My Morning Mind

I am scribbling away, trying to keep up with my thoughts.

The coffee was brewing and the aroma had me thinking this morning. Again. Stuck in a corner with piled papers around my feet. Shuffling through them, I came across a Steinbeck quote. Lessons on love and hate.

My mind wanders as I watch the clouds prepare a bath of snowflakes. “What constitutes hate? And does an ideal love overcome our failure to understand others? Is there a moral love?”

There are several kinds of love. One is a selfish, mean, grasping, egotistical thing which uses love for self-importance. This is the ugly and crippling kind. The other is an outpouring of everything good in you — of kindness and consideration and respect — not only the social respect of manners but the greater respect which is recognition of another person as unique and valuable. The first kind can make you sick and small and weak but the second can release in you strength, and courage and goodness and even wisdom you didn’t know you had. -Steinbeck

Why am I bogged down with such heaviness? What relief exists? The heavens resemble our hearts and yet clouds obscure the view. The heart is buried. The soul is grieved. Is it I, we, or you?

I have danced secretly in ugly love. I being the selfish person begging for comfort. I have lived in that grave. Today I dream. I long to release myself from the grip of fear. To taste the sweet water of grace. And gift you the same power of hope.

—–

Mind you, not every day is clobbered with words. I am learning to laugh. Tell me a joke. I listen well enough.

Happy writing ✍🏼 J🖤🤍📬

Disappear

I am.

I have not left home. Not yet. Not until tomorrow morning. I hope the coming days in Florida prove restful.

To be stuck in between dreams, for years, leaves me wanting to disappear while I finish off old memories and crave new ideas. To remain in limbo leaves me off kilter.

In Jane Austen’s Persuasion, proper manners, community, and romance fills the pages. But also spirit. I could easily fit into Jane’s 19th century.

I am. I am trying. Bending. Breaking. Falling. Obsessing over miles. The years span as eagle’s wings.

Praying. Mumbling. Beseeching spirits to know more! Craving what I cannot drink today. Reaching for the chalice far away.

This is a great start. I can persuade myself to step out and discover. To be my own heroine and find my future.

I am. Leaving, I disappear.

I am not. Now gone. I sail away on Calypso.

What if?

Facebook image

Life is a tragedy until you make it a comedy. –Me

I love storytelling and dance and the creativeness of being. There is purpose in art. There is a reason we have an imagination.

But ever more, I feel squeamish at the way we are being manipulated in our thoughts by the shimmer of fame and the fortune of a few. I cry because there is a huge disconnect in Hollywood and the fortress built. I fear community adrift in a stranger’s dreams.

Perhaps we lack courage to live. Perhaps our obsession to be entertained leaves us morally weak. Fame abandons. When their story ends, what is left? Lights out and doors shut. We are left wandering and wondering what the purpose of Hollywood is all about. Hollywood feels so empty.

I say this having always wanting to be a dancer. It is in my soul to create. There is exhilaration being on a stage. Being loved for the love you create. Oh, but fleeting love.

I agree with Shakespeare that all of life is a stage. Perhaps we should admire our neighbor. Listen to their stories and be mesmerized by their dance. What if we do? What if we too share our dreams and hopes and make art?

One of the many reasons I love online blogging. We can participate in one of life’s magic elixirs, words! Cheers! J🌱

Security

Life-wrenching
mind-sucking
dream-crushing
world of good intentions
void of convictions

deeply wounded
resting in Grace’s chair

God molding me
the potter and mending clay,

faith muscles
stretch to forgive

home bound -secure
traveling towards space.

(An older poem from a different mindset. Hopefully not too mind-crushing or numbing for the second day of 2020! Keep positive✨🕯! Life has a way of changing course.)

And that’s what it’s about, isn’t it? Love? Love’s about making it last, making it stick, making it count – even when it hurts, when times are hard, when people change, when life changes them. If you love someone, then you have to want to love them, whoever they are.” –Rowan Coleman We Are All Made of Stars

Writers are Readers

Regurgitate. As social animals, we do this regularly. We eat words and spit them out for others to swallow. Recycle what everyone else has already said numerous times by bulimic practices. Twice daily, for good measure. Then proceed to wonder why we historically never truly change.

Revolution. In order to avoid this social practice, I am gathering books off my shelves, wiping off the accumulated dust, and placing the thirty-two chosen books in a prominent place to catch my attention. Yesterday, Anne Sexton drew me in and spoke wisdom. She reminded me how once I was blind and buried in a casket, allowing myself to be lowered into the ground. I did not object. Not one ounce of energy was released while cozy in the casket, to invoke my rights to breathe. I held every whisper close to my chest, lest someone hear my plea.

And today? Who shimmers in the window? A faint image of spring graces my eyes and I open Kathleen Norris’s “Amazing Grace: A Vocabulary of Faith”. I enjoy the practice of opening a book to a random page and let it speak on its own merit. I enter the hollowed pages of every book with no expectation, without searching for meaning or definitions or wisdom, but rather allow the mystery of reader’s faith to be trusted. This is always a good personal practice if you possess as little confidence as I do in anyone’s ability to love or guide me in holiness.

And then I open to page 177 and Jeffrey Dahmer shimmers. Kathleen Norris explains how she can understand his crimes all too well. Huh? I remember watching the Green Mile and Shawshank Redemption, and recalling they were innocent, likeable, and punished people, for inescapable reasons. But Jeffrey Dahmer? Please explain Kathleen! And then I get Norris’s thesis. “He (Jeffrey) seemed bewildered, exhausted, a lost soul.” she explains. I am seeing Dahmer through a second set of eyes. Like yesterday, I was, and am seeing in a light that once was shadows.

The chapter “Good and Evil”, where she discusses Dahmer, reflects back to the reader, the easiness of black and white thinking while pointing out the grey spectrum fogs our vision. The grayness noticeably makes us uncomfortable and often fearful. We resist taking time to weed through disturbed society’s murky waters. This defiance allows us to declare that we are good. And they are evil. We lazily separate humanity by merits without even counting the score or trying to understand the reasoning behind what caused us to fear another from the beginning.

The other current phenomenon, Norris rightly points out, is to discredit religion and its ability to heal. The need has never been greater for those who “struggle with ordinary but dangerous temptations to anger and revenge, to pride and greed, the fool’s gold of vainglory, and the improper manipulation of other people to further (their) own ends.” (p. 179). Currently, we rely on psychology to mend spiritual deficiencies, which is incapable of reaching the buried soul, protected by the mind’s easy route to not introspect our own evil, in declaring ourselves good.

“Jeffrey Dahmer shows us what the fear of abandonment can do to the human spirit.” Let us not abandon all roads to what feels easier to manuever. Let us strive to fully understand ourselves spiritually, emotionally, intellectually and mentally. Not solely by science or psychology but equally welcome a rigorous religious practice. What we do not understand is too easy to ignore.

There are no uninteresting things, only uninterested people. –G.K. Chesterton

https://youtu.be/4ZTTmjeANlQ

Here’s looking at you kid.

How many times have I watched Casablanca without catching the interweaving of espionage and intrigue with undying romance? Too many. I actually thought, until this latest viewing, that Ilsa Lund left on the plane to America, alone. Never realized she was married and her man was fighting valiantly behind-the-scenes. I was so focused on the romance that I missed the back story, the WWII narrative and obviously the double-crossing French Capt. Renault, along with Rick, who played all sides of the war to their benefit.

If we stop breathing, we’ll die. If we stop fighting our enemies, the world will die. ” Viktor Laszlo

It is a romance, but the drama shines, building to a hero’s crescendo. The world, along with those imprisoned, fought valiantly in WWII, to secure freedom from the authoritarian Nazi regime. Casablanca teaches humanity that the only problem with human nature is our short-sighted and narrow-minded focus on ourselves. There is a greater vision of peace that gets tangled in the web of human need. Innocent hearts must remember the greater good is worth fighting towards. Rick understood this well. Never stooped below his values for a cheap thrill.

A kiss is just a kiss.

Today America celebrates a day of Thanksgiving. Not everyone understands the holiday nor does the whole population celebrate the season. My greatest concern is mankind’s inability to understand the other in the midst of their “I am..”.

May we all listen. May we all strive to be peace makers.

Portal Vision

Norm 2.0 Thursday 🚪

Stuff your eyes with wonder… Ray Bradbury

The leaves tumbled to form a soft blanket around her worn out feet. She had stopped the lengthy trek into the woods, as she had made many evenings before, to hear the softest of sounds coming from the east.

“Hello?” she managed to ask a feeble question that went unnoticed by anything or anyone, except herself. She continued to mumble her thoughts, losing track of the moon, now turned west and setting, for the hour had come to welcome Pan.

His song grew mesmerizing and cast a glow about her face. The hoofs of his feet took a beat to match her heart. Ivy vines wrapped around her legs and gently lowered her to the ground. She lay silent and watched as a figure grew close, shrouded in cloud, as the fog had grown thick from a cool evening breeze that washed away the heat of the sun’s hour.

“Listen now and I shall follow.” his words he whispered softly to her ear as she dreamed upon the moss and stone. “In the evening I so chose to find a lady to hear my sorrow.” She picked up the largest of the white pearly rock and rubbed it to a mirror. Gazing she noticed her face had softened with heated blush and rouge. With a swipe, her finger licked off the red and she wrote this mystical creature a poem.

Come! o come! Wisp me away
my devilish friend
who comes to stay
in purple passion
and eternal fray.

The sea has brought you wandering
the glen and forest true
to find your maiden
wrapped and warm
with fire in her head.

Come! o come! you hear me say
the years have worn you down
my cheer, not strife
with flute and pipe
the sorrow worn upon a frown.

The oaks are laden with brimming nuts
and food to last our spring
will come and we shall live
in magic harmony,
arm in arm for eternity.

As Pan approached the fairness of her heart, he bent to touch her silken hair, now golden to light time. He grasped her hungrily and the evening’s stars disappeared. The winter of his discontent vanished into spring. And their summer child frolicked gaily upon the streams.

The Pan statue photographed can be found in the woods at Tower Hill Botanic Gardens in Boylston MA. It is quite a lovely place to stir the imagination. Happy writing, J

https://www.bing.com/videos/search?q=god+pan+music&&view=detail&mid=A813A86C1207D8D47D88A813A86C1207D8D47D88&&FORM=VRDGAR

 

 

Chasing Dreams

I belong
where earth invites growth.
Where shadow spreads
the coiled soul.
I belong
under a musing sky.
Under shed skin
of nimble cloud.

Yesterday I took a wonderful class walking a Chartres Labyrinth. It gave revelation besides the release of ill thoughts. Walking on clouds, back to my car, I reached down to pick up a set of leaves.

Which led to a new quilt being built. Last evening, I created a leaf template and cut out nine sets of Buckeye palmate, compound leaves.

Today I am in the process of appliqué, onto nine squares of gray.

What inspires you? What do you do with your musings?

Happy creating… Jeanne 🌊🐚🕊