The job of the artist is to render a living moment somehow, a living moment that is alive and in action, or a living moment that is an inward experience, that comes from inside.

My photography has taught me that everything can be art; beauty is everywhere, either outside of me or inside of me. I just have to find it and open my eyes and emotions to it.

And I love living with someone who sees it everywhere, in every tree, plant,  animal, bird or spider, even in the sad news of the day.

Joseph Campbell said that when you follow your bliss, you begin to meet people who are in the field of your bliss, and they open the doors to you.

The creative act is not in hanging on or mourning what’s lost,  but in yielding to a new and creative moment. I do not choose to live a life of warnings, that is just another way of being dead.

I got a dozen warnings today from people cautioning me that my cortisone shots would send my diabetic organs into turmoil and suffering as if I don’t have doctors that I trust and love and talk to me. Boy, have I learned who to trust.

People ask me all the time why I dislike warnings and unsought advice. It’s simple really. I spent so much of my life letting other people decide what I ought to do, I vowed to spend the rest of it making my own decisions, learning my own lessons.

That is the sacred part of living, and of creativity.

I am warned about everything I do; those are creative moment killers. I won’t live in a world of warnings, there are risks to every good thing we do, and all of us will die no matter how many warnings we get.

Campbell also wrote that it is by going down into the abyss that we recover the treasures of life, even when the world outside disappoints and frightens us.

And that is, I suppose the danger of focusing only on the news from the outside, we are used to things that suck us down, but not from things that suck us up, we are still learning how to deal with all of it.

The news from out there will suck you dryer than a year old prune. It is disconnected from us, and the reality of our lives. My story surrounds me and uplifts me.

I have found my bliss and gone down into the abyss, and I meet people and animals now who are in the field of my bliss, and they open doors to me. The hero journey is inside of you, says Campbell, tear off the veils and unlock the mystery of your self.

When I did it, I was horrified by what I found, but I did tear off the veils and discovered the mystery of me. It was not pretty, but it was me. I am getting to know my very flawed self.

Maria is such a person in the field of bliss, and so are one or two friends, women now. I’ve pretty much given up on friendship with men; the ones I meet have either killed themselves, died of cancer, or just don’t care about it much as I do. They live in denial, all closed up and buried in obligation, not too much joy that I can see.

I think you have to find women to be friends in bliss, or lovers, or partners. Soldiers in combat say they make lovely friends, so do athletes in professional sports or on high school football teams.

But those things are not in my field of bliss.

I have found some teachers with big hearts; it is wonderful work for people who care. Artists care too; they have no choice.

My friends need to have been opened up somehow, been down in the abyss, recovered the treasures of life, of rebirth.

At 72, I am stunned to have found my bliss; I can’t quite understand it. I do what I dream of doing; I love what I do. I embrace the journey of aging as a creative challenge; I will age as well as I think about aging well.

In my hospice work, I met so many beautiful people who accepted death with grace and humility and died in the way they choose to die.

I met so many people mired in this quicksand of denial and inability to accept life. They just keep swimming against the big waves, often cheered on by selfish and needy children.

It was almost always a hospice nurse, rarely a child, who whispered in their ear to let go, it’s all right to let go. There was always a son saying, don’t be a quitter, hang on, we need you.

They never looked closely enough to hear the sighs or see the weariness, or maybe they just couldn’t bear to see it. Refusing to accept death is a curious hole for a species that is the only one that knows it is going to die.

Brian and Sandy Adams, farmers nearby, did their first cutting of hay this weekend and brought it to us today. Seventy sweet-smelling first cut big bales, 315 dollars for enough hay to last until a year from now.

I always love to hear Brian’s tales of broken balers, battles with cold and rain and heat, the code of the neighbor, his many tricks to fool Mother Nature and get his hay cut on time.

The neat stacks of hay – we can never stack like Sandy and Brian – are beautiful to me, an iconic symbol of the seasons, of the rushing stream of life.

To me, this load of fresh hay, so neatly stacked, is the first step towards winter.

The cords of wood waiting to be stacked is another. A new car that I got for $300 a month that gets 41 miles a gallon is another.

So are our solar panels coming next week, our electric bill will drop to zero or close for months. And today, I learned that my new glasses would cost me nothing. My insurance company will pay for all of it.

I had a long talk with my empathetic and wise doctor about my knees, my blood, my medications, and my cortisone shots.  She addressed my fears and concerns.

She explained what my body was going in a way I could understand it. We came up with an excellent plan for comfort and health, and I felt good about myself.

No warnings, just solutions.

Moments of awe and bliss.

So the bliss for me is trying to make my heartbeat match the beat of the universe, to get my nature to match up with Nature. I am sure not afraid of getting older, spank me if you hear or see any old talk coming out of me.

I know where I am. It’s about time.

“If you can see your path laid out in front of you step by step, you know it’s not your path. Your path you make with every step you take. That’s why it’s your path.” –  Joseph Campbell.