Soul Writing

“Your writing voice is the deepest possible reflection of who you are. The job of your voice is not to seduce or flatter or make well-shaped sentences. In your voice, your readers should be able to hear the contents of your mind, your heart, your soul.” — Meg Rosoff

(Art by Julia Inglis.)

Sadness And Beauty

Old Moss Woman’s Secret Garden

An earth nest reflected empty as a future without bees, all swirling around the great galactic cosmic nothing, stretched between the prime pillars on high.

Art in the eyes of the beholder observing life’s weave of tomorrow’s dreamscape.

~Unknown artist.

Quote and photo posted from Moss Woman’s site. New illustrator, artist to me—Superleuk. Thoughts brought from the memories of Colorado: The time the major highway through the state was closed in Colorado Springs due to the tumble weeds blocking the road. (There had been a great windstorm that day, and the one before.) I loved it. Where else? The straw or vine dried weaves of lean-tos, bridges, huts, and tunnels, laid out on the uni campus lawn like the photo shows, or more intricately expressed, as on Superleuk’s site. Memories that came like the wind and fog, swirling and breathing, all brought on the feathers of a bluejay’s call… Other states, other dreams, other rivers, a sudden transport in time. Only a whisper left to wonder in amazement with a scent of jasmine lingering there. Returned, the body first, then the spirit slow, reluctant to be so earth bound.

Of Biped Mutterings And Mumblings

When I was younger, if anyone said, “The Church,” the meaning was The Catholic Church as in, The Holy Roman Church. I wonder if it is the same today. At that time in the past the Church was the primary mode of communication, certainly of news for RCs (Roman Catholics). It was the 50s, and it was the Church which delivered the news through its own filters and dogma. At least that which was disseminated by the local parishes. It was The Church which gave us our social norms, and in turn to some of us, the difficulties leading to an ultimate tearing away from the robes of Catholicism.

Witness the “wait-a-minutes” caused by the the Monsignors of old. Those who spoke from the ornate dais above us during Mass, symbolizing that they too, were above us. Thus the burning and chaffing from the chastity belts of youth:

  • It is wrong to read the comic books with Superman in them. No creature on earth could be greater than God or comparable to Him. “Stop it, child!” A terrible sin in the making. *Gasp* I was not stopped. I did not believe that Super was greater than God. After all, he wasn’t real. He was a creation of both a human being, and God. (An easily assignable hierarchy—from a child.)
  • We should not go to softball games where the men or boys take off their shirts. Ah, to gaze upon that muscularity of sex would certainly lead to longing and desire. (Hadn’t occurred to me.)
  • To question is to doubt. Especially if it is an unanswerable issue of dogma. And yet it was a mind, a God-given mind which led to that train of thought. No room for discussion. That was a real toughie and led to yet more puzzling streams of consciousness. (Did that foster the meaning-assigned fabrication of answers—those not necessarily accurate—or was that an attribution of personality?)
  • The song lyrics, and therefor song—along with others unacceptable for listening—is “Love’s no good unless somebody loves you/ all the way…” I was so naive that I did not understand the intent. For me this went into the realm of the Spirit, not sex. *Sigh* (It took years to catch unto this one.)
  • The best of the least was anything touching upon knowledge or curiosity. A child of the X list for movies and books, my catalogue of forbiddens only increased yearly. This led to a varied and expansive platform for life. (The mind thing again.)

It seems to me I learned the difference between exports and imports of tariffs was not only in the coming and going, but also in who paid the tariff. Incoming tariffs were to be paid by the importer. Ergo, if the U.S. imported, the U.S. paid—not China.

How is it I can drink two vodkas and it’s okay, but it’s not okay to drink two diet colas in succession? The latter would be over indulgence, gluttony.

What puts us at odds with such expressions as “You can accomplish anything you set your mind to,” is the cognitive bias of others. So, the literal idiot—one whose plans include being a company G.M.—who does not know she cannot accomplish such, has an inability to recognize her lack of ability. She lacks a self-awareness meta-cognition. She belongs to a large group of people who cannot objectively evaluate their own competence or incompetence.

There is not an equal distribution between the knowledge of a quoted line and the author. Many people know “A little learning is a dangerous thing,” but few know that A. Pope wrote it within an essay. Especially when credit is not given to one who is deceased. Think “The center cannot hold,” by Yeats.

I have only recently come to understand the importance of Intention in an action. Not legally, but morally. Although I’ve not thought through how intention might be applied to breaking the law.

TTFN. A lovely expression, or abbreviation, but not an acronym.

Che

The times are too difficult right now to offer any comments other than those of revolutionaries.

When you know I’m dead
Don’t pronounce my name
Because he would stop
Death and rest.
When you know I’m dead
Say strange syllables
Pronunciation Flower, bee,
Lagrima, bread, storm.
Don’t let your lips
Find my ten letters.
I’m sleepy I loved,
I have reached silence.
(Che Guevara)

And so it is with me, the same with the ten letters.

Once More, Into The Breach…

I don’t know; wish I did. All that and oh well.

  • I seem to have floundered off the page again. I would be worried if it mattered.
  • Strange places in the hovel of memories: 1. Years back—where? Was it Michigan? When I lived in the house on the 10 acre woods. The first dream was that of the whippets. Whippets had long been of some significance although I didn’t know of what. They frequently appeared in my life and were witnessed by the boy and the girl. And then, I dreamed I found a pair of them and took them into the garage there, to the house on the edge of that wood, to wait for their people to arrive and rescue them. (Whippets always appeared in a pair, in reality and in dreams.) And so they did. The next day, out walking with Kate-the-golden-one, down that country road, appeared two whippets, trotting alone and in tandem. I coaxed them into the garage and phoned a radio station then playing at the house, to give the information and request an announcement. The song to go along with the find was “The Happy Wanderer.” (It was a station of oldies.) Not long after the announcement there was a phone call from the whippet people who then came to get them. Of course they had just lost them, of course they just happened to be listening to that station.
  • 2. The dream that night was of the raven. Raven or crow, I tend to favor ravens. I found a raven on that very country road, a wounded creature who could not fly. I took it in and gave it great care and nursing. When I was not at home I kept it in my utility room so it could be enclosed and yet have some room. Safety, freedom, and constraint. Noble intentions, noble gifts. Except the beautiful iridescent creature tore a hole right through the wall. There was a plaster and dry wall and two-by-four mess blown clear through to the kitchen. The next day, walking down that same country road, a neighbor came out to ask me if I wanted to take in a crow. He had found an injured one and couldn’t care for it himself. Was I interested? I gracefully declined. I didn’t want the mess of the feathered beauty tearing apart the house, leaving the white mist of drywall powder to cover us there.
  • It is after all, a murder of crows and an unkindness of ravens.
  • I told the kids who told me I made too much of such things, which I did. I was crazed to know the meaning of them. I had one foot on shore and one at sea…into a fog of meaning and being, into a dream world not called, delivered without quest or anchor. But I could not read the sign. How will I ever know if everything was a dream, if anything was real?
  • Last night I got up at four a.m. to read The Winter’s Tale. I wanted to understand what the king said at the end, when he touched the statue of his wife—old now, and gone—and he said she was warm. Who does that—this waking to read? Isn’t that crazy even for me?

Still, it looks like red rock canyon. So many places of country roads, so many places left behind. No one then to love the pilgrim soul, or the moments of sad grace.

Ramblings At Small (vs. At Large)

  • Math. An accomplishment of vision. Art and math and science are all bridges between the human and the divine, beauty a means of access to grace. Mathematics, Simone Weil wrote, “is first, before all, a sort of mystical poem composed by God himself.”
  • I don’t know much math, certainly not higher math, but I have always felt that shiver of acknowledgement when thinking of the room that belongs to Pure Mathematics, the thoughts that would cause the mind to wheel and gallop and explode there. Generating enlightenment. A spiritual experience.
  • Lizzy Fig is on the patio wearing her lovely new do of a lion cut. She is still so tiny though not the wee one I was afraid of stepping on. Her current concern is the catching of bugs. I believe that is an occupation of note. To be so engrossed is the gift we long for.
  • Once again last night I was at university in my dreams. Ah! So now it occurs to me why I was thinking of math today. In the dream I was in a math class for a test. Interesting—the first ex was sitting next to me and we were both taking the test tho we had not been in the class together. Of course I had forgotten there was an assignment and test due and did not study at all. I knew nothing. And yet, when it came time to do the work I opened my booklet to discover the layout of many forms that I had begun. All I had to do was draw the line between them individually. I understood that I understood even tho I did not currently have the knowledge with me.
  • Perhaps math is such that it is because that’s what made the Universe.
  • I read somewhere that the things or occupations at an expert level that will drive men insane are philosophy, chess, and mathematics. My brother suggested we add astronomy to that. All of course enlist the search for Truth.
  • I’ve just now come back from an hours long trip around the bend of various articles and pages saved—the trip that begins with looking up a single thought and ends up with riding a monster tail. I do love monsters.
    • 42
  • P.S. I’m going to check into:
As Posted On Amazon

Ohio

Because I lived so long in Michigan I thought of Ohio as a midwestern little sister. One in competition with football, baseball, and countryside. I don’t know how things stack up anymore.

Rob Blair Photography

Sunrise over Lake Erie yesterday morning at Beulah Beach in Vermillion, Ohio.