My Daily Encounters With "God"

There is a ubiquitous presence in daily life of something for which we have no proof of its existence. I'm sure there must be some classical philosophical term to describe this phenomenon, but I don't know what it is. Does anyone out there?

Every day we encounter "God" in dozens of ways; and yet, objectively, "God" is a subjective idea. Amazing! We encounter something so often that is really an abstraction, an idea or belief. Is there anything else like this which has a pervasive presence in our lives, yet may or may not exist?

Someone might make an a priori argument that since "God" is everywhere, he/she/it must exist. But all the manifestations of "God" are man-made. Viz.:



* Places/things that mention God, such as money, banks, jewelry, songs, places of worship, etc. are omnipresent.

* Every day I say "Thank God" or "Oh God" at least two or three dozen times. Usually, afterwards, I feel silly. Often, I'll exclaim "Jesus Christ!" or "Holy Christ!" then I think, how can I say these things when I don't believe in them?

* On most days, at least one or two people tell me "God bless you and your family," and this has nothing to do with sneezing. Not sure what to say, I reply, "Thanks, same to you."

* Often, in response to my saying "see you tomorrow" someone will say, "God willing." Sometimes, now, I say it as an anti-jinx measure, which can't hurt.

* Often, I receive emails which tell me how blessed I am, how I should love God, and pass the email on to the people I love, as did the person who sent it to me. Usually, I delete them.

* Religious holidays.

And finally,

* I have daily interactions with people whose lives are dedicated to "the Lord." Most of them are Christians; a few are Jews.

All of the above is very confusing because I waver between being Atheist and Agnostic. Here is a constant presence in my life, and I'm not sure if it exists. So what do I do? What I've been doing since I was born into a secular Jewish family in a Christian society: I pretend a lot and participate a little.

What an odd thing, though, to be pretending about something all the time. But, if I'm saying I'm Agnostic, am I really pretending? Or, do I not know if I'm pretending? What kind of way is this to live?

To be continued... Read more!

My Daily Encounters With God

There is a ubiquitous presence in daily life of something for which we have no proof of its existence. I'm sure there must be some classical philosophical term to describe this phenomenon, but I don't know what it is. Does anyone out there?

Every day we encounter "God" in dozens of ways; and yet, objectively, "God" is a subjective idea. Amazing! We encounter something so often that is really an abstraction, an idea or belief. Is there anything else like this which has a pervasive presence in our lives, yet may or may not exist?

Someone might make an a priori argument that since "God" is everywhere, he/she/it must exist. But all the manifestations of "God" are man-made. Viz.:

* Places/things that mention God, such as money, banks, jewelry, songs, places of worship, etc. are omnipresent.

* Every day I say, "Thank God" or "Oh God" at least two or three dozen times. Usually afterwards, I feel silly. Often, I'll exclaim, "Jesus Christ!" or "Holy Christ!" then I think, how can I say these things when I don't believe in them?

* On most days, at least one or two people tell me, "God bless you and your family," and this has nthing to do with sneezing. Not sure what to say, I reply, "Thanks, same to you."

* Often, in response to my saying "see you tomorrow" someone will say, "God willing." Sometimes now I say it too, just as an anti-jinx measure (which can't hurt).

* Often, I receive e-mails which tell me how blessed I am, how I should love God, and pass the email on to the people I love, as did the person who sent it to me. Usually, I delete them.

* Religious holidays.

And finally,

* I have daily interactions with people whose lives are dedicated to "the Lord." Most of them are Christians; a few are Jews.

All of the above is very confusing because I waver between being Atheist and Agnostic. Here is a constant presence in my life, and I'm not sure if it exists. So what do I do? What I've been doing since I was born into a secular Jewish family in a Christian society: I pretend a lot and participate a little.

What an odd thing, though, to be pretending about something all the time. But, if I'm saying I'm Agnostic, am I really pretending? Or, do I not know if I'm pretending? What kind of way is this to live?

To be continued... Read more!

Why Are They "Praying For You"?

In much of my work, emails come asking about the correct way to respond when someone says something directly attacking, or passively disparaging to Atheists. A majority of this is regarding the phrase, "I'm praying for you". The comment, often supposed to imply that you are in someone's thoughts, is remarkably thoughtless. It's as if someone said to a woman without arms, "Why can't you hug me?" It just doesn't make sense to Atheists, and it certainly doesn't mean anything to us. Yet, we don't always have any visual clues during everyday interaction with most people as to beliefs, or lack of beliefs.

Those who wear religious garb, or specific tattoos, or even jewelry give us some indications of their thought process. As a species, we're trained to judge others by appearance, to determine ally from foe, family from stranger, business from casual. But, we're not trained nor do we seem to understand that our own methods of communicating our needs aren't clear. For example, teens who want to be different, wear the same black garb today that they did when I was in high school over 20 years ago. Parents often seem the same age as their children, and grandparents, which once used to illicit images of grey hair, and warm smiles, are now indistinguishable by age range. The forty-four year old next to you may be a first time parent, or a third time grandparent.

As we continue in our lives, we notice that stereotypes once held are now completely blurred. Where once it was taboo to marry between races, now it is difficult to know how many cultures exist within one household. So it is true with our view of those who are religious. Just looking at someone won't tell you Atheist from Catholic from Wiccan from Buddhist. In as much, our language has also blurred. The phrase after someone sneezes, "bless you", which came about during the days when plague was prominent, was also a pagan hex to ward off evil spirits. Atheists are just as guilty of using this phrase as anyone, simply because it has become a colloquial statement of "wish you aren't sick" ingrained in our culture from our earliest social interaction. It really doesn't mean anything, and really doesn't need to be said.

However, when someone says "I'm Praying for You", it doesn't feel quite the same way. It may indicates the speaker could be ashamed of your beliefs, and therefore wants you to change them- with his or her power of prayer. It could be a statement of "I have nothing to offer you that will help you, but this one thing I know I do for myself." It could be a statement of simple, genuine concern. The manner it is stated, and the circumstances which brings that comment out has as much to do with the words as the intent.

James Randi stated that he believes in the Good Neighbor Policy of Atheism. He assumes everyone is Atheist and doesn't preach the lack of belief to anyone unless challenged to do so. "Screaming at someone and telling him that you don't have beliefs and why is just as bad as screaming at someone and telling him what religion you have and why they should be 'saved'." He also gets very insulted when someone "blesses him or offers prayer" because it is "very assumptive to assume that you have enough power to bless me or change my life through your words."

Yet, when the phrase, "I'm praying for you" is uttered to us we aren't always clear on the response. It is dependent upon the circumstance, the speaker, the intent, and the manner in which it was spoken. Degrading another person isn't the Good Neighbor Policy, of which Randi spoke. But, there are times when hearing these words repetitively can be curtailed forever, simply with the response, "I can't accept your prayers, but I can accept your thoughts." Without insulting someone, or preaching the logic of Atheism, you succinctly state your needs. You relate to him on a peer level, and you don't disparage his way of life.

But what do you say when the comment is made as an insult or "lesson" to you as an Atheist? How do you politely tell someone that you are sick of hearing his wishes to convert you, or turn you away from what he may think is heathen path to hell? What if he is an employer, or family member? What can you say that will stop the prayers, and continue the relationship? You state the truth.

The truth is the easiest solution, and will keep that phrase out of conversations. You state, "I appreciate that you live your life as you wish, as free will is something I also hold dear. It's wonderful we can be adult enough to accept our differences." Then change the topic. Completely stop talking about the idea that prayer is part of his life and not yours. Don't bring up a church, or a time when you left a church. Don't carry the conversation farther than the fact of, accepting the person for who he is, and gratefully accepting yourself for who you are. You may need to say this several times, in several instances, but the message will eventually get through.
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Cathe Jones is the author of the book, Godless Grief, and the moderator of the writing group, Las Vegas Quill Keepers. In September, she hosts a workshop on Godless Grief at the Atheist Alliance International conference at The Queen Mary, in Long Beach, California. She is represented by Janet Rosen of Sheree Bykofsky and Associates. Read more!

Where all roads lead (1)

by Dale McGowan, author/editor, Parenting Beyond Belief
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I have 22 posts jostling for attention at the moment, but a Saturday night conversation with my girls has sent all other topics back to the green room for a smoke.

The three of us were lying on my bed, looking at the ceiling and talking about the day. "Dad, I have to tell you a thing. Promise you won’t get mad," said Delaney (6), giving me the blinky doe eyes. "Promise?"

"Oh jeez, Laney, so dramatic," said Erin, pot-to-kettlishly.

"I plan to be furious," I said. "Out with it."

“Okay, fine. I…I kind of got into a God fight in the cafeteria yesterday.”

I pictured children barricaded behind overturned cafeteria tables, lobbing Buddha-shaped meatballs, Flying Spaghetti Monsters, and Jesus tortillas at each other. A high-pitched voice off-camera shouts Allahu akbar!

"What’s a ‘God fight’?"

“Well I asked Courtney if she could come over on Sunday, and she said, ‘No, my family will be in church of course.’ And I said oh, what church do you go to? And she said she didn’t know, and she asked what church we go to. And I said we don’t go to church, and she said ‘Don’t you believe in God?’, and I said no, but I’m still thinking about it, and she said ‘But you HAVE to go to church and you HAVE to believe in God,” and I said no you don’t, different people can believe different things.”

Regular readers will recognize this as an almost letter-perfect transcript of a conversation Laney had with another friend last October.

I asked if the two of them were yelling or getting upset with each other. “No,” she said, “we were just talking.”

"Then I wouldn’t call it a fight. You were having a conversation about cool and interesting things."


Delaney: Then Courtney said, ‘But if there isn’t a God, then how did the whole world and trees and people get made so perfect?’

Dad: Ooo, good question. What’d you say?

Delaney: I said, ‘But why did he make the murderers? And the bees with stingers? And the scorpions?’

Now I don’t know about you, but I doubt my first grade table banter rose to quite this level. Courtney had opened with the argument from design. Delaney countered with the argument from evil.

Delaney: But then I started wondering about how the world did get made. Do the scientists know?

I described Big Bang theory to her, something we had somehow never covered. Erin filled in the gaps with what she remembered from our own talk, that “gravity made the stars start burning,” and “the earth used to be all lava, and it cooled down.”

Laney was nodding, but her eyes were distant. “That’s cool,” she said at last. “But what made the bang happen in the first place?”

Connor had asked that exact question when he was five. I told Laney the same thing I told him—that we don’t know what caused the whole thing to start. “But some people think God did it,” I added.

She nodded.

“The only problem with that,” I said, “is that if God made everything, then who…”

“Oh my gosh!” Erin interrupted. “WHO MADE GOD?! I never thought of that!”

"Maybe another God made that God," Laney offered.

“Maybe so, b...”

"OH WAIT!" she said. "Wait! But then who made THAT God? OMIGOSH!"

They giggled with excitement at their abilities. I can’t begin to describe how these moments move me. At ages six and ten, my girls had heard and rejected the cosmological (“First Cause”) argument within 30 seconds, using the same reasoning Bertrand Russell described in Why I Am Not a Christian:

I for a long time accepted the argument of the First Cause, until one day, at the age of eighteen, I read John Stuart Mill's Autobiography, and I there found this sentence: "My father taught me that the question ‘Who made me?’ cannot be answered, since it immediately suggests the further question ‘Who made god?’” That very simple sentence showed me, as I still think, the fallacy in the argument of the First Cause. If everything must have a cause, then God must have a cause.

…and Russell in turn was describing Mill, as a child, discovering the same thing. I doubt that Mill’s father was less moved than I am by the realization that confident claims of “obviousness,” even when swathed in polysyllables and Latin, often have foundations so rotten that they can be neutered by thoughtful children.

There was more to come. Both girls sat up and barked excited questions and answers. We somehow ended up on Buddha, then reincarnation, then evolution, and the fact that we are literally related to trees, grass, squirrels, mosses, butterflies and blue whales.

It was an incredible freewheeling conversation I will never, ever forget. It led, as all honest roads eventually do, to the fact that everything that lives also dies. We’d had the conversation before, but this time a new dawning crossed Laney’s face.

“Sweetie, what is it?” I asked.

She began the deep, aching cry that accompanies her saddest realizations, and sobbed:

"I don’t want to die."

(To be continued.)
____________________

Visit The Meming of Life.
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The Second Problem of Evil (Under Tasso's Oak)

The Atheist Way is about living a robust, normal life uncluttered by religion. And for most people, musing on issues of philosophy isn't a big feature of normal life. So it's appropriate that most of the posts here are about life, not philosophy.

Yet for a few, musing on the big, abstract ideas is part of normal life, and bumping into a new idea is one of the most exciting things that can happen. Recently that happened to me while reading a book of essays on philosophy (Philosophers Without Gods, Louise M. Antony, Ed.) and I want to share those ideas here. Maybe a few others will share my excitement.

Two ideas in these essays were new to me. One is positive, a simple, secular basis for a moral system. I will cover that another day (I need some more time to digest it).

The other is a new perspective on the old Problem of Evil which makes it an even stronger argument against a god's existence.

The Old Problem of Evil

The Problem of Evil is an old argument against the existence of god. It can be summarized this way: if the world is created and maintained by an omnipotent and morally-perfect god, how come it contains pointless suffering? Because there is so much suffering of animals as well as people, and so many human miseries that cannot possibly be linked to human will, it becomes easy to conclude either that god is not omnipotent; or that god is not morally perfect (at best morally indifferent, if not outright malevolent); or more simply that there is no god.

The Problem of Evil has been explored in exhaustive detail by many philosophers. (For an overview of its many facets see the Wikipedia article . For a more technical review see the Internet Encyclopedia of Philosophy.)

An argument that aims to reconcile the existence of suffering with a benevolent god is called a theodicy (from the greek words for justify and god). There are several approaches to theodicy, and people who are emotionally committed to the idea of a benevolent God can usually find one that satisfies them. Those of us without such a priori commitments usually find theodicies contorted and unconvincing.

A Different Face of Evil

My understanding of this old chestnut was broken open by the essay "Divine Evil" by the late David Lewis.

Forget the natural suffering caused by cancers, or by tsunamis, says Lewis. Forget the millions of years of painful deaths of innocent animals. All of that suffering was merely permitted by god, but it is only a drop of blood in an endless ocean of pain that is not merely permitted, but intentionally commanded by god. And this second ocean of suffering cannot be justified by any traditional theodicy.

What is Lewis talking about? He is pointing to the promises of eternal damnation that are an undeniable part of orthodox Christian (and, I understand, Islamic) belief. The key elements of damnation are that it is (a) a form of suffering, and (b) eternal, which is to say, infinite in extent.

The suffering of all sentient beings that have lived since the beginning of the Earth -- all the animals that have died in pain in a predator's jaws or a forest fire, all the people who have suffered disease or flood or landslide -- no matter what kind of arithmetic you use to calculate suffering, it sums to a finite value.

If even a single sentient being is made to suffer for an infinite time, the total suffering is infinite and has to be greater than any finite value. In fact, Christianity and Islam both insist that not one, but vast numbers of people will be condemned in this way. This is not the suffering that is merely permitted as an incidental part of creation — the suffering that conventional theodicies try to justify. It is suffering that is explicitly commanded, created, supervised by what is claimed to be a benevolent god.

Some modern Christians attempt to soft-pedal damnation, but it is not easy to find a kinder, gentler reading for texts like Matthew 25:41ff: Depart from me, ye cursed, into everlasting fire... and these shall go away into everlasting punishment... and that is only one of several grim promises of damnation in the New Testament.

Lewis argues at length that an infinite ("everlasting") punishment can never be a just penalty for a finite sin. But the justice of damnation is not the central issue. The issue is that (religious dogma insists that) god is determined to intentionally create an infinite quantity of suffering in the future that will utterly eclipse the finite sum of all previous suffering. None of the arguments that try to justify finite suffering can apply. Either this god is not benevolent, or it does not exist.

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Supporting Critical Thinking In Our Schools

A free society should want its schools to prepare its young people to think critically, make meaning, demand freedom, and bravely face the facts of existence. If a society does not want this, it means that its citizenry is ambivalent about freedom and its leaders are corrupt. If its citizenry were not ambivalent about freedom or outright antagonistic to it, it would make clear demands on its leaders. If its leaders were not corrupt, they would lead. What we see is exactly this combination of ambivalence and corruption that has produced an educational system where critical thinking is not valued, meaning is misconstrued, freedom is minimized, and the facts of existence are rarely allowed in the classroom. We see a system in crisis—one put there intentionally



It may seem paradoxical and absurd that a society should intentionally choose to educate its children poorly. Yet there is a strong pull in our culture to do just that. The reason is a straightforward one. Most people do not want their children to think. They want their children to get good grades, obey, fit in, find a job, play sports, salute the flag, kneel in prayer—but not think. Thinking is culturally portrayed as effete and funny but it is actually held as dangerous. Those who want to preserve their privileges, whether it’s their drinking habits, their bank accounts, or their fairy tales, do not want youth to ask difficult questions, dispute their authority, or threaten them with exposure. Their sense of self-interest makes them secretly wish that all schools would crumble and vanish.

This is why so little critical thinking is taught in schools. Educators agree, at least at the level of lip service, that teaching critical thinking skills is education’s number one priority. Yet classroom observers report that in 95% of the classrooms they visit no critical thinking skills are being taught. This is understandable, as an unspoken agreement has been reached by all involved—parent, politician, school board member, school superintendent, principal, teacher and, with that army aligned against them, students—that thinking is dangerous and should not be countenanced.

Therefore “learning” and not “thinking” is supported. Learning is safe. Nobody’s feathers are ruffled if you provide your students with another plane geometry theorem or twenty new French vocabulary words. The system is set up to support exactly this sort of transaction. There is a school subject called plane geometry, there is plane geometry subject matter, there is a teacher who teaches plane geometry, there is a student who learns plane geometry and is tested in plane geometry, there are uses for plane geometry, as a pillar in a liberal education and a steeping stone to solid geometry, and it all makes perfect, seamless sense. Doesn’t it?

No, it doesn’t. The tyranny of subject matter, with one subject following another from the cradle through and including graduate school, leaves little or no time for thinking. The “big” solution to this grave problem is to reduce to a minimum the teaching of traditional subjects and to completely revamp how we think of educating our children, focusing on a “thinking” model rather than a “learning” model. As this big solution is certainly out of reach, a smaller, perhaps obtainable solution is the following one: that a portion of each school day, perhaps an hour or two each day, from elementary school through graduate school, be turned over and devoted to thinking. Somebody with a new name might lead this portion of the day: not a “teacher” but a “critical thinking coach” or a “critical thinking facilitator.” This person could of course be a traditional teacher, but for this hour or two she would coach and coax, rather than teach and test.

What would occur during this two-hour block? Students would actually learn critical thinking skills. The device employed to help them learn these critical thinking skills would be “the big problem.” Students would be presented with a “big problem” and asked to think about it. They would be assured right off the bat that not only were there probably no easy answers to the problem, the problem might not actually be solvable. When a student did try to solve the problem with a slogan-sized, too-easy answer, it would be the thinking coach’s job to say, “But what if?”, helping the student, and the whole class, realize what a poor job slogan-sized answers did in addressing human-sized problems.

Here are some of the sorts of problems that might be brought forward:

• How do you decide if you should or shouldn’t support a war that your country is engaged in?

• How do you know when you’re addicted to something?

• In what circumstances would you turn a friend into the police?

• How do you know if someone is crazy and should be put in an institution?

• What should you do if your parents criticize you?

• Which should a just society more strive to uphold, the freedom to accumulate wealth or the fair distribution of wealth?

• How do you decide if space exploration is or isn’t an important societal goal?

• What is “personality”?

• If species “naturally” go extinct, what is the rationale for preserving bio-diversity?

• Under what circumstances is it ethical to lie?

It should be clear that these are questions that not even “the experts” can answer and also that these are infinitely more provocative and mind-expanding questions than questions like “What was the date of the Battle of Gettysburg?” or “Into what genre does Wuthering Heights fall?” It should also be clear that the “thinking coach” would have to remain on her toes as she facilitates the class discussion. She would need to anticipate the kinds of slogan-sized answers that students would be likely to give and be ready to help them see the paucity of slogan-sized answers.

For instance, if in the “In what circumstances would you turn a friend into the police?” discussion, a student was to say “As a matter of principle, I never turn a friend in!”, the “critical thinking coach” might reply ever so mildly, “What if your friend were engaged in a plot to kill your children?” If during the “How do you know if someone is crazy and should be put in an institution?” a student offered up, “They’re crazy if they look crazy!”, the “critical thinking coach” might respond, “So if an actor on stage were looking crazy, you would lock him up?”

These new “critical thinking coaches” would help students:

• Think for themselves
• Name problems worth solving
• Embrace complexity
• Expect to feel nervous
• Lead with skepticism
• Demand context
• Learn about the subjectivity of evaluation
• Form and test hypotheses
• Change their mind based on new evidence
• Grow comfortable with not knowing
• Think existentially
• Think big

Such sessions would dramatically smarten up students and would also partially inoculate them against supernatural enthusiasms. It is clear from countless studies that the more secular education a person receives, the less likely he or she is to believe in gods. These studies are doubtless full of confounds and artifacts but it is probably safe to say that secular education really helps in reducing religion’s grip. How much more would these “critical thinking” sessions help? Not only would we produce better thinkers and freer and more compassionate citizens, we would surely produce individuals far less likely to fall for the slogan-sized blandishments of religion.

Especially if we believe that reason is the primary sword that we employ to combat belief in gods, it would be wise if we added “more reason” to our current secular education system by lobbying for the introduction of these “critical thinking sessions” at every educational level, from elementary school to and through graduate school. Since every educator pays at least lip service to the idea that critical thinking is an admirable educational goal, it should be possible to nudge at least some schools and some school districts in the direction of revising the school day to include, in addition to subject matter classes, “critical thinking modules.” And you might think about becoming a “critical thinking coach” yourself and volunteering your services at a local school. What could be a more enjoyable pastime for you and of more value to society?

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Creating in the Shadow of Cancer

A New Normal

The raw face of the unknown I stare in, sends shivers through my soul. My artistic activity has come to another level. It's been a year since cancer up-ended my life and, the precarious role of primary caretaker/second cancer patient, presented itself like a spoiled child. A new normal has set upon my creative life. Calendars are just fantasy now and scheduling long term dates are irritating. I look at photos of artwork for inspiration but the joy of planning months ahead brings on anxiety. The free flow of my creativity has been thwarted by an unseen silence.

It's hard to articulate the thing that dams up my creative flow, but the blockage is palpable. My Aha! – the enjoyment of a new idea flashing through me becomes daunted in the next moment of actuality. My artistic reality reflects this new normal creative life.

Every bump and twinge my partner has darts my spirit and panic awakens. It’s a spiritual dilemma. Making art anyway is now more than making meaning – it’s a way to survive. I can't do anything about this situation, but here I am. All I can do now is figure out how I create from this place. However, it's a huge energetic dare to stay in this new flow and extract my creativity.

My challenges are many. I’m adapting to remaining flexible and embracing uninvited change. It takes more than energy to face this challenge and I find part of my spirit stimulated by this new normal. Days when cancer seems the fantasy are both welcome and despised, because they expose my growth along with what has been abandoned. My painting is rusty and I can’t help overworking parts muddying their pigment. On reflection, sometimes I feel as if I’m stuck in mud. I decided it was time for a simple structure. A fifteen minute sketch everyday will help me awaken my skill and relieve stress. My internal critic can’t get too chatty over a brief and unintended masterpiece. The rhythm of work feels good. My mind can travel far away with my muse.

I need different creative space now. Little snippets of time to do small parts of my projects, work well with my new routine. I’m setting up small workstations around my studio to take advantage of time and keep my projects moving. Playing with my work more and not expecting anything good will result, removes pressure. I need no extra pressures now. I’m building both a reserve of energy and creativity to have ready for change. My senses are on high alert all the time and a new function of my muse seems apparent. Dabbling in new activities and taking advantage of every opportunity to walkabout and observe fills me full of something new. I’m not sure what will come into my art from all of this but I’m on for the ride.

It’s symbolic that this blog has started during the astrological sign of Cancer. My partner asked me what I thought about how cancer got its name. According to Encarta Encyclopedia, it’s Latin for crab and the crustacean is the symbol of the sign. It’s based on a Greek myth about Hercules. A crab fought him as he was attacking the Hydra, a many-headed monster. People born under this sign have an unusual sense of other people’s emotions and the knack to intuitively address their needs. Loving Comfort might as well be their name. I’m blessed to call one my close friend and she’s the antidote for a many headed monster like the disease. Writing this blog addresses my new normal creativity.

I learned along time ago that when life gets crappy it’s time to create a new one. The great thing about creativity is that it is constantly changing. There is a mysterious paradox between liking change in creativity, and hating it in something like cancer. On rough days my emotions run raw, which then feed a new creativity. We’re all familiar with the attitude S#*t happens! Or it’s always something! These days my creative zest fuels me with the response question- then what shall I create now?

How do you cope with the ugly dumps in your life? Do you feel your creativity is changed? When crummy things to you, what happens to your relationship with your creative muse?


Sandy Nelson makes art in Minneapolis. As a painter she loves to tell stories with her canvas and when writing she enjoys painting pictures with her words. She’s a Creativity Coach and consultant, running a consulting firm with her partner.

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