Warmth

Warmth.  Nearly everywhere we go we search for it.  In our families, mates and friends.  We like dogs because they exude it.  And other kinds of pets.  It seems we look everywhere for it.  But inside.

The joy of age is that we can look back.  Remembering the 70s and excess of the glittering Reagan 80s, my body feels cold.  My first apartment did, too.  Our words were more direct, at least we thought so then.  Magazines depicted the right colors, style and furnishings to get us that.  But it was only a photo-shopped look.  It didn't strike at our hearts.  It did strike at our purse. It still felt cold.

I love color, style and furnishings.  But warmth and its resonant depth can only come from within.  From our hearts, from our love.  It is the love we first learn, if we are lucky, to extend to ourselves.  When we can do it for ourselves we can do it for others.  It is like elastic ~ it stretches and returns to its original dimension. It will come home.    

Our culture does anything but encourage us to work within.  The advertising industry through glossy magazines sell us a belief system, beautiful make-up, clothes and figures or the media that reinforce and promote continual stress.  Are we really more stressed than subsistence societies?

I like warm people.  Open people.  People who laugh at their foibles.  People who exude it.  They bring others along with them.  They teach us to access ourselves. 

It's a cold day outside.  In my writing and art studio a quick 180 reminds me of this today. This is what warmth looks like.