The Gap

The Gap

It’s 2 a.m. I’m at the bar with a glass of wine, wearing my Diesel super low-cut jeans and a singlet, smoking American Spirits. We’ve just closed a shift at Casimir, on Avenue B. I’ve worked here for two years. I’m twenty, living in New York City, and enrolled in the School of Life.

I’m talking to Jeff. I adore him. He’s my manager and part owner of Casimir, probably thirty at the time, which felt ancient to me; a wise old man who surely had everything figured out. The arrogance of youth; I do miss it, sometimes.

We listened to John Coltrain, a favourite Jazz player; they had an extensive record collection. Music was a big part of Casimir. Jeff was one of my professors in this college of life, and that year I was majoring in music and art. I’ll never forget what he told me: all good art comes from pain.

In those years, I was taking a lot of photos on my mom’s Canon A1, working in the darkroom, seeing life through the frozen image of a photograph. A part of me dreamt of being a photographer; more than that, of living as an artist. From a young age, I’ve found expression through art and craft.

As I sit here today, in Byron Bay, twenty-five years later, well over thirty and definitely without it all figured out, I’m staring at my artworks, paintings to be exact, and I question what he meant in that moment.

Art is an expression; an expression of our feelings, our thoughts, our emotions; an expression of our life and the magic that flows through us. Pain is part of human life, but so is joy. One cannot exist without the other.

And if good art is born from pain, then perhaps success is born from failure. One of the central teachings of the tantric tradition is that the poison is the nectar; Our life is the alchemy that turns mud into gold.

So let me ask my younger self: why didn’t you chase that dream of being an artist, a photographer? I looked at courses. I looked at the long road of school and study. And this is where I need to detour into a conversation about trust.

Trust is the gap between what you know and what you don’t; everything you cannot see. In that gap lives trust, and in that gap, like 2 sides of the same coin, also lives fear, because trust and fear are opposites.

Love isn’t an antidote to fear; trust is. Love is infinite; It’s the source.

I have recently begun to make art again. I make it to understand, to process my emotions, to give my expression somewhere to go, outside of my work, outside of my yoga practice, outside of holding space and being a facilitator. I keep telling myself it is only for me, that I am doing it to heal something. But today, sitting honestly with myself, I asked: how would it feel to have a life where I share my art with the world? It felt amazing. It felt expansive. It felt like a dream I dreamt when I was little. For those who know me, don’t worry; I’m not giving up teaching yoga; I love what I do. This is not about a re-invention or a big pivot; it’s simply an expansion.

And here I am, standing on the edge of a giant cliff. I have stood here many times before. I look down, and there is a huge dark gap. On the other side live all my dreams. This one among them: to share art with the world, I cannot see the steps. Parts of me, parts of my mind, cannot see how I will get there. But I know now there is a choice. This gap can be a gap of fear or a gap of trust. I can stand here for eternity, looking down, or I can jump, like a skydiver falling out of the plane, well-prepared, gear all checked, but still must trust that the parachute will open at the exact right time.

Making art has uncovered the parts of me that stand at that edge, peering into the gap, wondering how I will reach the other side. These parts show up in different areas and through minor or major transitions in my life. In those moments, I now know I can choose fear and fall, or trust and fly.

We all have a gap; it shows up in conversations, decisions, dreams, and relationships. It’s important to build a network of support around us, people who will help us build the bridge or hold our hand when we leap, but most importantly, we must learn to look inward, to find the little one inside, to hold their hand, and to see that big leap as a leap into our own heart.

Have courage, little one, I say. I’ve got you.

Jump.

XX
Tahl

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