I went to a painting class yesterday. The subject was an elephant with numerous markings on it that were somewhat paisley-like and sort of Indian. I could not wait to do it as the elephant has special meaning for me. So as the instructor took the almost full class through the steps, my elephant was emerging—looking nothing like the one I saw online as an example.
His forehead was too big, his eyes too small, and it didn’t have a whiff of paisley or Indian in my opinion. When I got home I showed it to my husband, and he sort of chuckled and said “It looks kind of evil”. I shouted HE IS NOT EVIL! And then proceeded to go into hysterics about how the instructor didn’t seem to know what she was doing, it was so tedious, we didn’t draw it, we went right to paint, etc. etc.
I considered altering the painting, WHICH I NEVER DO. To me, the painting is exactly as it should be at the end of class. I usually set it down on the dining room table and don’t look at it until the next day. And inevitably if I had doubts, they are gone upon the fresh view. But this was NOT happening with the elephant picture. I put it on Facebook anyway, with the caption “He’s not pretty, but he’s mine”. People liked it! I was confused.
I grabbed some paper and tried to recreate the picture to see if I could even draw it. It took me a while but I got something relatively close to the original online. I was frustrated. I decided to name him Picasso, because he looked like something he might have done at some point in his career. I grabbed my adult coloring books and set to coloring to put my mind at ease and forget all about Picasso.
Later that night I took Picasso up to our bedroom—his final destination. I was actually glad that he wouldn’t be featured in the downstairs hallway, or heck, even the upstairs hallway. I wasn’t sure I wanted anyone else to see him. I took down an existing hanging picture and replaced it with Picasso. He didn’t look evil, I told myself. I will get used to him. However, I did ask my husband if it was too scary for the bedroom and again he laughed. Wait til tomorrow, he said. You will like it.
So every time I went into the bedroom, I stole a glance at Picasso. He was sort of growing on me. But my eyes kept going to his enormous forehead and (to my eye) smooshed up lower face. Why the heck did I do that? Then I had an epiphany…
For the past eight weeks I have been studying intuition with my life coach. Last week we were discussing all the things I have learned about intuition, how to increase my intuitive powers, etc. Could Picasso’s big forehead be a symbol of my growing intuition? I said a definitive YES. Picasso was a manifestation of the journey I have been on for the past few months. A beautiful, colorful, culmination of my education.
And it was perfect, and he was perfect. Now when I gaze at him, I am not thinking of imperfections or that he doesn’t look like the original. I smile, give thanks, and know that he was meant to be just as he is.
A wonderful teaching and one I had experienced before. Maybe you are familiar with it? Some trial or tribulation causes us to be frustrated/sad/angry. With much gnashing of teeth and wringing of hands we make it through the situation. We come out the other side relatively unscathed, and if we study it very close, with a great learning. In this case, what I thought was ugly and a total failure transformed into something magical when I learned to look for the hidden beauty in something I created.
Maybe you are currently experiencing something that makes you throw your hands up and yell WHY ME? But know that on the other side is a learning that will serve you the rest of your life. How do I know? Intuition, my friend. Intuition.