Viewing entries in
"life on life's terms"
The beach remembers
Lover's tastes and trash
And it can't forget
Too many breezes blow
In strong currents
And sand tossing tourists
Piles of humanity
Discarded playthings
And burnt butts
Cans crushed under foot
Seasoned among sea oats
And barley stained
His hands upon her
Rumpled sands swaying
And tides wetting
Every passion gets remembered
By the beach beneath us
And our trash
A number of weeks back, several friends sent me the same link to a wonderful video of Elizabeth Gilbert speaking on the angst of artistic genius. I'm not purporting to be a genius, but I have had my share of artistic challenges.
My first true passion was acting. I felt more alive when acting, soaking up the spot light and wrestling with the nuances of character development than I did living my real life. I achieved some modest success while making acting my hobby throughout my life including some professional time with a North Carolina Shakespeare Company, and several cable-run commercials. During college I discovered creative writing and I've had a few article published (during my time as a pastor). Sermon writing, at its best, is a highly creative venue and I relished in both the creation and presentation of sermons for 15 years.
In each of my creative adventures, I discovered the same reality – satisfaction of the urge to create and the compulsion to be a part of something new and dramatic is fleeting.
Often, upon reflection on my own creative internal disturbance, I am left with the following apparent and unsavory thought - The creative spirit, as embodied in so many artists, is its own bane. The artist can devote his/herself to the task fully and in doing so risk a rapid burn or can deny the very passion of the soul and lead a life of frustrated mediocrity. My trouble with this thought is that I don’t want it to be true. Is it possible for an artist to pursue his passion and not self destruct? Is there something in the nature of art that demands the humanity of the artist and leaves her broken?
There is more to say here, but I would rather leave it for your comments. So, dear reader, is your artistic passion dangerous?
Have you ever had to write?
I have.
There are times when the creative urge within us demands to be released and those of us that contain even the smallest creative tendency are imposed upon – it is a tempest. For these are the moments when the convergence of internal climates mock the posing power of even the most extreme external weather - for in these moments, the storm of passion assails us and we can but ride the storm out.
Sometimes the storm washes up marvelous beauty upon the sands for others to find as they walk by. Sometimes.
Paint Me Not
Paint me not in shades of brilliant blue and red
Coloring over my misguided lines of glossy black
And smeared greys
Don’t layer me over with sentiment and morality
Forgetting my deformity of thought
And bare deeds
Have the fortitude to lay it out
As I was and am naked and old, withered
And decaying now
My life will be dust soon enough and should not be concealed while it can be revealed.
Note: Inspiration comes when it is ready. I was viewing a photo and a post over at MelodyWatson.com and somehow, my thoughts and feelings lead to the poem above...
You don’t mean badly of it
Your constant chatter
About your thoughts, life moments
Ongoing strident tones
Filling every silence to brimming
I don’t mean badly of it
Listening half heartily
To worn tires chatting
Over tired pavement
Rhythms rising from empty drums
The other day I went on an eight day, seven night canoe trip with three other men through a section of the
I wasn't disappointed. Everything that this type of adventure offers hit us full force, face-on impacting out lives and saturating our thirst for manly excitement and bonding. Perhaps I will share more about that trip someday, but this post isn't about the actual trip, it is about the beginning – the beginning of all things, in a way.
The four of arrived at our launch point and soon had our gear packed in the two canoes full to the top leaving barely enough room for each of us to sit – one in front and one in the rear of each canoe. We had to take everything we needed for the next eight day – food, tent, water, coolers, etc. we had gotten to the launch point later than we had expected and had to talk the ranger into letting us launch late, knowing that we would be pushing the end of daylight before we arrived at our camping platform hours away in the middle of the swamp. Once he saw us safely in the canoes and ready to shove off, her got in his truck and left. We were off!
What awaited us was to be the adventure we all had anticipated for months now. Days of gliding through still dark water, observing wild life, and risking health and hygiene for the sake of doing it! We had miles to go and only days to accomplish it in – the adventure was upon us. Paddles in hand…
Then I discovered one small problem. Although I understood the concept of steering a canoe in open water, I didn't know how. As the lead canoe launched into the swamp, my partner for the week began providing momentum for our travel from the front seat of the craft, while I sat in the back with the duel task of paddling and guiding our boat by using my paddle as a rudder, as well. We zigged. We zagged - and quickly lagged behind.
Point – If you are going to paddle a boat to an adventure, learn to paddle.
The lesson is simple enough, but how often do we get it wrong? Life is a journey – vocations, relationships, self actualization and countless other adventures await us, and how often do we impatiently launch into one thing or another with out taking the time to allow ourselves the learning we need to be able to successfully navigate the trip.
I’m not suggesting we have to be an expert before we try anything new. I am suggesting that some adventures need a mix of experience, maturity and competency before we jump into them. I’ll leave the specific applications of this ‘point’ to your own thought processes. I’ll also state that the greatest lesson I've ever learned is that if I’m going to navigate this vessel of my ‘self’ through life, I needed to spend some time learning the art of doing just that.
In the swamp that day, I had three experienced men who helped me learn what I needed to know – enough to get the boat straight and roughly on course. They never let me forget it, but we did make our first platform just after dark.
Last night as my wife and I ate dinner at Wendy's in
1. They are all over 60.
2. They have dinner and play cards there at Wendy's every Sunday night after church -every Sunday.
3. They were feeling a bit racy last evening since they had 'skipped' church and started playing cards an hour earlier than usual.
Wild times in Brevard, I tell you. I'm not sure it is truly safe to be there on a Sunday evening! What will happen next - Dogs and cats sleeping together?
Seriously, I found the entire scene delightful and worthy of a movie script.
I am mostly a happy person. I enter each day with a determination to be positive, smile and find the opportunity in every challenge. Yes, I am one of those people.
Today, I wasn't able to make it happen. Nothing bad happened. Nothing monumental broke or went awry. Yet, I have found this day empty of enthusiasm and lacking in luster.
Chalk it up to "one of those days."
One of Those Days
Walking through cement
Wading in the swamp
Paddling up stream
Strolling up the down escalator
And
Simply not really caring about getting there
We are all allowed one of those days. Right?
