As the Stomach Turns
Chaos,Spectacle, and the Dharma of Creation
Thank you for being here.
Because Life is Messy… is not a highlight reel. It’s the place where grit meets grace, and wisdom meets the messy, beautiful complexity of real life. If you’re craving depth without dogma — or feeling called to shift or stretch — you belong here. We tell the truth that connects, because connection is what transforms us.
If my work resonates, you can help me grow this messy, sacred conversation by subscribing, leaving a comment, liking it with a 💙, or restacking it with the ♼.
Reminder: Awakening Shakti Practice Circle will meet on Tuesday, February 24, at 5:00 PM Pacific Time. Our focus will be on the Goddess Saraswati. You’re welcome to join in, whether you’ve read the book or not. Each session stands alone. The only requirement is an open mind and heart. The Zoom link will be sent to paid subscribers on Tuesday.
Most of us will admit that Americans are living in alternate universes. If you see the world as I do, we’re watching a mash-up of a bad reality TV show and a miserable soap opera — featuring aging stars who once thought they were something, refusing to give up the limelight, desperately clinging to power, and hoarding the money they’re raking in through corruption and cronyism.
*
Back in December, my friend Susan Harley and I hopped on Zoom and recorded a conversation about dharma. I planned to post it early in January, but lord knows what horrendous distractions the U.S. administration was dishing out. My brain can hardly remember, but my nervous system certainly does. Not to mention the everyday challenge of simply humaning.
*
My mother was never into daytime soaps — As the World Turns, Days of Our Lives, General Hospital, none of them. Even if she wanted to, she didn’t have the luxury of time with four kids, maintaining a household, and running a small business with my dad. But her clients loved them, so the TV often played whatever soap opera they requested. Some days, it included The Phil Donohue Show and, later, The Oprah Show.
When I worked for my folks as a manicurist, during and just after high school, I admit I was hooked. A few of the hair stylists, clients, and I would get lost in the allure and intrigue of the beautiful people. Meanwhile, criminal activities were taking place — cheating spouses, attempted murders, burglaries, bank heists, kidnappings, and grift unfolded.
Looking back, it’s almost as if those daytime dramas were a rehearsal for the chaos we now call real life — a prelude to the “new world order” that can’t simply be turned off at will.
I do try to limit my doom scrolling to save my sanity, but it doesn’t erase the fact that the U.S. and other nations are, as my mother would say, ‘going to hell in a hand basket.’ Mom, if you’re watching and reading this from somewhere beyond, yes — we’re living in both the past and the present where the shit has overflowed the basket.
The numbers suggest that many of us are not as easily broken as those in power like to think. We are treated like laboratory mice — tested again and again to see what it will take to make us give up. But we are still here.
*
When my dad started showing signs of dementia, my mother would call me with worry in her voice, Your dad’s brains are scrambled. Her statement resonates even more deeply now, given the vile words that tumble forth from the man who resides in the White House. And the audacity that comes from those in high office, expecting us to believe what we hear. Senseless words bereft of logic or heart. Words spoken loudly are often mistaken for strength, though clear minds know them to be only noise.
I refuse to be taken in by the men in power's false show of innocence. I have eyes that see the truth.
*
In the discussion I had with Susan Harley (recording below) from Courageous Conversations, we discussed how each of us is being asked to step up our game. What that game is and what our particular role is has everything to do with our dharma.
When I sit in meditation and journal in the morning, I ask myself, What is mine to do? How can I contribute? What the hell does that even mean, and what the hell does it look like? Some days, the answers are clear and simple. Other days, not so much. One thing I know for sure: we need to keep making art. In whatever form is ours.
I believe the lies we are told will not destroy us. I believe they will force us to reassess, regroup, and band together — especially in our exhaustion. I believe we will create new beginnings with our loved ones and in our communities, gathering to become the artists who dare to make beauty in response to ugliness.
*
The arts are inclusive in their membership. While exclusion often appears to be the norm, the truth is that creative communities maintain an open-door policy to anyone who cares to join and contribute. Art is not only about creating beauty and making meaning; it’s also a form of communication and a way to become documentarians of history.
When we are long gone from this blue pearl of a world, what piece of you, reflected through art, will remain?
Perhaps it will be the essence of your soul, filtered down through your family, friends, and community — the essence of how you cared enough to create, even imperfectly.
*
Recently, I saw a reel of a mother who gave her two-year-old daughter a paintbrush and two cans of paint — white and black — and put her in front of a large canvas. She encouraged the little girl but did not interfere. She simply showed her how to dip the oversized paintbrush into the paint and slap it on the canvas. I’m not sure if it took a few hours or a few days, but eventually the mother framed it and hung it on the kitchen wall.
It was stunning.
And I wondered…
What if we were all handed a paintbrush at two years old and told to go at it?
What amazing patterns would have formed in our brains?
What courage would have taken root?
*
We are living through different seasons of our lives while collectively navigating what I hope is the final season of As the Stomach Turns.
While the spectacle plays out, we still have our hands. We still have our minds. We still have our paintbrushes. We still have our words.
Our dharma is not to ignore the chaos. It is to create in the midst of it.
To make something true. To leave evidence that we were here — aware, discerning, and unwilling to be reduced to playing a part someone else is trying to write for us.
This is how I navigate the chaos and discover meaning, all while holding onto the hope of leaving behind something beautiful.
I really would like to hear how you are choosing to survive the mess.
Below is a new release by the group The Summer Set. Our young people are not only paying attention, but they’re also suffering.
The lead singer of The Summer Set is the son of a good friend of mine, and he co-wrote the lyrics with his writing partner. It will surely give you pause.
Paulette, thank you for offering creativity as a way to stay sane amid the chaos. I'm fortunate to live in a peaceful place in Hawaii that feels a bit removed from the mainland's chaos. But naturally, I hear the news, and my heart hurts. I try not to give too much attention to the chaos, instead supporting justice in whatever ways I can and engaging in compassionate meditations. Not that ICE isn't in Hawaii but not so active where I am.
I can hear and feel your words today Paulette, thank you for the careful effort to put pen to paper and express yourself so well. Some days I feel able to find peace in the swirl, but I think you are right that the pace of change adds a disorientation to the mix. I too have found that supporting creativity in myself and others has helped me, I have been reaching out to more live music events. Weekly I share a public garden with others seeking a place of peace and beauty. One way age has helped is that I'm not as self conscious about my own creativity. It is the creative act that gives me relief and hope more than the result. I look forward to listening to the music.