Glenda Burgess's Blog, page 31
April 15, 2012
A Mouthful of Language
PEACHES
A mouthful of language to swallow:
stretches of beach, sweet clinches,
breaches in walls, pleached branches;
britches hauled over haunches;
hunched leeches, wrenched teachers.
What English can do: ransack
the warmth that chuckles beneath
fuzzed surfaces, sooth velvet
richness, plashy juices.
I beseech you, peach,
clench me into the sweetness
of your reaches.
-Peter Davison
This poem is a delight to read, to say aloud, to chisel out slim tickles of visual context and meaning. Peaches, a humorous ode to the inside-out of adjectives, but then the poet's own elegant rebuttal: descriptions sensual, true, and robust. Do these words that describe the indescribable fail or surpass? Surely Davison amuses us with his riddle of the peach, asking "What is?" in syllables that roll around and off the tongue - of the peach, but not the peach. And then, finally, just the peach. Aren't words grand? As much to love as the stories they tell?
As we approach World Book Night, this great free literature giveaway, I invite you to think about what language speaks to you in its rhymes, prose, sometimes raw and roughhewn power. Give thought to your favorite books and why they remain important and significant to you. Without words would the more subtle and puzzling elements of life elude us? Are words the play we make with the strange experience life is? Stories are organic to life lived and imagined - made of peaches and fires and galaxies, horses pounding through dust over a distant plain. Somewhere, long ago, it was no longer enough to merely watch the prairie lightning, it must be painted on the rock walls. Described in stories of the peoples' exodus, added to the Great Hunt. Words...palaces of frozen time we wonder at again and again.
Celebrate World Book Night on April 23. Open your favorite book and delve into starfish, stairways, deserts, balls of lava, poisoned cake, Cossacks and Caribbean nights, the myths of Rome, plots of Shakespeare, three geese crossing a midnight moon... Enjoy a mouthful of language!
A mouthful of language to swallow:
stretches of beach, sweet clinches,
breaches in walls, pleached branches;
britches hauled over haunches;
hunched leeches, wrenched teachers.
What English can do: ransack
the warmth that chuckles beneath
fuzzed surfaces, sooth velvet
richness, plashy juices.
I beseech you, peach,
clench me into the sweetness
of your reaches.
-Peter Davison
This poem is a delight to read, to say aloud, to chisel out slim tickles of visual context and meaning. Peaches, a humorous ode to the inside-out of adjectives, but then the poet's own elegant rebuttal: descriptions sensual, true, and robust. Do these words that describe the indescribable fail or surpass? Surely Davison amuses us with his riddle of the peach, asking "What is?" in syllables that roll around and off the tongue - of the peach, but not the peach. And then, finally, just the peach. Aren't words grand? As much to love as the stories they tell?
As we approach World Book Night, this great free literature giveaway, I invite you to think about what language speaks to you in its rhymes, prose, sometimes raw and roughhewn power. Give thought to your favorite books and why they remain important and significant to you. Without words would the more subtle and puzzling elements of life elude us? Are words the play we make with the strange experience life is? Stories are organic to life lived and imagined - made of peaches and fires and galaxies, horses pounding through dust over a distant plain. Somewhere, long ago, it was no longer enough to merely watch the prairie lightning, it must be painted on the rock walls. Described in stories of the peoples' exodus, added to the Great Hunt. Words...palaces of frozen time we wonder at again and again.
Celebrate World Book Night on April 23. Open your favorite book and delve into starfish, stairways, deserts, balls of lava, poisoned cake, Cossacks and Caribbean nights, the myths of Rome, plots of Shakespeare, three geese crossing a midnight moon... Enjoy a mouthful of language!
April 11, 2012
Where I Have to Go
THE WAKING
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.
I feel my fate in what I cannot fear.
I learn by going where I have to go.
We think by feeling. What is there to know?
I hear my being dance from ear to ear.
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.
Of those so close beside me, which are you?
God bless the Ground! I shall walk softly there,
And learn by going where I have to go.
Light takes the Tree; but who can tell us how?
The lowly worm climbs up a winding stair;
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.
Great Nature has another thing to do
To you and me; so take the lively air,
And, lovely, learn by going where to go.
This shaking keeps me steady. I should know.
What falls away is always. And is near,
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.
I learn by going where I have to go.
- Theodore Roethke
I love this poem by Theodore Roethke, written in the mid-twentieth century, when the shining new edges of science and technology assured us the world was a moldable and directed environment; nature was there to be conjured into the inventions and shiny objects of our imaginations. And yet this poem calls us to the mysteries of nature: to the tree, the worm, the ground we stand on. I love the phrase, "I hear my being dance from ear to ear." Can you not also feel your consciousness within your skin? Indeed, especially when you wake, and take it slow? There are many lines in this poem that are there to ponder as single enormous questions: What is there to know? What falls away is always? And is near?
Yet often I wake to the morning, "and take my waking slow." There is a thin boundary of loose connections at first waking. As though consciousness slips through both physical and nonphysical realms with the ease of a night shade. Sleep walking, where have we gone? Back in this anchored reality, where is this? Are we meant to explore everything, to wander thus loosely within body and mind? The last line of the poem makes a fourth line finish to a three-line stanza pattern poem. It is a repeated phrase, used in THE WAKING four times; but at the end, almost as a coda to emphasize the openness of thought, the trusting willingness of the poet to discover his life by a reverent attention to living. I learn by going where I have to go. Perhaps as a writer, I live by listening to what life must say. And you? How do you navigate?
We think by feeling, the poet tells us. Quietly, I agree. This shaking keeps me steady.
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.
I feel my fate in what I cannot fear.
I learn by going where I have to go.
We think by feeling. What is there to know?
I hear my being dance from ear to ear.
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.
Of those so close beside me, which are you?
God bless the Ground! I shall walk softly there,
And learn by going where I have to go.
Light takes the Tree; but who can tell us how?
The lowly worm climbs up a winding stair;
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.
Great Nature has another thing to do
To you and me; so take the lively air,
And, lovely, learn by going where to go.
This shaking keeps me steady. I should know.
What falls away is always. And is near,
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.
I learn by going where I have to go.
- Theodore Roethke
I love this poem by Theodore Roethke, written in the mid-twentieth century, when the shining new edges of science and technology assured us the world was a moldable and directed environment; nature was there to be conjured into the inventions and shiny objects of our imaginations. And yet this poem calls us to the mysteries of nature: to the tree, the worm, the ground we stand on. I love the phrase, "I hear my being dance from ear to ear." Can you not also feel your consciousness within your skin? Indeed, especially when you wake, and take it slow? There are many lines in this poem that are there to ponder as single enormous questions: What is there to know? What falls away is always? And is near?
Yet often I wake to the morning, "and take my waking slow." There is a thin boundary of loose connections at first waking. As though consciousness slips through both physical and nonphysical realms with the ease of a night shade. Sleep walking, where have we gone? Back in this anchored reality, where is this? Are we meant to explore everything, to wander thus loosely within body and mind? The last line of the poem makes a fourth line finish to a three-line stanza pattern poem. It is a repeated phrase, used in THE WAKING four times; but at the end, almost as a coda to emphasize the openness of thought, the trusting willingness of the poet to discover his life by a reverent attention to living. I learn by going where I have to go. Perhaps as a writer, I live by listening to what life must say. And you? How do you navigate?
We think by feeling, the poet tells us. Quietly, I agree. This shaking keeps me steady.
April 8, 2012
Rest Me There
SIREN. Come, worthy Greek, Ulysses, come,
Possess these shores with me;
The winds and seas are troublesome,
And here we may be free.
Here may we sit and view their toil
That travail in the deep,
And joy the day in mirth the while,
And spend the night in sleep.
ULYSSES. Fair nymph, if fame or honor were
To be attained with ease,
Then would I come and rest me there,
And leave such toils as these.
But here it dwells, and must I
With danger seek it forth;
To spend the time luxuriously
Becomes not men of worth.
- from "Ulysses and the Siren," by Samuel Daniel
I was mulling over a recent essay in a blog I read on the idea, oft promoted by self-help and self-actualization experts, that all that is required of us as modern human beings is to dial into our abundant natural talents, and success and happiness will flow forth. That much of our frustration and unhappiness is from pursuits of work and relationships that are not in harmony with our intrinsic natures. There is of course a nugget of wisdom in this idea. We are most usually happiest at what we are good at, and vice versa. The "right life is the sweet life" might be the ideal of today's modern men and women. But as I read in the poetry of Samuel Daniel this morning, an English poet who lived from 1562- 1619, a decidedly un-easy period of world history, I was struck by the last two lines of Ulysses' reply to the siren in Daniel's poem Ulysses and the Siren- "To spend the time luxuriously/Becomes not men of worth." This classic idea of struggle and merit are entwined throughout Homer's Odyssey, from which Daniel's poem draws, but is not often mentioned these days.
I do not necessarily hold that the worthy is by definition difficult, but it has often been so in my personal experience. Self-sacrifice, determination, endeavor, commitment, completion...all are worthy attributes which describe goals and choices anchored by unflagging effort. There is a saying in my friend Patricia's family, "If it were easy, anyone could do it." The most common denominator in human behavior is usually the easiest default option or behavior. What is uncommon is extraordinary effort. Ulysses speaks from a time when the heroic was much admired, noteworthy and difficult, and, if a true choice of courage and will, viewed as a measure of noble character. To be worthy was to be capable of great self-sacrifice and determination.
In my corner of the 21st Century, today is the first sunny warm spring day in months. Robins are plucking at the hyacinth along the walkway, a squirrel naps on the fence rail in a patch of sun. As I sit in front of my laptop twiddling through excuses to avoid an honest day's work, thinking Well, I could wait until I feel truly motivated...I realize I am indulging in the wrong kind of thinking. What I really need is not the Siren in my ear, but a good ol' kick in the pants from Ulysses. The most ordinary fame and honor, as our hero puts it, does not reside in the easy and the comfortable but out there, in the travails of the deep. Beyond the blinking cursor. Knew that. But somedays it helps to be reminded.
Possess these shores with me;
The winds and seas are troublesome,
And here we may be free.
Here may we sit and view their toil
That travail in the deep,
And joy the day in mirth the while,
And spend the night in sleep.
ULYSSES. Fair nymph, if fame or honor were
To be attained with ease,
Then would I come and rest me there,
And leave such toils as these.
But here it dwells, and must I
With danger seek it forth;
To spend the time luxuriously
Becomes not men of worth.
- from "Ulysses and the Siren," by Samuel Daniel
I was mulling over a recent essay in a blog I read on the idea, oft promoted by self-help and self-actualization experts, that all that is required of us as modern human beings is to dial into our abundant natural talents, and success and happiness will flow forth. That much of our frustration and unhappiness is from pursuits of work and relationships that are not in harmony with our intrinsic natures. There is of course a nugget of wisdom in this idea. We are most usually happiest at what we are good at, and vice versa. The "right life is the sweet life" might be the ideal of today's modern men and women. But as I read in the poetry of Samuel Daniel this morning, an English poet who lived from 1562- 1619, a decidedly un-easy period of world history, I was struck by the last two lines of Ulysses' reply to the siren in Daniel's poem Ulysses and the Siren- "To spend the time luxuriously/Becomes not men of worth." This classic idea of struggle and merit are entwined throughout Homer's Odyssey, from which Daniel's poem draws, but is not often mentioned these days.
I do not necessarily hold that the worthy is by definition difficult, but it has often been so in my personal experience. Self-sacrifice, determination, endeavor, commitment, completion...all are worthy attributes which describe goals and choices anchored by unflagging effort. There is a saying in my friend Patricia's family, "If it were easy, anyone could do it." The most common denominator in human behavior is usually the easiest default option or behavior. What is uncommon is extraordinary effort. Ulysses speaks from a time when the heroic was much admired, noteworthy and difficult, and, if a true choice of courage and will, viewed as a measure of noble character. To be worthy was to be capable of great self-sacrifice and determination.
In my corner of the 21st Century, today is the first sunny warm spring day in months. Robins are plucking at the hyacinth along the walkway, a squirrel naps on the fence rail in a patch of sun. As I sit in front of my laptop twiddling through excuses to avoid an honest day's work, thinking Well, I could wait until I feel truly motivated...I realize I am indulging in the wrong kind of thinking. What I really need is not the Siren in my ear, but a good ol' kick in the pants from Ulysses. The most ordinary fame and honor, as our hero puts it, does not reside in the easy and the comfortable but out there, in the travails of the deep. Beyond the blinking cursor. Knew that. But somedays it helps to be reminded.
April 4, 2012
Express Yourself
The Left Coast Crime Mystery Writers conference I attended in Sacramento was a new experience for me. This conference is what is called a "fan conference," meaning the attendees are not just writers and authors, but include the fans of mystery books. It is their chance to meet and listen to their favorite authors speak about writing. What a refreshing element! That passion for a good read is a dynamite zing. At the mystery awards banquet I was lucky enough to be seated next to two engaging women from Silicon Valley. Smart, educated, professional - and avid readers. I absorbed a great deal on what elements frustrate readers about the novels of their favorite authors, and what aspects made them favorites to begin with. Thank you Colleen and Mary!
I noticed, however, the general extraordinary shyness and reserve of the majority of writers present. One young man from New Mexico, newly published, seemed to always be off by himself in a corner of the business office of the conference center. It was as if he were feeling the centrifuge of attention pull him apart in uncomfortable ways and needed to duck away to regroup. Boy, did I recognize that feeling. We are, as my friend and blogger Lindsey Mead Russell put it in her blog today on A DESIGN SO VAST (www.adesignsovast.com), introverts in an extrovert world. Social media has added smokin' hot spotlights. Lindsey explores Susan Cain's book "Quiet: The Power of Introverts in a World That Can't Stop Talking," and writes about her own experience in a "noisy" world. Lindsey made the finals for an essay award and knew she needed to ask for fan support, (find a link to Lindsey's blog and her essay "Close to the Surface" for the Notes & Words competition under "Places and Persons of Interest" under my Book Club tab) which for introverts like Lindsey and I, is like asking people to leave their bedroom doors open. Privacy of thought and opinion is the final frontier of privacy. I get you, mystery writer in the blue polo hunched in that chair alone behind the copier. I get you Lindsey, wishing your work could just find fans on its own, no push from any inner "stage mom."
But this is not a world of "accidental discovery" any more (itself a separate essay on the loss of adventure and exploration), but a world of people with less time on any given day than the day before. We need to find what we're looking for, and find it fast. Who has the time to surf through junk seeking the gem? The element of fan enthusiasm is key to leveraging critical weight. What is good will always stand on its own, but saying what is good gets the word out. Talent needs to be heard above the media din.
So my dear fans, let us know if you love the work! Let us know what you hated about it. We care, we actually do. I myself write fan letters to authors I admire - I know firsthand how hard it is to get the pages out there. I am absolutely in awe of the reach and power of the written word. Books connect us from one end of the globe to the other.
Now I need to thank the reader from Queensland for her email last night. Made my day!
I noticed, however, the general extraordinary shyness and reserve of the majority of writers present. One young man from New Mexico, newly published, seemed to always be off by himself in a corner of the business office of the conference center. It was as if he were feeling the centrifuge of attention pull him apart in uncomfortable ways and needed to duck away to regroup. Boy, did I recognize that feeling. We are, as my friend and blogger Lindsey Mead Russell put it in her blog today on A DESIGN SO VAST (www.adesignsovast.com), introverts in an extrovert world. Social media has added smokin' hot spotlights. Lindsey explores Susan Cain's book "Quiet: The Power of Introverts in a World That Can't Stop Talking," and writes about her own experience in a "noisy" world. Lindsey made the finals for an essay award and knew she needed to ask for fan support, (find a link to Lindsey's blog and her essay "Close to the Surface" for the Notes & Words competition under "Places and Persons of Interest" under my Book Club tab) which for introverts like Lindsey and I, is like asking people to leave their bedroom doors open. Privacy of thought and opinion is the final frontier of privacy. I get you, mystery writer in the blue polo hunched in that chair alone behind the copier. I get you Lindsey, wishing your work could just find fans on its own, no push from any inner "stage mom."
But this is not a world of "accidental discovery" any more (itself a separate essay on the loss of adventure and exploration), but a world of people with less time on any given day than the day before. We need to find what we're looking for, and find it fast. Who has the time to surf through junk seeking the gem? The element of fan enthusiasm is key to leveraging critical weight. What is good will always stand on its own, but saying what is good gets the word out. Talent needs to be heard above the media din.
So my dear fans, let us know if you love the work! Let us know what you hated about it. We care, we actually do. I myself write fan letters to authors I admire - I know firsthand how hard it is to get the pages out there. I am absolutely in awe of the reach and power of the written word. Books connect us from one end of the globe to the other.
Now I need to thank the reader from Queensland for her email last night. Made my day!
March 29, 2012
Book World
The e-publishing business reminds me of the old Amway pyramids...the one or two "stars" shine way up here, but for every one of those, there are three thousand writers making four bucks on sales of two books.
- agent at a publishing panel
Left Coast Crime is a fun and energetic mystery novel "fan" conference. An opportunity for fans of writers to meet the authors they admire, and for writers to mingle with each other, learning the latest trends in publishing and publicity in the fast evolving book industry. I was struck by the comment above, a wryly offered "The Emperor has no clothes!" as I've met equal parts "self-publishing gurus" here as writers seeking more traditional publishers from the big six houses or the various regional or small presses. In the rush to make the engine of the Internet and e-publishing power our words into the hands of laptop and tablet toting reader s, we the writers, are getting close to forgetting the value of the publishing vetting process. There is a reason a would-be manuscript must compete for first an agent, then find an editor that will champion the book before an acquisitions committee, and then woo over book reps and reviewers....good books are made. And the more they are scrutinized on the way to you, the reader, the more I feel we all get what our dollars pay for - a good read.
The book process has many flaws, subjective taste one that often dilutes originality from one end of the bell shaped curve to the other, but it's strength is enforcing the highest levels of skill and craft. I am reminded of that today, listening to the hardworking agents that read tirelessly, the consulting book editors who fix bad drafts, the publishers who will read for months to find a gem in the pile and the champion it all the way. Books have fans. They begin in the publishing industry, and end in the bookstore. At conferences like this one. I am humbled...Today I had the pleasure of seeing one of mine, THE GEOGRAPHY OF LOVE, wrapped up in a beautiful auction basket for bid in the book room of the conference. Fans, even where least expected, make you glad you worked your way to where you are.
- agent at a publishing panel
Left Coast Crime is a fun and energetic mystery novel "fan" conference. An opportunity for fans of writers to meet the authors they admire, and for writers to mingle with each other, learning the latest trends in publishing and publicity in the fast evolving book industry. I was struck by the comment above, a wryly offered "The Emperor has no clothes!" as I've met equal parts "self-publishing gurus" here as writers seeking more traditional publishers from the big six houses or the various regional or small presses. In the rush to make the engine of the Internet and e-publishing power our words into the hands of laptop and tablet toting reader s, we the writers, are getting close to forgetting the value of the publishing vetting process. There is a reason a would-be manuscript must compete for first an agent, then find an editor that will champion the book before an acquisitions committee, and then woo over book reps and reviewers....good books are made. And the more they are scrutinized on the way to you, the reader, the more I feel we all get what our dollars pay for - a good read.
The book process has many flaws, subjective taste one that often dilutes originality from one end of the bell shaped curve to the other, but it's strength is enforcing the highest levels of skill and craft. I am reminded of that today, listening to the hardworking agents that read tirelessly, the consulting book editors who fix bad drafts, the publishers who will read for months to find a gem in the pile and the champion it all the way. Books have fans. They begin in the publishing industry, and end in the bookstore. At conferences like this one. I am humbled...Today I had the pleasure of seeing one of mine, THE GEOGRAPHY OF LOVE, wrapped up in a beautiful auction basket for bid in the book room of the conference. Fans, even where least expected, make you glad you worked your way to where you are.
March 27, 2012
Knock on Silence
I have not worked at all.... Nothing seems worth putting down - I seem to have nothing to say - It appalls me but that is the way it is.
- Georgia O'Keeffe
Just dash something down if you see a blank canvas staring at you with a certain imbecility. You do not know how paralyzing it is, that staring of a blank canvas which says to the painter: You don't know anything...
- Vincent Van Gogh
I have, as the writer Anna Held Audette discusses so beautifully in her little chapbook, "The Blank Canvas," struggled as a writer to invite in the muse. As Audette reveals, there is nothing so devastating as discovering you have no creative ideas. The experience calls into question some fundamental issues about who you really are. Perhaps you're not the creative person you thought you were. The blank page, the empty canvas, is all the proof needed: You are a fraud. Caught between your devastating stuckness to make anything at all and inner doubts about whether one even has the creative stuff to begin with.
Audette's book is about creating, or encouraging, the circumstances in life that increase the likelihood of ordering up "that flash of inspiration." She points out that even the most dazzling architecture has a solid foundation we might not commonly consider worthy of a moment of revelation. I happen to know from experience that Audette is right. Even if you sit in your writer's chair staring at your cracked paint for an hour, day after day, praying for inspiration at your personal "genius bar," if you have a pencil, tablet, or whatever you use to jot down fleeting ideas as they arise, you are on the way to corralling enough inspiration at any given moment to light a small fire in that dark night. Does this sound melodramatic? Try answering the question, "So what are you working on next?" asked by any interested soul hoping to be wowed off their feet. Only you mumble, "Uh, right. Working on that very question."
One of the "revisit the foundation" tricks that works for me is to dip back into the creative fishbowl for a bit. As O'Keefe might have abandoned the ranch and caught the train east to New York for a month of exhibitions and dinners with fellow artists, or Van Gogh take his pint at the village pub, sometimes we can come out of a dry spell by plunging into the energy field of other creative souls. For that reason, I love writers conferences. There is inspiration to be found in the inspiration of others, and I love the fact that most of us hanging out post-panel at the bar have been around the ring a time or two with our creative demons. Support, in abundance. I'm headed to a conference this week, in fact. I'm really hoping to rediscover the foundations of some dazzling creative architecture there in this time spent with other writers. Writers conferences are one tool in a creativity "rescue kit" that works for me when everything else I can think of does not. There must be ways that boost you toward inspiration as well. Keep signing up for those classes, do the dishes nude, sit in meditation, run the trails, or whatever it is that helps you see that design in the paint cracks.
Wish me luck. I hope to come back having solved a big structural problem in a novel I'm struggling with. Or at the very least, with the patience to keep staring at the wall, pencil in hand.
- Georgia O'Keeffe
Just dash something down if you see a blank canvas staring at you with a certain imbecility. You do not know how paralyzing it is, that staring of a blank canvas which says to the painter: You don't know anything...
- Vincent Van Gogh
I have, as the writer Anna Held Audette discusses so beautifully in her little chapbook, "The Blank Canvas," struggled as a writer to invite in the muse. As Audette reveals, there is nothing so devastating as discovering you have no creative ideas. The experience calls into question some fundamental issues about who you really are. Perhaps you're not the creative person you thought you were. The blank page, the empty canvas, is all the proof needed: You are a fraud. Caught between your devastating stuckness to make anything at all and inner doubts about whether one even has the creative stuff to begin with.
Audette's book is about creating, or encouraging, the circumstances in life that increase the likelihood of ordering up "that flash of inspiration." She points out that even the most dazzling architecture has a solid foundation we might not commonly consider worthy of a moment of revelation. I happen to know from experience that Audette is right. Even if you sit in your writer's chair staring at your cracked paint for an hour, day after day, praying for inspiration at your personal "genius bar," if you have a pencil, tablet, or whatever you use to jot down fleeting ideas as they arise, you are on the way to corralling enough inspiration at any given moment to light a small fire in that dark night. Does this sound melodramatic? Try answering the question, "So what are you working on next?" asked by any interested soul hoping to be wowed off their feet. Only you mumble, "Uh, right. Working on that very question."
One of the "revisit the foundation" tricks that works for me is to dip back into the creative fishbowl for a bit. As O'Keefe might have abandoned the ranch and caught the train east to New York for a month of exhibitions and dinners with fellow artists, or Van Gogh take his pint at the village pub, sometimes we can come out of a dry spell by plunging into the energy field of other creative souls. For that reason, I love writers conferences. There is inspiration to be found in the inspiration of others, and I love the fact that most of us hanging out post-panel at the bar have been around the ring a time or two with our creative demons. Support, in abundance. I'm headed to a conference this week, in fact. I'm really hoping to rediscover the foundations of some dazzling creative architecture there in this time spent with other writers. Writers conferences are one tool in a creativity "rescue kit" that works for me when everything else I can think of does not. There must be ways that boost you toward inspiration as well. Keep signing up for those classes, do the dishes nude, sit in meditation, run the trails, or whatever it is that helps you see that design in the paint cracks.
Wish me luck. I hope to come back having solved a big structural problem in a novel I'm struggling with. Or at the very least, with the patience to keep staring at the wall, pencil in hand.
March 22, 2012
Two Questions
Two Questions: How do I intend to be in relationship with Self, and How do I intend to be in relationship with Others?
- W. Sagen Smith
Years ago a friend, living a life marked by both chaos and depression, pivoted toward more positive and productive living. He credited a conversation where he was asked, and answered honestly, two very simple questions: How do I intend to be in relationship with self? How do I intend to be in relationship with others? The power in these questions is not predicated on a particular answer.
I thought these two questions, commonly used in clinical psychology to explore personal satisfaction, were engaging on several levels. They ask the question Am I happy with how I treat and think about myself, and Am I engaging with the world in the way I feel is best? The inference is that the tone and core attitude in how we engage with ourselves and the world is within our control. Not a given, but a choice. A revolutionary thought for anyone for whom life feels reactive, rigid, or predestined to circular outcomes.
I decided to ask myself these same questions. I thought about the first question for quite awhile. In relationship to self I wish to be accepting and uncritical of my own needs, open and curious, trusting of my intuition, intentional, strong enough to make right choices, and always honest. I was surprised by the fit and simplicity of my feelings. Especially the first part - to be accepting and uncritical. We often come down on ourselves before the world even has a chance to respond. The second question - How do I wish to be in relationship to others? - seemed more straightforward. Accepting and uncritical to others as well as self seemed right, supportive not judgmental, approachable, trustworthy, loyal in heart and deed. I was surprised by the degree I value the honest quality of loyalty. It is the core of relationship for me, but also of simple honorable commerce between strangers. As my grandfather used to assert, one's word should be as good as a handshake.
Defining what I thought others would appreciate from me and defining what makes for good relationship, I realized we must become the relationship we seek. What we need from others is essentially what we need from ourselves. Beginning with examining the self opens the boundaries of sacred values to others. As my friend discovered, intention sets the tone of life we lead.
- W. Sagen Smith
Years ago a friend, living a life marked by both chaos and depression, pivoted toward more positive and productive living. He credited a conversation where he was asked, and answered honestly, two very simple questions: How do I intend to be in relationship with self? How do I intend to be in relationship with others? The power in these questions is not predicated on a particular answer.
I thought these two questions, commonly used in clinical psychology to explore personal satisfaction, were engaging on several levels. They ask the question Am I happy with how I treat and think about myself, and Am I engaging with the world in the way I feel is best? The inference is that the tone and core attitude in how we engage with ourselves and the world is within our control. Not a given, but a choice. A revolutionary thought for anyone for whom life feels reactive, rigid, or predestined to circular outcomes.
I decided to ask myself these same questions. I thought about the first question for quite awhile. In relationship to self I wish to be accepting and uncritical of my own needs, open and curious, trusting of my intuition, intentional, strong enough to make right choices, and always honest. I was surprised by the fit and simplicity of my feelings. Especially the first part - to be accepting and uncritical. We often come down on ourselves before the world even has a chance to respond. The second question - How do I wish to be in relationship to others? - seemed more straightforward. Accepting and uncritical to others as well as self seemed right, supportive not judgmental, approachable, trustworthy, loyal in heart and deed. I was surprised by the degree I value the honest quality of loyalty. It is the core of relationship for me, but also of simple honorable commerce between strangers. As my grandfather used to assert, one's word should be as good as a handshake.
Defining what I thought others would appreciate from me and defining what makes for good relationship, I realized we must become the relationship we seek. What we need from others is essentially what we need from ourselves. Beginning with examining the self opens the boundaries of sacred values to others. As my friend discovered, intention sets the tone of life we lead.
March 18, 2012
Revived
THE REWAKING
Sooner or later
we must come to the end
of striving
to re-establish
the image the image of
the rose
but not yet
you say extending the
time indefinitely
by
your love until a whole
spring
rekindle
the violet to the very
lady's-slipper
and so by
your love the very sun
itself is revived.
- William Carlos Williams
The theme of renewal this month - of spirit, heart, and mind - has a beautiful resonance for me. The limning of new green on the tree branches outside my study speaks to the budding of hope and expectation within. There is something about spring that nudges us to get on with it. To pluck our rusty dreams up and tinker them back into play. To rethink the impossible or the challenging and build a bridge to somewhere. Perhaps just to throw the window open and breathe deep of the sunshine and colors of spring.
This poem by William Carlos Williams is a favorite. "The Rewaking" reminds me that some essential essence of life and joy may be re-found through the mysteries of love. That reality and the real dance in many robes of perception, and the presence of happiness reshapes all things. The poet speaks of love as a force of nature capable of reviving even the sun. The imagery of this for me is powerful, because the concept of revival brings us back to something that weariness may make us believe we have lost. Lost to the grinding darkness of winter, the pressures of work and responsibility that take us far from where we might even notice the violet color of a flower in the garden. The colors of happiness, "the image the image of the rose."
Sooner or later
we must come to the end
of striving
to re-establish
the image the image of
the rose
but not yet
you say extending the
time indefinitely
by
your love until a whole
spring
rekindle
the violet to the very
lady's-slipper
and so by
your love the very sun
itself is revived.
- William Carlos Williams
The theme of renewal this month - of spirit, heart, and mind - has a beautiful resonance for me. The limning of new green on the tree branches outside my study speaks to the budding of hope and expectation within. There is something about spring that nudges us to get on with it. To pluck our rusty dreams up and tinker them back into play. To rethink the impossible or the challenging and build a bridge to somewhere. Perhaps just to throw the window open and breathe deep of the sunshine and colors of spring.
This poem by William Carlos Williams is a favorite. "The Rewaking" reminds me that some essential essence of life and joy may be re-found through the mysteries of love. That reality and the real dance in many robes of perception, and the presence of happiness reshapes all things. The poet speaks of love as a force of nature capable of reviving even the sun. The imagery of this for me is powerful, because the concept of revival brings us back to something that weariness may make us believe we have lost. Lost to the grinding darkness of winter, the pressures of work and responsibility that take us far from where we might even notice the violet color of a flower in the garden. The colors of happiness, "the image the image of the rose."
March 13, 2012
Pi Day
According to theorists from Weber to Habermas, the good news about modernity was that it managed, for the first time in history, to fully differentiate the Big Three. That is, to differentiate art, morals, and science; of self, culture, and nature. These domains were no longer fused with each other, no longer syncretically fused and confused.
- Ken Wilbur, A Brief History of Everything
Happy Pi Day! A mishmash of mathematics and cuisine, Ken Wilbur might raise an eyebrow at food and math theory coming together in a good old-fashioned science camp romp. With apologies to Mr. Wilbur, we can separate our science and food facts later, add back that Pi(e). Really then, what's the big deal over the basic mathematical meaning of Pi and it's relationship to the calendar? Well, Pi Day is observed on March 14 because of the date's representation as 3/14 in month/day date format. This representation adheres to the commonly used approximation of 3.14 for π. (The fractional approximation of π, 22⁄7, resembles the date July 22 in the day/month format, where it is written 22/7. Pi Approximation Day is therefore celebrated on July 22. Two pi Day is informally celebrated on June 28. (2π≈6.28) More than you wanted to know, right? Wait, it gets better - !)
According to the good folks at Wikipedia (and who can doubt Wiki, right?) Dr. Larry Shaw created Pi Day in 1988. The holiday was celebrated at the San Francisco Exploratorium where Shaw worked as a physicist, with staff and public goofily marching around one of its circular spaces, then consuming fruit pies. The Exploratorium continues to hold "bring your own" Pi Day celebrations.
On Pi Day 2004, Daniel Tammet recited 2 964 decimal digits of π. (Wow, what I wouldn't give for just a stamp size fraction of that guy's immediate recall memory.)
On March 12, 2009, the U.S. House of Representatives passed a non-binding resolution (HRES 224),recognizing March 14, 2009, as National Pi Day. Of course it was non-binding...I mean, not everyone likes pie. And for Pi Day 2010, Google presented a Google Doodle celebrating the holiday, with the word Google laid over images of circles and pi symbols. They have a lot of time on their hands there at Google apparently.
But think of this (Thank you, Greg): Three years from now, will there be a worldwide server crash at 9:26:54? No doubt the modernists arrived on the scene just in time. I don't know it I could accept blending my math and my food pyramid indefinitely. I mean before modernity, Wilbur points out the common refutation for Galileo's discovery of the moons of Jupiter asserted that if animals had seven orifices (not to mention other similarities in nature "too tedious to enumerate," such as the seven metals, etc.) there must be only seven planets. No more. We've got Mercury, remember? A full house.
Might be time to take the pie out of Pi, folks.
- Ken Wilbur, A Brief History of Everything
Happy Pi Day! A mishmash of mathematics and cuisine, Ken Wilbur might raise an eyebrow at food and math theory coming together in a good old-fashioned science camp romp. With apologies to Mr. Wilbur, we can separate our science and food facts later, add back that Pi(e). Really then, what's the big deal over the basic mathematical meaning of Pi and it's relationship to the calendar? Well, Pi Day is observed on March 14 because of the date's representation as 3/14 in month/day date format. This representation adheres to the commonly used approximation of 3.14 for π. (The fractional approximation of π, 22⁄7, resembles the date July 22 in the day/month format, where it is written 22/7. Pi Approximation Day is therefore celebrated on July 22. Two pi Day is informally celebrated on June 28. (2π≈6.28) More than you wanted to know, right? Wait, it gets better - !)
According to the good folks at Wikipedia (and who can doubt Wiki, right?) Dr. Larry Shaw created Pi Day in 1988. The holiday was celebrated at the San Francisco Exploratorium where Shaw worked as a physicist, with staff and public goofily marching around one of its circular spaces, then consuming fruit pies. The Exploratorium continues to hold "bring your own" Pi Day celebrations.
On Pi Day 2004, Daniel Tammet recited 2 964 decimal digits of π. (Wow, what I wouldn't give for just a stamp size fraction of that guy's immediate recall memory.)
On March 12, 2009, the U.S. House of Representatives passed a non-binding resolution (HRES 224),recognizing March 14, 2009, as National Pi Day. Of course it was non-binding...I mean, not everyone likes pie. And for Pi Day 2010, Google presented a Google Doodle celebrating the holiday, with the word Google laid over images of circles and pi symbols. They have a lot of time on their hands there at Google apparently.
But think of this (Thank you, Greg): Three years from now, will there be a worldwide server crash at 9:26:54? No doubt the modernists arrived on the scene just in time. I don't know it I could accept blending my math and my food pyramid indefinitely. I mean before modernity, Wilbur points out the common refutation for Galileo's discovery of the moons of Jupiter asserted that if animals had seven orifices (not to mention other similarities in nature "too tedious to enumerate," such as the seven metals, etc.) there must be only seven planets. No more. We've got Mercury, remember? A full house.
Might be time to take the pie out of Pi, folks.
March 7, 2012
Kaleidescope
The moment one definitely commits oneself, then Providence moves too. All sorts of things occur to help one that would never otherwise have occurred... unforeseen incidents, meetings, and material assistance, which no man could have dreamed would have come his way.
- Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
It is a strange thing, success. And by "success" I do not mean victory, fortunate outcome, achieving the height of competitive earnings, awards or laurels. I mean success as the manifestation of intention. Fruition, attainment, fait accompli. Bringing to pass, or carrying through to completion a personal idea or desire into reality. Accomplishment is perhaps the better word.
What Goethe observed is that once our personal energies and thinking line up firmly behind a goal, the means of achieving that goal often appear unexpectedly, at the right time as needed. I like to think of this power of commitment as setting the kaleidoscope of the universe; fine-tuning a personal view out of a chaos of resources that oscillate to the energy of intentional thought. A changeable, flexible, resilient world. One in which what we dream might be molded by the very commitment we bring to the task. We do not yet know we need this particular thing to make X, until we have in fact determined to build X. The alterability of our goals is met by an equally fluid universe.
And that is a thing to ponder.
- Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
It is a strange thing, success. And by "success" I do not mean victory, fortunate outcome, achieving the height of competitive earnings, awards or laurels. I mean success as the manifestation of intention. Fruition, attainment, fait accompli. Bringing to pass, or carrying through to completion a personal idea or desire into reality. Accomplishment is perhaps the better word.
What Goethe observed is that once our personal energies and thinking line up firmly behind a goal, the means of achieving that goal often appear unexpectedly, at the right time as needed. I like to think of this power of commitment as setting the kaleidoscope of the universe; fine-tuning a personal view out of a chaos of resources that oscillate to the energy of intentional thought. A changeable, flexible, resilient world. One in which what we dream might be molded by the very commitment we bring to the task. We do not yet know we need this particular thing to make X, until we have in fact determined to build X. The alterability of our goals is met by an equally fluid universe.
And that is a thing to ponder.
