Tag Archives: writing

reflections within

Writing for expression / broken pieces of a life / innocent hope of youth

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Is writing here (or elsewhere) a direct link to what my heart wants? I would also surmise that it balances my heart and mind. I do wish that there were other places that that could happen in my life. That would be too easy, I guess.

It’s better I guess that I hoe this long road of learning, inch by inch. I have to see it here on paper. I have to find out what I really feel and really want by reading it on this screen. Maybe I should be a screenwriter. Maybe this is their experience. Your heart expresses itself on paper, you get people to speak those words, and it miraculously comes to life in front of you. I don’t know. It never occurred to me to use my writing this way. I write for readers. I have a love hate feeling towards actors and theatrical/cinematic production. It’s not my drive, so to speak. But I don’t like the way it sucks the life out of me. But it is so cathartic in its way. To see expression in that form. It’s one of my vices, living vicariously. Or seeing others doing it. I actually cut out moviegoing a while back. It was too fun. Too mood altering and personality altering. I knew it was confusing me when I returned to the real world. I decided I needed to exist in the real world primarily. I suppose I want that for my son. It’s a lot to explain here, it seems. I would have to retrace many many steps to explain what got me to that point. It reminds me of Cody and his Lego set. He sets his mind to embarking on the building process. He is fearless. He is undaunted. He has his whole life ahead of him, after all. He can do anything. That is beautiful. That is precisely how I want him to feel. Fearless. I seem to be in the process of piecing my life back together, a life that is broken, and desperately needs repair. I mentioned something about that tonight with the 2 of them, and Cody was utterly innocent to what I was referring to. He only knows hope, thank god. I of course would love him only to know that, ever. I just can’t believe how long I’ve spent trying to piece my life back together. I don’t know whose fault it is. Maybe it’s someone’s. Maybe it will forever be unknown to me. The onion. It will continue to unpeel itself.

everyday observations

Meaty

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What am I supposed to love more than food? Writing? Maybe. Music? Perhaps. Food is life. But food is also pain. And it’s purported to be a death warrant. My theory is that I can overpower one love with another love. Haha. Now that I write that I see that is silly. Isn’t it a famous truth that love doesn’t work that way? Maybe it’s a typical male interpretation of it. Blocky. Stacking one thing on top of another.

You have to invite more love into your life. Love is invitational. Open. Love doesn’t understand turning off or trumping. That’s for the brain. The intellect. Since there seems to be no question that I love food, I must approach it from the standpoint of love relationships. Just listen to what my parents have said about love. That it cannot be analyzed in and out of existence. That it cannot be chosen like an item on a restaurant menu. It finds you, if you’re willing. If you avail yourself. Love. Oh, what a roaming relationship I’ve had with you. What a wild ride. You have been my companion since birth, haven’t you? Will I ever understand the wiles of your ways? You’ve made this life quite interesting. You’ve been a master of misdirection. I’ve used your name in vain many a time, haven’t I? But you’ve led me astray. You’ve given me life, and you will dig my grave. You’ve given me hope, and you lead me to despair and hopelessness. You refuse to guide and teach me – you are buttonlipped. I will miss you and yearn for you when I’m in the throes of death. You are synonymous with meaning. But you are just a word. Nothing more. At least in this context. You are indigestion. You are a hangover. A love hangover, a food hangover. Anything that you have asked me to binge on. You oppose moderation. You oppose a lack of passion.

What’s funny is that I think I will figure this out in a writing spat. i will figure this out and then I will go on my merry way with sufficient wisdom to change my evil ways. To love right. I don’t just write for catharsis, like has been proposed by a few. That is a side effect, really. I write to gain wisdom. Insight. Epiphany. That seems silly, though. Such an innocuous thing, putting words down. How can that make a difference to who I am, to my sheer essence? But what else has made such a difference? Am I supposed to go hiking every day to find wisdom? Am I supposed to go sailing or kayaking? Am I supposed to visit Europe or the Middle East? Am I supposed to volunteer at a soup kitchen? Or for a political organization? Am I supposed to work for a charity? Am I supposed to quit the Naples Philharmonic and try for a solo career? Will those things teach me more about life and love than writing? Am I supposed to write the great American novel? Am I supposed to write a self help book? Am I supposed to go to meditation retreats? Am I supposed to become a teacher in a school? What age group?

It’s funny that I forget how love has burned me. Whether it’s a few hours ago or a few decades ago. I have to forget, though. I have to love love. That’s my nature. That’s my calling. I am called to love. I write to balance some of the excesses of love. That’s one of the things I can do about this overactive love gland. I can’t have it amputated. I think I would die then. I can counterbalance its effects.

reflections within

Horticulture

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All the self-medicating will inevitably kill me at a younger age. I am putting my body through the wringer.

The reason why you write is that there are words to be written and arranged. Once the words evolved through history, all future generations were required and honored and fortunate enough to utilize them. You can’t unlearn their existence. Once you know the difference between there, their and they’re, you feel an irresistible need to use them in their respective places, and not mix them up. There is a special kind of human clarity that is caused and experienced by the use of words and phrases. Once that is achieved, not making use of it is forever a form of devolution. Somewhere inside (and outside) of yourself, a price is paid for losing or squandering that clarity and expression.

The same holds true for music and music-making. Now that we have Bach and Mozart and Schumann, silencing opportunities for performing them has the effect of choking the human spirit. If you are a performer, you will forever be elevated by the act of performing great music, however that is defined. If you are a concertgoer, ending your exposure to live music-making removes an important outlet that enables emotional wherewithal.

I self-medicate for reasons related to this journal entry. I am not taking advantage of my humanness in some way. I am backtracking to my animalistic side. Maybe that is one definition of religion – elevation. Anything that elevates you taps into a spirituality. I do wonder if there are certain common experiences we can point to that would be able to be characterized as elevating – once they have been introduced to a society. The humanists would accuse me of making a false parallel from lofty human experiences to deities. Isn’t God just a word, though? Can’t I use it if I feel it fits the feeling? It’s a lot more succinct than a power greater than myself. My shrink would make reference to the chemicals swirling around inside us, that cause all sorts of feelings, and that you can invent magical explanations for.

Another question is, is it my responsibility to deny or apologize for my spirituality just because there are a bunch of assholes throwing around their God or Gods to rationalize their assholeness? I just want to be lofty. Not stuck in the mud. Can I please?

Why does it have to be one extreme or the other? Adam’s religion does not require such extremes. I don’t feel guilty for INTERPRETING the Bible. Not believing in it verbatim, nor completely dismissing its worth. It’s allowed to be an historic fable that moves me and helps me to find MY God. If my version of God happens to fall in line with many millions of others’, I still want to call it God. A God that I can connect with on my own. Or sometimes when I’m with others, too.

I feel like my only hope for not being a sheep is a path towards my truth. Maybe that’s redundant. But if it is, it doesn’t seem to be very popular.

everyday observations

Pontoon

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I probably shouldn’t begin a blog at this ripe hour, but it’s been so long that I thought I’d at least give it a whirl. Hmm. C’mon, brain, do something. I have observed that I can have the kernel of an idea form in my mind, but to extract it out of its little corner is perhaps overly difficult. It feels like the parts of my brain in charge of different mental processes don’t know how to work with one another. Like the links between them have been zapped or something. It’s almost as if I’ve done drugs. I think I’ve avoided doing them specifically for just such risks. How annoyingly ironic.
I’ve been baking. That is a fun pastime. And tasty. I’ve been discovering the beauty of Teflon.

Maybe I should just sleep on it. I have been journaling privately. I start out writing letters to abusers, but it ends up being a more general sort of exploration of ideas. It’s a good place to springboard from, though. Nice and pithy, I think. A good way to get the old shovel out and start digging around in the graveyard of my mind.

Okay.

originally published on 10/10/08

reflections within

Moo

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It’s all stuck inside me. I wrote for an hour last night, and I feel I just scratched the surface. It never ends. I can reread my past journals and marvel at the discoveries and openings I stepped through. But it’s as if I reset myself after a short while. It’s as if I am starting from scratch. This is why I feel I must trust the little feeling that says there is so much more yet to be unearthed.
Part of me would like to think I am 10 or 20 or 40% through after an intense venting session like last night’s. Maybe I delved into a few topics to some degree. But there are indeed umpteen more to go. I always like it when I have a direction to go in. That comes from an outside source of wisdom like a book or guru. That can be my impetus for further self-exploration.

originally published on 3/19/08