Earlier today I was thinking of intellectual honesty. A concept that keeps tugging at me. We can either labor a short time and build a sand castle or we can drink our time slowly, and build a shelter of many rooms to harbor lost souls.
The book I intend, to finally set sail, shall be such a vessel. A book that wanders through corridors and opens windows. As well as shut doors that once secretly invited in desperation, futility, and deceit. I realize I fight not against a fleshly foe but a spirit of confusion. The deadliest condition of man.
Note: I noticed I was missing this space. Yet find a greater need to go away. A push and pull. A tug and tightening encapsulates my heart. If anyone is feeling the same Id be grateful to connect and explore this dynamic.
Thank you for the earlier well wishes. I hope you all are doing well. Shalom. Jeanne
Solitude, isolation, are painful things and beyond human endurance. Jules Verne
It’s an interesting combination: Having a great fear of being alone, and having a desperate need for solitude and the solitary experience. That’s always been a tug of war for me. Jodie Foster
Good morning. Yes, it is morning where I am. Most likely afternoon and heading towards evening near you. May the days and nights for you be blessed and encouraging going forward this new week. And evermore.
At the moment, my creative life is a bit dulled. Im listening to books on tape to fill my mind with imaginative feasting. I chanced upon Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn’s The Gulag Archipelago 1918-1956 while reading a June 2018article written in First Things.
Two hours into the book and several poems popped out at me. I love to listen 🎧 and take notes 📝. It helps greatly with my concentration and my comprehension. The takeaway from the first two chapters? Nefarious ideas in the wrong hands are dangerous. Every heart bleeds dark.
How to tell the truth.
the pottery, thrown from the cupboard lay in pieces, a heap to bury laughter of the past
they hurry you to frighten you
their names slip into insanity forever vanished from blue sky broken branches of a dying tree
shaking dumping the crunch of littered leaves under foot
notice the still orange flower silent repression without the freedom to rise caught in light rays turning future seeds into prisons
the passing of past into future without a map now becomes silent paths in the gardener’s hands
“If only it were all so simple! If only there were evil people somewhere insidiously committing evil deeds, and it were necessary only to separate them from the rest of us and destroy them. But the line dividing good and evil cuts through the heart of every human being. And who is willing to destroy a piece of his own heart?” Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn
timid soul sparks light a feeble space to wonder sharpen iron words
And when at last you find someone to whom you feel you can pour out your soul, you stop in shock at the words you utter— they are so rusty, so ugly, so meaningless and feeble from being kept in the small cramped dark inside you so long.
Sylvia Plath, The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath
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.
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🌱
world of good intentions
void of convictions
resting in Grace’s chair
God molding me
the potter and mending clay,
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