From The Under 35 Project: “Because of That, This”

“Profound loss can create a sudden, uninvited wake-up call,” says Lisa Wilson. When she received hers, she was gifted with new perspectives on life and on death.

Because death is this.
Because art is this.
This is, because of that.

That’s the funny thing about death. It completely changes your experience of life.

Haven’t we all gotten one of “those” calls? One of those wake-up calls that we didn’t schedule, one of those calls we wish we could just ignore and go back to sleep?

Mine came on a beautiful afternoon in May. My one-year old son was playing in the room of the house we’d just purchased when my husband answered the phone. I remember being frustrated that he’d called me away from my internet searching on ‘whimsy’… that I’d been pulled away from what I’d rather be doing. There are lessons even in the moments before.

He was very stolid, in his own state of shock. He spoke quickly and urgently. My brain having just shut down, I recall thinking this isn’t right. No, this isn’t right. He isn’t right. 

There simply isn’t a right when you learn that your father just committed suicide. Nor a wrong. Nor up, nor down, nor time, nor anything but that reality spinning around and around.

Very little changed, yet absolutely nothing was the same. Bills still had to be paid and the children taken care of. But the ground on which I stood was gone. So I simply started to float. I figured this was how life was now – that this is how I would feel until it was my turn to die.

But that’s a funny thing about life. Experiencing it completely changes your understanding of death.

My memories are basically compartmentalized – BHD (Before his death) and AHD (After his death). The latter are certainly more vivid – those were the ones for which I was most awake. My more recent memories are shaped from a unique mix of experiencing this profound loss stirred slowly with study on impermanence / suffering, and then baked for several months in a searing awareness.  Of all that was thrown in though, my favorite ingredient is art.

Art requires only two things.

1) That we experience.
2) That we share that experience.

How easy it seems.

Yet how easy it is to know suffering, to misunderstand the cause of that suffering, to ignore the wake-up calls, and cling to our sleep. Pillow after pillow piled on our head, we still feel the pain but miss the experience.

In the months after my father’s death, I was buried deeper in my metaphysical and actual bed than most. No matter how hard I tried, though, I could not go back to sleep.

A year later, I gave up on the chase of that illusive sleep of ignorance. I let go of my illusions that life is what I expect it to be. I threw back my covers. Naked and shivering, I stepped into the experience.

I pulled picture after picture, emotion after emotion, and made a short video to share with family. I felt pain deeper than I’d allowed myself to know and breath deeper in my lungs than I knew was possible.

Through my art, through the fire, through my willingness to shed my illusions, I began my practice of awakening. It began a practice and will remain a practice because, when referring to it in that sense, I am allowed my successes alongside my foibles and bumps in the road.

Case in point:  A few years went by before I truly delved into art again.  How easy it is to rush through the years and not truly experience life when others are doing exactly the same! Art, meditation, deep exploration all fell away as the mundane rushed on. But that knowing wouldn’t go away, that awareness that there was “something more.” So I kept on practicing.


When my grandmother died, after the initial tears and heart-wrenching pain, I went straight for my paints. With two colors and one paintbrush, I stepped outside, let the wind blow past and my emotions flow as gracefully as the paint strokes across the paper.

The next day, I was able to write her eulogy. The following, I was able to deliver it. I cried deeply, but I kept breathing as I saw the chiseled hole beneath her coffin on the gravesite. I’ve hugged my mother, taken the kids trick-or-treating, and done the laundry.

My practice isn’t confined to my meditation cushion, my yoga mat, nor my canvas. It doesn’t end with right speech nor meditative breath. It doesn’t exist just amidst friends (but forgotten amidst enemies and those who ride my bumper while I’m driving.) I no longer turn to books for the Final Answer, just like I don’t bow to the finger that points to the moon. All these might show me the way, but they are not the truth. And with every breath, I practice for that truth.

Because that next phone call can come at any time.

I find truth in the laundry, the hug, the purple paint, the pain, the hole in the ground, the laughter, the candy, the phone call. I remember, I forget.

That’s the funny thing about the truth. Once you experience it, it is everywhere … and nowhere.

So I walk, breathe, paint, awaken, fall asleep, awaken again, and answer the phone. Because of that,

This is.

Lisa Wilson is an awareness artist, spending life practicing awareness and expressing the experience through various media. At present, she is sharing stories and her art online through her website, Lisa lives in Indiana with her husband and two young children.

To see the rest of our Under 35 Project posts, click here. To read more and submit your own work, visit the project’s website.


  1. Jennifer
    Posted January 11, 2013 at 9:15 pm | Permalink

    "Pillow after pillow piled on our head, we still feel the pain but miss the experience."

    Ouch. So true. Thanks for a great read. So profound yet so relatable.

  2. Equalized
    Posted January 12, 2013 at 2:56 am | Permalink

    The issue of our death is never pressed far enough. Death is the only wise adviser that we have.

    Think of your death now. It is at arm's length. It may tap you any moment, so really you have no time for crappy thoughts and moods. None of us have time for that. The only thing that counts is action, acting instead of talking.

    I have no doubts or remorse. Everything I do is my decision and my responsibility. The simplest thing I do, to take you for a walk in the desert for instance, may very well mean my death. Death is stalking me. Therefore, I have no room for doubts or remorse. If I have to die as a result of taking you for a walk, then I must die.

    In a world where death is the hunter, my friend, there is not time for regrets or doubts. There is only time for decisions.

    When you get angry you always feel righteous. You have been complaining all your life because you don't assume responsibility for your decisions. To assume the responsibility of one's decisions means that one is ready to die for them. It doesn't matter what the decision is. Nothing could be more or less serious than anything else. In a world where death is the hunter there are no small or big decisions. There are only decisions that we make in the face of our inevitable death.

  3. Posted January 13, 2013 at 9:08 pm | Permalink

    Wow! This is a very nice article. Thank you for sharing this truthful story. Like is indeed full of surprises and we just have to live with. My dad got sick and time happened so fast then he left us. I was very sad but, I couldn't let my mom saw me cry because I have to be strong for them. Until now, i still cry alone, mostly every night missing my dad.

  4. michael felberbaum
    Posted January 14, 2013 at 10:31 am | Permalink

    Shock. Protection against feeling? Makes sense at first but why does it last? Startle. Prepare for response? Makes sense at first but why does it last? No. Armored up? Makes sense at first but why does it last? May what lasts for you be love. Thanks for sharing.

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