Returning to my Roots

Reclaiming my lineage, my body, and my unique rhythm

A painting/collage of myself as a tree had been hanging on my bedroom wall for awhile.

It was the culmination of “You are not my mirror,” an art journey I began last year to alchemize the lies racism had imprinted on my body.

Last week, it fell to the floor (it had been hung with tacks), revealing an unfinished painting that had been hanging beneath it.

I had started the older painting- me as a centaur- over a decade ago. I’d loved the initial figure that I’d sketched on the canvas.

But after painting more layers, I no longer liked the face. I ended up covering the face with white paint.

It looked strange and disconnected and I never felt inspired to finish the painting. But, because of its symbolism, I’d hung it up in my bedroom (before later covering it with the tree painting).

I’m a Sagittarius sun and have several other planets in that archetype. I was also born in the year of the Horse.

I hoped to embody the best qualities of the Archer- the unsinkable optimism, determination, unabashed boldness, and raw power constantly aimed towards truth and the divine.

Lately I’d been feeling it was time to begin working on the Sagittarius painting again.

I’ve been desiring to return to my essence, to simplify —come home to the heart of the matter.

The centaur pointing her arrow seemed the perfect image to be with.

So, when the tree painting fell on the floor to reveal the centaur, I wasn’t totally surprised. I wasn’t sure what to do with it though. It’s quite large (over 10 feet tall).

And the painting no longer wanted to be in the bedroom. I brought it to the basement (The Temple of Ecstatic Bliss) where I have my art studio set up.

I thought about hanging it in front of another large unfinished painting that I haven’t been working on lately.

Instead, I was guided to just lay the collage on the floor, in the middle of the room- which didn’t make sense! It would be in the way (directly in front of the space where I’d need to stand in front of my canvas to paint).

But, I listened. A couple of days later- a Tuesday- I was celebrating the planet deity, Mars. (As an Aries Rising, Mars is the ruling planet of my chart, as Mars rules Aries. I was invoking the planet’s unstoppable nature, focus and strength).

I asked Mars if he’d like any offerings. He said he wanted blood.

He’d never asked for that before (which is actually kind of surprising, as he’s a god of war).

So I poured some moon blood (that I’d previously stored) into a beautiful cup and placed it on his altar. Later, I planned to offer the blood to the Earth.

But later that night, I realized that I’d left the blood on the altar all day. I was annoyed that I’d forgotten about it.

I didn’t want to just throw the blood out, and it felt too late to walk into the woods to make an offering.

Then, I looked down and saw the tree on the floor. And I noticed for the first time that the roots of the tree were white, the only part of the painting that I’d painted white.

And suddenly, I knew I was to paint over those white roots with my blood.

Without realizing it at the time, I was continuing the journey of alchemizing the racism imprinting …

Covering the white roots of conditioning with blood- blood that belongs to me and comes from a much older time and place than the modern Western ideals- from people whose bodies mirror my own.

The very next day, a couple (they’ve been repairing clocks together for over 20 years!) came to fix the grandfather clock.

The clock was designed to receive regular maintenance and yearly professional cleaning. Unfortunately, the clock is over forty years old and had never received any kind of treatment until that day.

(Though it turns out I was wrong about no one caring enough to repair the grandfather clock. My father had asked people over the years to tinker with the clock and see if they could get it working- electrician friends, handymen.

Unfortunately, they hadn’t known what they were doing and had further damaged the clock).

So…the clock was not in great shape.

(The repairman was quick to remind me, “Well, you have to remember, it’s like 50 years old.”

Right, as if we can only expect dysfunction at that age. The clock is the same age I am!)

The professionals said that completely repairing the clock would requuire extensive restoration, but they had provided a more temporary, alternative measure that would get the clock working, though they couldn’t guarantee for how long.

I was hopeful. It all felt like a perfect metaphor just for me…

Hearing the professionals talk about the clock’s sensitivity to its environment:

How you must adjust, then observe every day to see if the clock is keeping time.

If it is too fast or slow, to adjust the pendulum, a turn at a time. Then observe again, and repeat.

This feels like the process I’ve been going through lately with my body. Trying new rhythms and routines, seeing what works, adjusting, observing again.

And just that morning (the same day the clock was fixed), my body finally, clearly told me what she actually needs (or finally I listened).

• to stop drinking smoothies for breakfast and fasting once a week.
• to stop ‘strength-training’ (a few simple exercises I’d started doing because I felt like I should, to maintain bone density and such. But I didn’t enjoy them and felt tired after. I’d assumed I’d just ‘get used to it’ and soon it would feel good to be strong again. But my body said otherwise (at least for now).
• to sleep by 2 am (and wake by 10 am)

I resisted this information. Especially sleeping by 2 am. That can’t be healthy! “Everyone” knows you should go to bed by 10 pm at the latest, so your body can properly restore itself.

And all successful people wake up early, right?

But, my hidden beliefs went beyond these societal notions of success and health.

I realized I had internalized my mother’s judgment of my father.

My mother has always been an early riser and my father a late one. They both had to get up early because of work, but my dad would often still stay up late.

He would be groggy and sleepy the entire morning and my mother judged him for having a “weak constitution.” She also judged him for lacking self-control.

Why couldn’t he just go to sleep earlier, so he could show up better for himself and the family the next day? And even if he didn’t sleep, couldn’t he just perform (like she could?).

Conpared to my mom, my father seemed lazy and ineffective.

So all my life, when people asked if I was a night owl, I’d say…

‘Oh, I like staying up late. But, I also like getting up early.”

(Which is true. I like waking with the dawn, having the whole day in front of me. The feeling of getting so much done before it’s even noon!)

But, I also like sleeping. So I go back and forth. I like naps, too.”

Even as a child, I stayed up until 2 or 3 am. Luckily, my parents didn’t ever try to enforce a bedtime.

Nevertheless, my whole life I thought this late bedtime was unhealthy. That I should sleep earlier and that I’d feel better about myself if I consistently did so. Even if most of my inspiration and energy has always come late at night.

If I got up after 8 or 9 am, I’d feel behind, like I’d already wasted half the day, even if I’d stayed up late the night before.

But my body was telling me- those late nights are MY peak hours. She also said…

• She wants me to cook and eat more Korean food with my mom
• She likes more gentle exercise- like walking and qi gong (which I already do and love!)

My body was wanting me to return to my roots. As in my ancestral roots, the ways of Korea (homemade food, gentle movement, more time spent with family).

But also, the roots of my own being- my nature, my unique rhythm and creative cycles.

I’ll share more about where the tree painting ended up (it’s no longer on my floor :) next time.

Click here to read the beginning of the art journey to alchemize the lies of racism….