Which is now the only nonsense that I live by. 
Compromise everything, except 
Tending that stunning and temporary
Young flower.

(Even though I myself
am just a flower.)

The most absurd part of all
Is not the pure science fiction 
Of gestation and birth.
It’s that I love this.

I love knowing my strength, 
Uncovering my reserves, 
Encountering my creativity,
And learning to honor myself 
When it appears to run dry. 

I love the breadth I discover
through the forge 
Of The Mother.

And even more,
I love watching, 
And listening,
And celebrating, 
And witnessing 
You. 

The other day,
Watching your favorite show,
Me laying next to you, flattened 
on the couch like a mother,
You hit pause. 

You walked over, lips pursed,
And kissed my face
—a gentle claim—
Then kissed the top of my head.

It was almost parental. 
And I felt 
How I was in your hands, too.

Milan and I are walking up the road through the woods – dirt and gravel and moss through the trees where there’s never a car. Picking wild raspberries. Running for fun holding hands. My time to be with him, and myself, and my body before afternoon client calls.

He sits down in the middle of the road “let’s sit here where it’s nice and flat.” I feel charmed and annoyed all at once. I’m ready to get back, take a shower, and step into that other me that gets to help creative souls dive deeper than their fears and find confident purpose.

But resistance often backfires, so I sit by his side. Pretend we’re in a car on the road driving. Pretend we’re in a plane. Pick up some rocks and throw them as far as we can.

He picks up a fist sized stone. The swoop of his arm from low to high makes a full arc, pitching the stone back at my forehead. My hand shoots up to cover the pain and before I can stop him, a second rock hits a bullseye on the back of my hand. Is this for real?

Parenting doesn’t pause when you’re in pain. I hear myself explain to him, calmly and firmly, how he can be more careful throwing stones, but I also hear a memory in my head, my cousin Nika’s voice saying “No one ever told me how much my kids would physically hurt me.”

And these words I have often remembered with an understanding laugh suddenly pierce me more deeply. I feel the well of sadness—the one that holds every abuse I have lovingly, servingly absorbed, the one I never have time for—and I let myself cry.

Milan sees my face and laughs. When I don’t join him, his laugh turns to a whine. He claws at my chest “I want to nurse!” I say baby, not right now, mamas having a little cry.

And after a pause, he throws his soft arms around me, presses his beautiful face to my shoulder, breathes tenderness into my heaves.

Then I’m ok again. I was always ok. We start back towards home, towards helping my clients find their authentic answers, and he doesn’t want to walk, so I carry my giant toddler in my sweaty, aching, superhuman arms.

Weaving motherhood together with the good, orderly direction of a flexible work life is a blessing.

Because motherhood is by far the toughest climb. It’s unrelenting, it calls when you’re down, it shows you your reserve tank, and the one behind that—the ones you didn’t know existed, the ones you’re angry, amazed, inspired and fulfilled to discover—and that can fuel your self-belief in your purpose work.

Motherhood is chaos. Sheer chaos, especially now, in a pandemic—and routine making through soul-focused work is the ground.

Motherhood is ecstasy. Physical pain, mind pain, heart pain, and the sweetest, brightest, addictingest, heart-explodingest intimate bliss simultaneously. Impossible, unbearable, truer than true.

Weaving motherhood together with the spaciousness, ritual and freedom of flexible, passion-driven work feels so balancing.

Whatever you are mothering—a project, a program, a dream, a relationship, an enterprise—I wish you abundant support and the faith and courage to pursue a nourishing lifestyle to match.

If you’re a up against a decision, working through a transition, trying to live a truer life, feeling the desire for shift but clouded by fear and doubt, learn more about my Wayfinder Deep Seeing Sessions and 3-month Mentorship.