I was talking to one of our street guys the other week. He was selling ‘Edmonton Street News’ outside of the Farmer’s Market off Whyte Ave. Because ESN is hosting “A Night of Poetry, Dance and Magic” this Friday evening, I asked him if he was going. He said that he was definitely going. Because my wife Debbie and I will be representing Hope Mission and sponsoring one of the poetry prizes, I asked him if he knew about the poetry contest. He said he certainly did and quickly informed me that he was one of the poets. Admittedly, he wouldn’t have been my first choice in a spot-the-poet-lineup. But I should know enough not to make these interior judgments. As you may know, people from the street often surprise.

I had a sense he wanted to tell me about his poetry and I had to make a conscious effort not to inquire, in fact I steered our conversation away from the subject. That’s because I knew that Linda Dumont, ESN editor, would be sending me a number of poems–sans author’s names of course–and I supposed his would be among them.

I received the package of poems last week. There are seven. I am to choose a first and second place winner. And now I’m in thick because every poem is very good. Stirring, emotive and well crafted, and almost always with spiritual reference or at least an allusion to things transcendent and divine. A telling thing in itself.

So, with perhaps more to come…here’s a sample: (The name of the poet will be published as soon as I find that out.)

Hope Finds Strength

Our friend Ellen is an artist. It is not simply that she paints with oils and creates works of beauty that connect to people in a variety of personal ways. And it’s not only that she can take a piece of furniture, peel back the layers of time, and with the tip of a paint brush, using the moods of nature, create for this piece new raiment that radiates an intuitive awe for the earth. Before any of this, Ellen is an artist because she inhabits the soul of an artist.

The world is represented to her through eyes that see the colours, the contours, the simple wonder of the surface of things. Her way is not the attempt at seeing through properties to any supposed substance of things. Instead, as is the way of artists, her delight is in what is given, in the mystery of what is simply there. Her art comes through delight in playing on these boundaries.

So we listened as she talked about her quandary of wanting the time to create art and still make a living. She described how she had just taken a short orientation and safety course that allowed her to join a union and get on a list to install insulation. She sorted through it out loud, weighing and balancing all relevant forces, finally concluding that there comes a time when you just have to “trust the art”.

Ellen never speaks in declarations, and this wasn’t one; but her phrase had the clarity and force of a good echoing pronouncement and it stuck.

For me, “trust the art” is first of all a fresh way to check inventory. It is a way to begin-to-continue sweeping away any layers of neglect, negative self-interest, and envy; all things that kill creative instinct. “Trust the art” is a way to give myself permission to exercise, test, fail and sometimes succeed at the impulse that burns deeper than others.

For each of us, whatever our vocation, our desire, whatever we come with, the question of “trusting the art” is, at bottom, about trusting the gift given. It is about using the gift and the attendant skills and talent that millions have, but using it in the way that only you can.

Because it is formed in the crucible of all your experiences, thoughts, and emotions, it is your unique gift. A gift, by virtue of the giver, that also recognizes and learns from the gifts and skills of others and creates new things through integrating the past work of others.

“Trusting the art” is also about putting yourself out there in the knowledge that in being true to your gift, you honour the giver and add to the stock of goodness in the world. At the same time, putting yourself out there will mean risking misunderstanding, even unintentionally inviting derision.

Trusting is never easy. It has to do with repeatedly overcoming fear, insecurity, even self-contempt, through great love.

In the end we are either moving toward or edging away from trust. The disorienting moment that trust-the-art brings will always beguile us into falling back to counterfeit ways of control. Trust never becomes static. We bounce between bad faith and good, between security and trust. But the motion itself allows for possibility.

Ellen is “trusting the art”. Her own work has and is being recognized and she occasionally earns enough to make a living. This is a happy by-product of “trust the art”–not given to all. While desiring the “by-product” is right and good, the centre-point not the payoff. I suspect if it is, no payoff is ever enough.

“Trusting the art” is finally about an orientation to life. While the erecting of personal securities finally leave us as hollow as the walls, trust-the-art gives us the only access we have to the great mysteries of origin and things seemingly infinite. “Trust the art” is deep wisdom.

I remember a basketball game my son played in. It seemed to me that he worked hard. Made some plays. He ran the length of the court, got to some loose balls, passed to breaking team mates, but rarely did he get a return pass. Rarer still, did he get an original pass.

I recall my hurt for him, my anger at the other boys, and my embarrassment as I sat among the other parents; and I recall my mix of shame and annoyance at feeling any of this at a simple, “for fun league”, basketball game.

The eyes of parents are filtered. When I talked to him afterwards he said that he was disappointed in his play, but felt no animosity towards the other players. He chalked it up to a bad game and figured to do better next time. I on the other hand, having endured the gravity of a bad hour and a half, felt wrung out.

I think I see more clearly now. Not that I’ve eclipsed agonizing or even being petty about events like this, only that I’m more apt to listen to the experience. And not get played so easily.

The first word of St. Benedict’s Rule is “listen”. In Latin, obsculta. It’s where we get our word obedience. Here’s Benedict’s first line: “Listen carefully, my child, to my instructions, and attend to them with the ear of your heart.”

The idea is to let nothing go by, no event, no moment, from wondrous to depressive, without listening and learning from its interior.

Make friends with every mess in your life, not to control but to grow and live. Allow yourself to be nourished by mystery and possibility.

So when we find ourselves in the waste spaces of life, even there, where it feels as though nothing is left for us, we might at least remember to wait and not flail, hope and not hate.

Life is not the domination of a series of events. Life is carefully attending to our days learning to listen with the ear of our heart.