Give Voice to What You Want

Some people in J-Land have asked about assignments I give my students.  Here's one.   (J-Landers, if you want to give it a try, do it in a journal entry, and please leave a link in my comments section).

This assignment works best if you don't think about it too much.  Choose your issue and your voice, and then just let the writing flow.

1.  Think of something you would really like to happen.  It doesn't matter how "impossible" you think it might be, but it should be something you feel strongly about.  (It should not, however, be a personal desire such as "I wish I was rich"; it should be connected to some current issue or controversy.)  Examples:

--I wish my father would stop smoking. (issue:  smoking)

--I wish my little sister would stop doing ecstasy. (issue:  dangerous drug use among teens)

--I wish my friend Mike would stop drinking so much.

(issue:  teen alcoholism)

--I wish there would be no more wars.

(issue:  war in general or a current war in particular)

2.  Choose a voice that can no longer speak but is knowledgable about the issue.  Write a short poem or paragraph using this voice and addressing the issue.

Sample:

issue:  war

voice:  someone who has died in war

IN FLANDERS FIELDS

by John McCrae

In Flanders fields the poppies blow

Between the crosses, row on row,

     That mark our place; and in the sky

     The larks, still bravely singing, fly

Scarce heard amid the guns below.

 

We are the Dead.  Short days ago

We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,

     Loved and were loved, and now we lie

     In Flanders fields.

 

Take up our quarrel with the foe:

To you from failing hands we throw

     The torch; be yours to hold it high.

     If ye break faith with us who die

We shall not sleep, though poppies grow

     In flanders fields.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

UPDATE:

bY ggwo7@aol.com

one of the regular readers of this blog

in response to this entry:

 

The Mothers

What if we the mothers of the dead

called in one voice?

After roaming the desert

for centuries what would

bring them home?

No one could answer our cry

No one but our lost boys

who we can not comfort

in the cradle of civilization

nor offer the taste of

bittersweet seconds

which looking back makes-

What could we say?

Why were we silent?

Why did we let go

for a flag? For

a grain of sand?

Why did we listen to

the pronouncements of

pontificators instead of

the wisdom of

our own hearts?

What excuses remain?

Who will we accuse

in the night when

the snapshots of love

are not enough?

When the film in

the mind decays and

there is only emptiness

and the voices of

our dead sons

do not return?

Who will hear

the curse we invoke

upon ourselves?

Who will rescue us

from the abyss of

the mirror then?

 

Yes sir, Big Sur

At Big Sur

At the end of September, I'll be flying to Big Sur, CA in order to teach three writing workshops at Esalen.  I'll be meeting other Sun authors there, as well as Sun staffers.  (The Sun is a magazine in which four of my short stories have recently appeared.  You can get more information on The Sun by clicking on my sidebar or on the links in this paragraph).

Although I've taught writing classes for many years, this will be my fist experience teaching at Esalen.  In looking over Esalen's website, I found that both Joseph Campbell and Rollo May have lectured there. 

I'll be doing workshops on autobiographical fiction, personal essay, and incorporating elements of the shadow into one's writing.  I'll just be gone for one weekend.

Not only is it my first experience teaching at Esalen, but also my first time flying.  Am I the only person in the United States who has never flown in a plane? 

Maybe Good, Maybe Bad

I have some thoughts I want to get down before they escape me.

I was recently disturbed by a story I read on the Internet about the television show Extreme Home Makeover.  Not long ago, an episode aired in which a family who took in several children whose parents had died.  The show built for them a new, modern, roomy home.  Good, right?  But wait.

The Internet article said that now the orphaned children are suing the family that took them in as well as Extreme Home Makeover.  It seems the children are claiming they were run out of the new house, humiliated, and now, having nothing, are looking for compensation.  Bad, right?  But what if this incident were able to reveal to us how foolish it is to believe everything we see, to believe in life as presented on TV?  To believe in superficial answers and absolutes?  Wouldn't that be good?  What if the two families were to reconcile and become even stronger as a result of the crisis?  What if everyone learned that material objects cannot make you happy?

This incident with the orphaned children and Extreme Home Makeover  reminded me of a classic tale called "Maybe Good, Maybe Bad." This is the tale.  I first ran across it in a magazine on myth:

There was once a farmer who owned a very beautiful horse. One day the horse decided to run away and his neighbour said to him 'what a terrible thing to happen to you - such a great loss'. The farmer replied dryly, 'you never know, maybe good, maybe bad.'

The next day, the horse came back with another horse by his side and the farmer's neighbour said 'what great good fortune, now you have two horses.' The farmer's reply was the same, 'You never know, maybe good, maybe bad'.

The next day the farmer's son fell off the new horse and broke his leg, to which the neighbour said, 'That's bad!' and of course the farmer gave his usual reply.

Soon after this, war broke out in the land and all the young men were conscripted into the army, except the farmer's son who couldn't go because of his leg. The neighbour said 'What a great piece of luck,' and the farmer replied, 'You never know...'

And it's so true, you never know.  What might be a "good" thing, turns out to have devastating consequences.  The story shows us the folly of even wanting too much control over our lives.

How this relates to writing is this:  I think in order to be an author, one must make peace with the concept of paradox.  Throw the dichotomy of good and bad out the window.

A wonderful poem in The Way of Chaung Tzu illustrates.  This is part of the poem, "Confucius and the Madman":

Never, never

Teach virtue more.

You walk in danger.

Beware!  Beware!

Even ferns can cut your feet --

When I walk crazy

I walk right:

But am I a man

To imitate?

The tree on the mountain height is its own enemy.

The grease that feeds the light devours itself.

The cinnamon tree is edible:  so it is cut down!

The lacquer tree is profitable:  they maim it.

Every man knows how useful it is to be useful.

 

No one seems to know

How useful it is to be useless.

Paradox is that place in between, that place somewhere between two opposites where life becomes "something else" all together.  That is part of the mystery.

When you write, throw away the superficial answers and the absolutes.  Work within the paradox. 

Fire is warm, but it destroys.  Water is a life-force, but in it you can drown. 

Somewhere is a condition that cancels out the two extremes.  That's the place where poets live. 

Three Steps to Frustration and Then Acceptance

Step One:

You read something that really lifts you, really raises your consciousness, say Emily Dickinson:

 

 

 

 

A word is dead

When it is said,

Some say.

 

I say it just

Begins to live

That day.

Step Two: 

You realize what motivates you to tell stories:

At the heart of the impulse to tell stories is a mystery so profound...--Dennis Covington, Salvation On Sand Mountain.

Step Three:

You decide it's going to be pretty easy.  All you have to do is put down how you feel.  You are relieved and happy:

If you wish to be a writer, write.  --Epictetus (110 A. D.)

Frustration:

You find out it isn't easy:

Human language is a cracked kettle on which we beat out tunes for bears to dance to when all the while we want to move the stars to pity.  --Gustave Flaubert.

Acceptance:

You go back to where you started, making space for human failing:

At the heart of the impulse to tell stories is a mystery so profound...  Dennis Covington, Salvation On Sand Mountain.

There's a time to be gentle with yourselves.  As beautiful as language is, it's an imperfect vehicle of soulful expression--Theresa

Tag, You're It

Cynthia, from Sorting the Pieces, tagged me to share my love of reading. 

According to the rules of this game, I'm also supposed to tag others to share their love of reading.  So, tag, you're it:  Steven of LA Journal, Beth of Beth's Front Porch, and sweet Lily of  This Drama I Call Life.  Hope you three participate!

Reading is a way I achieve emptiness.  We have to empty ourselves before we can fill ourselves with new insights.  I have another Zen story that illustrates what I mean:

A CUP OF TEA

Nan-in, a Japanese master during the Meiji era (1868-1912), received a university professor who came to inquire about Zen.

Nan-in served tea.  He poured his visitor's cup full, and then kept on pouring.

The professor watched the overflow until he no longer could restrain himself.  "It is overfull.  No more will go in!"

"Like this cup," Nan-in said, "you are full of your own opinions and speculations.  How can I show you Zen unless you first empty your cup?"

I love literature that empties my cup.  When I come to a new work, I want to pour all my beliefs and assumptions out and let the capable author fill me with something different, something new.

I find I no longer read for "just entertainment" (if I ever did).  The book must raise my consciousness.  So here is a partial list, divided into categories.

To reread or read for the  first time this year:

Don Quixote (Cervantes), Italian Folktales (Italo Calvino), Mist (Miguel de Unamuno).

A Very Partial List of Works that rocked my world:

Of Mice and Men (Steinbeck); A Death in the Family (Agee); Bastard Out of Carolina (Allison); The House on Mango Street (Cisneros); Complete Stories (Maupassant); Trout Fishing in America, The Abortion, and So the Wind Won't Blow It All Away (Brautigan); Catcher in the Rye (Salinger); Jesus' Son (Johnson); Winesburg, Ohio (Anderson); The Handmaid's Tale (Atwood); Slaughterhouse-Five (Vonnegut); The Things They Carried (O'Brien); The White Hotel (Thomas); To the Lighthouse (Woolf); Housekeeping (Robinson); The Optimist's Daughter (Welty)

Children's books:  The Little Prince (Antoine de Saint-Exupery); Millions of Cats (Gag); Fox (Wild); The Velveteen Rabbit (Williams); Charlotte's Web (White)

Poetry:  Above the River (James Wright); Essential Rumi (Barks); Duino Elegies (Rilke); Blessing the Boats and The Terrible Stories (Clifton); Selected Poems (Trakl); Narrow Road to the Interior (Basho); The First Four Books of Poems (Gluck); Illuminatons (Rimbaud); Collected Poems and Twenty Love Poems and a Song of Despair (Neruda); American Primitive (Oliver); Collected Poems (Millay); Complete Poems (D. H. Lawrence); Refusing Heaven (Gilbert); Collected Poems (Kunitz); The Ten Thousand Things (Charles Wright); Border of A Dream/Selected Poems (Machado); My Sentence Was a Thousand Years of Joy (Bly); The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam (Khayyam); Diving into the Wreck (Rich); Leaves of Grass (Whitman); New and Selected Poems (Stephen Dunn); The Way of Chuang Tzu (Trans. by Merton); The Last Night of the Earth Poems (Bukowski)

Memoirs and Letters:  The Seven-Storey Mountain (Merton); Pilgrim At Tinker Creek (Dillard); This Boy's Life (Wolf); Dwellings (Hogan); Gift from the Sea (Anne Morrow Lindburgh); Letters to Jane (Carruth); A Wild Perfection (James Wright);  Letters to a Young Poet (Rilke)

Books About Writing: The Art of Fiction and Becoming a Novelist (Gardner); Writing Down the Bones (Goldberg); If You Want to Write (Ueland); Blue Pastures (Oliver); One Writer's Beginnings (Welty)

Individual Short Stories:  "Where Are You Going, Where Have You Been?" and "In the Region of Ice" (Oates); "A Good Man Is Hard To Find" (Flannery O'Connor); "Guests of the Nation" (Frank O'Connor); "Saint Manuel Bueno, Martyr" (Unamuno); "My Sister Antonia" (Ramon del Valle-Inclan); "Paper Lantern" (Dybek); "The Annointed" (Kathleen Hill); "For Esme, With Love and Squalor" and "A Perfect Day for Bananafish" (Salinger); "A Very Old Man With Enormous Wings" (Marquez);

Drama and Screenplay:  Hamlet; MacBeth; Faust; Streetcar Named Desire (Williams); Trip to Bountiful (Horton Foote); Magnolia (Anderson), The Misfits (Miller)

Psychology:  Denial of Death (Becker); Women Who Run With the Wolves (Estes); Man's Search for Meaning (Frankl); Man and His Symbols and Memories, Dreams, Reflections (Jung)

Joy and Courage

Aren't we sweet?

I'm thinking now of both the joy of writing and the courage it takes to be a writer. 

The photo booth picture was taken when I was 16 and Allen was 20.  I think the joy in our faces is unmistakable.   Remember what first love feels like?  It's written all over our faces, isn't it?

Writing is something like that--an incredible joy.  It bubbles forth sometimes, and somewhat out of control.  I can't let myself forget about joy:  that writing isn't JUST hard work and commitment--it has its feel good moments.

The other side of it, though, is courage.  The courage to press on even when you aren't feeling this kind of joy.  Like in any marriage, there are bound to be rough spots and moments when you just want to give up. 

That's when you have to be willing to risk the embrace again.

One of my favorite Zen stories addresses the twin concepts of love and courage:

IF YOU LOVE, LOVE OPENLY

Twenty monks and one nun, who was named Eshun, were practicing meditation with a certain Zen master.

Eshun was very pretty even though her head was shaved and her dress plain.  Several monks secretly fell in love with her.  One of them wrote her a love letter, insisting upon a private meeting.

Eshun did not reply.  The following day the master gave a lecture to the group, and when it was over, Eshun arose.  Addressing the one who had writen her, she said:  "If you really love me so much, come and embrace me now."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

This story gives me a shiver.  He loved her but not completely, not enough to risk his future for her.

This story makes me ask myself:  am I willing to do what it takes to love the act of writing openly?  That is, will I throw obligation, propriety, comfort, my future--all of these out the window for the chance to fully embrace it?

I'm a solitary writer, just as I'm a solitary person.  When I write, I'm very secretive, because I must conserve all my energy for my project.  Talking too much about it (specifics) lets the air out of my enthusiasm.

But I think there has to be a part of you that's totally open to the possibility that your writing (not just writing, any art) is the most the important thing there is.  It's a vow, just like a love vow. 

And you have to be willing to let some aspects of yourself die for the sake of your art.

Joy and courage.  They aren't necessarily opposites, but they do create a sort of tension that's hard sometimes to reconcile.

I'm working on it.

Cynthia's Bold Move

Photo:  Roots.  Griffin Island, on the Ohio River

 

 

 

 

 

 

I hate

this wretched willow soul of mine,

patiently enduring, plaited or twisted

by other hands.  --Karin Boye

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Cynthia, of Sorting the Pieces, recently did an excellent entry about a bold move she recently made.  She bought her first spaghetti strap blouse.  "So today's little purchase broke all the rules," she writes.  A turtleneck lover (me too!) now in her 40's, she's finally giddily showing off a little (okay a lot) of skin.

I've had that exact experience with clothes.  The feeling of liberation I get from buying--and wearing--something out of my usual habit is like riding a rocket to the stars.  It's no small matter.  Our bodies are our home.  When we change the way we present our home, we're saying something powerful about ourselves.  Something in our unconscious is trying to become conscious.  Tired of "patiently enduring" in our sensible clothes. our spirit is yearning to be free. 

May I suggest a correlation with writing?  When you are writing in your "true" voice, it's like refusing to patiently endure by writing in the voice we think is "acceptable."  In our writing, we need to be lions, as Brenda Ueland said.  We need to dress our words in a spaghetti strap  blouse. 

Of course, the next step is let our words go naked.

It's embarrassing at first, then it's like really being home.

I had this experience just the other night with my new writing project.  I had created 60 "new" pages, which were closer than the other 150 or so to being what I needed to say.  Then a lightening bolt hit, and--I don't care how stupid or trite this sounds-- I saw the spaghetti strap blouse hanging in the store window of my soul.  I bolted out of bed at 5:30 in the morning and started writing furiously.

As I wrote, I kept saying, "You can't write that."  And "So and so won't like it."  And "This isn't what you first envisioned."  And "it's going to be hard to sell this in the marketplace."  And "my goodness, where did that come from?"  And "Theresa, you're so naughty!"

That's when I knew I was on to something.

Allen's grandmother has a name for "go-for-it" women.  She says they're "Nasty-Nice."

Well, that's what I want my writing to be--Nasty-Nice.

Here's to spaghetti strap blouses, Cynthia!

Go Within

What do you feel in "your quietest hour"...

For Beth, who's searching within for the truth of why she must write....

Rainer Maria Rilke

"There is only one way:  Go within.  Search for the cause, find the impetus that bids you write.  Put it to this test:  Does it stretch out its roots in the deepest place of your heart?  Can you avow that you would die if you were forbidden to write?  After all, in the most silent hour of your night, ask yourself this:  Must I write?  Dig deep into yourself for a true answer.  And if it should ring its assent, if you can confidently meet this serious question with a simple, "I must," then build your life upon it.  It has become your necessity.  Your life, in even the most mundane and least significant hour, must become a sign, a testimony to this urge.

Then draw near to nature.  Pretend you are the very first man and then write what you see and experience, what you love and lose. ...  Write about your sorrows, your wishes, your passing thoughts, your belief in anything beautiful.  Describe all that with fervent, quiet, and humble sincerity.  In order to express yourself, use things in your surroundings, the scenes of your dreams, and the subjects of your memory.

...For the creative artist there is no poverty--nothing is insignificant or unimportant.  Even if you were in a prison whose walls would shut out from your senses the sounds of the outer world, would you not then have your childhood, this precious wealth, this treasure house of memories?  Direct your attention to that.  Attempt to resurrect these sunken sensations of a distant past.  You will gain assuredness.  Your aloneness will expand and will become your home, greeting you like the quiet dawn.  ...

Therefore, my dear friend, I know of no other advice than this:  Go within and scale the depths of your being from which your very life springs forth.  At its source you will find the answer to the question, whether you must write.  Accept it, however it sounds to you, without analyzing.  Perhaps it will become apparent to you that you are indeed called to be a writer.  Then accept that fate; bear its burden, and its grandeur, without asking for the reward, which might possibly come from without.  For the creative artist must be a world of his own and must find everything within himself and in nature, to which he has betrothed himself. ..."

Rainer Maria Rilke (1875-1926)

Letter to a Young Poet

Great Knowledge

The work of Chuang Tzu is available to us as a result of the reading, reflection, and study of Thomas Merton, a Trappist monk.

In justifying his interest in the Eastern Taoist philosopher, the Christian Merton wrote:  "I think I may be pardoned for consorting with a Chinese recluse who shared the climate and peace of my own kind of solitude, and who is my own kind of person."

GREAT KNOWLEDGE

Chuang Tzu

Great knowledge sees all in one.

Small knowledge breaks down into the many.

 

When the body sleeps, the soul is enfolded in One.

When the body wakes, the openings begin to function.

They resound with every encounter

With all the varied business of life, the strivings of the heart;

Men are blocked, perplexed, lost in doubt

Little fears eat away their peace of heart.

Great fears swallow them whole.

Arrows shot at a target:  hit and miss, right and wrong.

That is what men call judgment, decision.

Their pronouncements are as final

As treaties between emperors.

O, they make their point!

Yet their arguments fall faster and feebler

Than dead leaves in autumn and winter.

Their talks flows out like piss.

Never to be recovered.

They stand at last, blocked, bound, and gagged,

Choked up like old drain pipes.

The mind fails.  It shall not see light again.

 

Pleasure and rage

Sadness and joy

Hopes and regrets

Change and stability

Weakness and decision

Impatience and sloth:

All are sounds from the same flute,

All mushrooms from the same wet mould.

Day and night follow one another and come upon us

Without our seeing how they sprout!

...

If there were no "that"

There would be no "this."

If there were no "this"

There would be nothing for all these winds to play on.

So far can we go.

But how shall we understand

What brings it about?

 

One may well suppose the True Governor

To be behind it all.  That such a Power works

I can believe.  I cannot see his form.

He acts, but has no form.

Contentment

Photo:  Our cat Blondie in the trash.

This photo of Blondie was taken last winter.  I'd been grading papers and getting students' portfolios ready for end of term assessment, and I was throwing away unnecessary paperwork as I went along.  Soon, our big male Tom, Blondie crawled into this trash pile and acted very content.

It strikes me that this is an excellent example of what I need to be doing more of in my life.  Finding contentment amid the chaos.  Pretty soon, we all begin to think this is what we want more than anything--contentment.

However, finding contentment, as wonderful as it is, seems be be an impediment to my creating art.  I'm trying to figure out why this is so.

I feel I need some kind of suffering, or at least some kind of tension, in order to be able to create.    Happiness seems not to be very good for my artistic expression.

Fortunately, The Ramayana, an ancient tale from India, assures me that contentment doesn't last long before some force (from my own unconscious or the collective unconscious) comes from the depths to set my life on a new path.

I remember when I was dating my husband we were talking about what we wanted out of life.  I was 16 and he was 20.  We were saying this and that.  He suddenly blurted out, "I just want to be happy!"  And that sounded reasonable.  I used to think that was what I wanted, too.  Bliss.  Eternal happiness. 

I actually thought that was achievable. 

Then as I lived more of my life, I noticed how just when I got everything the way I wanted it, something would blow up in my face.  Life was a constant challenge. 

Once in a while you get to crawl into your little trash can and purr, but you can't do that forever.  And do you really want to?

Now I understand that happiness means nothing without its opposite, without suffering, heartbreak, and all those other "negative" forces. 

Wonder what God does in heaven to sort of shake things up and keep them interesting?  (smile)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

My writing is going well.  I now have culled out 50 decent pages so far from the 150 or more pages I produced during the journey.  Decent means passable, a skeleton of sorts.  I hope to get a full draft of the project finished before classes start again, and then to use the school year to deepen and polish.  Sometimes when I read others' journal entries, I'm amazed at what they produce in such a short time.  Cynthia's travels with her daughter.  Vicky's story about Luigi.  Belfastcowboy's entries about the beach and grammy.  Robin's recent entry about Carol King's Tapestry and her daughter.  A new journaler , Emma of Dallas, who writes about naively participating in cyber sex while wearing a leotard (one of the funniest things I have ever read).  And I lose heart a little, because it takes me so long to produce anything.  Days, weeks, months, years.  But I don't let that feeling last.  I pick myself up and go on.  I keep on keeping on.

I thank everyone for their support and for their comments.  They mean a lot.

This Is Your Body

 

 

 

 

 

Photo:  Down in Blue Girl's cabin.  A view of my bunk.  The chair was removable for sleeping.  The knapsack, which I called the "bottomless bag," held books, journals, and food.  The red object on the right, outside the cabin, is our generator.

I believe I've mentioned many times that I do most of my writing at night.  I often pull "all-nighters," crawling into bed after the sun has come up.  I've been doing this the last several days and will be doing it again tonight.  My mind is the most fertile at night.

The photograph of Blue Girl's cabin is about the way I came to think of the boat, as a metaphor for my own body.  Sleeping in the cabin was like going into the belly of the whale (the metaphorical unconscious).

In Coming Home to Myself, Woodman and Mellick say:

"To sit in a chair and analyze

is heady stuff,

but it does not help you

live the power of the image.

 

Put your image into your body.

Does it waken a response?

 

Of course:

your rage, your grief,

your great Buddha laugh.

 

Just put the image into  your body

and wait.

 

This is your body,

your greatest gift,

pregnant with wisdom you do not hear,

grief you thought was forgotten,

and joy you have never known."

 

Tonight, I will try to come home to myself as I write.  I'll let you know how it's going.

Divine Child

The Virgin With Child

Last quarter of the 13th Century

Pyli, Orikala, Porta-Panagia Church

A wonderful book on identity is Coming Home to Myself  by Marion Woodman and Jill Mellick.  It's a collection of short, easy-to-read chapters  for women about "loving  their femininity, themselves and each other" and for men "who are coming to grips with the lost feminine in themselves."

I know that Jung's concept of men's "feminine side" has been spoofed and denigrated into the ground.  However, if we can get past what popular culture has made of it, a joke, the concept of anima and animus might open to us a new awareness about the nature of creativity.  Jung's idea was that we all possess elements of the opposite sex and that coming to terms with that opposite leads us to insight, even individuation.

In Woodman and Mellick's book is a chapter on creativity.  This is some of what they say:

"Some people think of creativity as something that artists  possess.  It might be more helpful to think of it as Jung did, as an instinct.  We can bring creativity to almost every life activity.  Moreover, we can use certain imaginative forms of creative expression through the arts to explore personal, spiritual, and psychological development."

Jung believed in the mysterious possibilities of life, in a spiritual life, and in the importance of art in expressing not only our pain but also our joy.  I find Jung's philosophy to be much to my liking.

Woodman and Mellick also write:

"Creativity is divine:

the virgin soul opens to spirit

and conceives the divine child.

We cannot live without it.

It is the meaning of life,

this creative fire."

Rationality is but one function of the human mind.  Moreover, in my view, true rationality involves a great deal of creativity.  Otherwise, we are talking about dogma, not logic.

Woodman and Mellick touch on something I mentioned in an earlier entry about "doing" and "being."  I mentioned that my recent Ohio River Journey had given me a shortcut to "being."  This is what Woodman and Mellick say:

"When doing is all we know,

being is just another word

for ceasing to exist.

When being begins to flow

through dance and paint and song,

joy is no longer luxury

but absolute need."

I think I enjoy art so much because it puts me in a state of being.  Our creation is our own "Divine Child." 

The Three Questions

Leo Tolstoy

I'm taking a short break from writing today to go out to a late lunch with my husband.

In doing so, I want to be mindful and not let myself be distracted by the writing that waits at home.

I'm reminded then of Tolstoy's story, "Three Questions," a story that may be found in Walk In The Light and Twenty-three Tales.  (Also retold in a wonderful children's book by Jon J. Muth called The Three Questions.)

In Tolstoy's version, a king wonders, "When is the best time to do things? Who is the most important one? What is the right thing to do?"

He finds the answer in an old hermit who says:

"Remember then:  there is only one time that is important--Now!  It is the most important time because it is the only time when we have any power.  The most necessary man is he with whom you are, for no man knows whether he will ever have dealings with any one else:  and the most important affair is, to do him good, because for that purpose alone was man sent into this life!"

Have a mindful day, everyone.  --Theresa

How I felt, Writing Today

Rainer Maria Rilke

The following poem by Rilke, translated by Robert Bly, describes how I felt as I was working on my river manuscript today:

 
I am too alone in the world, and not alone enough to make every minute holy.
I am too tiny in this world, and not tiny enough
just to lie before you like a thing,
shrewd and secretive.
I want my own will,
and I want simply to be with my will,
as it goes toward action,
and in the silent, sometimes hardly moving times
when something is coming near,
I want to be with those who know secret things
or else alone.
I want to be a mirror for your whole body,
and I never want to be blind, or to be too old
to hold up your heavy and swaying picture.
I want to unfold.
I don't want to stay folded anywhere,
because where I am folded, there I am a lie.
And I want my grasp of things
true before you. I want to describe myself
like a painting that I looked at
closely for a long time,
like a saying that I finally understood,
like the pitcher I use every day,
like the face of my mother,
like a ship
that took me safely
through the wildest storm of all.

 

Ah, It's 5:30 in the morning--I've been writing all night.  Thought I'd take a break and do these--got them off Dave's (Random Thoughts) site.  I'm planning on sleeping some and then writing all afternoon and night again.  I'm on a roll.

(The ones in bold are true for me, and the blue one at the end is the one I added.   The idea is for you to copy/paste these into your entry and bold the ones that are true for you--and you're supposed to add one of your own.)

001.  I miss somebody right now.
002. I watch more tv than I used to.
003. I love olives.
004. I love sleeping.
005. I own lots of books. (You don't understand; I own LOTS of books)
006. I wear glasses.
007. I love to play video games .
008. I’ve tried marijuana (more than once).
009. I've watched porn movies. 
010. I have been in a threesome.
011. I have been the psycho-ex in a past relationship.
012. I believe honesty is the best policy.
013. I couldn’t live without my cell phone.--I suppose I could but I wouldn't like it very much.
014. I like and respect Al Sharpton (but I don't think he'd make a good president).
015. I curse frequently. 

016. I have changed a lot mentally over the last year. (I've changed a lot mentally since yesterday!)
017. I have a hobby.
018. I’m a perfectionist.
019. I carry my knife/razor everywhere with me.
020. I’ve never broken anyone else’s bones. (but I've thought about it a lot)
021. I've broken bones of my own.
022. I have a secret that I am ashamed to reveal.  (more than one, actually)--

023. I love rain. (better than sunlight.  That makes me really weird, right?)
024. I’m paranoid at times. (lots o' times)
025. I would get plastic surgery if it were 100% safe, free of cost, and scar-free.
026. I need money right now.
027. I love sushi.
028. I talk really, really fast sometimes.
029. I have fresh breath in the morning.
030. I have semi-long hair.
031. I have lost money in Las Vegas.
032. I have at least one brother and/or sister.
033. I was born in a country outside ofthe U.S.
034. I shave my legs. (not religiously!)
035. I have a twin.                                                                                              
036. I talk a lot.
037. I couldn’t survive without Caller I.D.
038. I have pictures of friends all over my room.
039. I have lied to a good friend in the past 6 months.
040. I know how to do cornrows.
041. I am usually pessimistic.

042. I have mood swings.
043. I think prostitution should be legalized.(I don't have a mechanism for understanding prostitution)
044. I think Britney Spears is pretty/hot.
045. I have cheated on a significant other.
046. I have a hidden talent. (everybody does)
047. I’m always hyper no matter how much sugar I have.
048. I think that I’m popular.
049. I am currently single.
050. I have kissed someone of the same sex. 

051. I enjoy talking on the phone.
052. I practically live in sweatpants or PJ pants.
053. I love to shop.
054. I would rather shop than eat.
055. I would classify myself as ghetto.
056. I am bourgie and have worn a sweater around my shoulders.
057. I’m obsessed with my LJ blog! --

058. I don’t hate anyone. (Ahem!)
059. I would go out of my way to cause shit with someone I hate.
060. I don’t think Mike Tyson raped Desiree Washington.
061. I’m completely embarrassed to be seen with my mother.
062. I have a cell phone.
063. I watch MTV on a daily basis.
064. I sleep more hours than I am awake. (if I could get away with it, I would)
065. I have passed out drunk in the past 6 months.
066. I have lied to my parents in the last 2 weeks.
067. I have kissed someone and cringe every time I think about it.
068. I’ve rejected someone before.
069. I currently have a crush on someone.
070. I have no idea what I want to do for the rest of my life.  .
071. I want to have children in the future
072. I have changed a nappy before.  -- Do they mean "diaper?" 
073. I’ve had the cops called on me before.
074. I bite my nails. (only when I'm reaaaallllly nervous)
075. I am a member of the Tom Green fan club.
076. I’m not allergic to anything deadly.
077. I have a lot to learn.
077. I have dated someone at least ten years younger or older.
079. I have/had a best friend of the opposite sex.
080. I am very shy around the opposite sex.
081. I’m online 24/7, even as an away message.
082. I have at least 5 away messages saved.
083. I have tried alcohol before. (I think it was yesterday.)
084. I have made a move on a friend’s significant other in the past.
085. I own the "SOUTH PARK" movie.
086. I have avoided assignments to be on Xanga or my blog.
087. When I was a kid I played "the birds and the bees" with a neighbor or chum. (several times)
088. I enjoy country music.
089. I love my best friend.
090. I think thatPizza Hut has the best pizza.  

091. I watch soap operas whenever I can.
092. I watch cartoons and like them.
093. I have used my sexuality to advance my career.
094. I love Michael Jackson, scandals and all.
095. I know all the words to Slick Rick’s "Children’s Story".
096. Halloween is awesome because you get free candy.
097. I watch Spongebob Squarepants and I like it.
098. I have dated a close friend’s ex.
099. I am happy as of this moment.
100. I have gone scuba diving.
101. Had a crush on somebody you have never met.
102. I’ve kissed someone I knew I shouldn’t.
103. I play a musical instrument. (does a harmonica count?  That just requires breathing in and out, right?")
104. I strongly dislike math.
105.  I'm procrastinating on something right now.   (I should be going to bed!)
106. I own and use a library card.   
107. I fall in lust more than love.
108. Cheese enchiladas rock my socks.
109. I think The Lord of the Rings is one of the greatest things ever.
110. I’m obsessed with the tv show "Lost."
111. I am resentful that I have to grow up.
112. I am an entirely different person around different people.
113. I think the world would be a better place if people just smiled more often.
114. I think ramen is the best kind of food in the whole world.
115. I am suffering from a broken heart.  -- I think everyone is to some degree.
116. I am a nerd. And proud of it!!  -- Yes and no.
117. No matter where I am or who I’m with, I always seem to be lonely.
118. I am left handed and proud of it.
119. I don’t change who I am for someone else. 
120. My heart resides below my feet.  -- What??
121. I am a Senior in High School.
122. I enjoy smoothies.
123. I have gastritis.
124. I have nothing better to do with my time.
125. I am listening to Radiohead right now.
126.Most people call me by my middle name.
127. I once stole a music stand.  -- Why would anyone??
128. Pi confuses me.
129. I love NASCAR!
130. I own over 200 CDs.
131. I work 7 days a week.
132. I have mono.
132. I don’t have the ability to make decisions without changing my mind.
133. People tell me I have a horrible sense of humor.
134. I'm wearing a bonds chesty.  -- I'll assume I'd know what it was if I had one.
135. I had more than one Thanksgiving dinner this year.
136. I’ve driven to a different state to see a band I like.
137. I am the most over analytical person I know.
138. I believe in wasting time.  

139. I don’t listen to much music.(usually--it distracts me)
140.I have a shoe fetish.
141. My favorite holiday isn’t Christmas.
142. I prefer weeks off of school instead of days here and there.
143. I like sex.
144. I wanna go home.
145. I don’t know what I would do without my friends.
146. Christmas threw up in my dorm roomand I love it.
147. Friends is my favorite tv show.
148. I can touch my nose with my tounge.
149. On most days, I like my job.
150. I need a new piercing or tattoo.
151. Been embarrassed by the number of people you’ve slept with.
152. I still use the phrase when I grow up.
153. I have a need to use phrases and words from the 80’s to "relive my youth."
154. I've given birth without painkillers of any sort. (Twice--sons 2 and 3)
155. I would do anything for my husband/wife.
56. I go to the gun range to relieve frustration.
157. My name is Mindy, but I’ve never met Mork.
158. I want to get my drivers licence next year.
159. My passion is art.
160. 160 questions was a waste of my time.
161.  I unicycle. --I have in the past at least.
162. I almost died when I was a few months old. 
163. I have a social phobia. (several)

164.  I don't like most   contemporary fiction.