Where Creativity Goes to Die and Resurrect

Sometimes...messages find you when you least expect them.

This message found me on the internet. I know that there are a fathomless number of hardships that are out there waiting to pluck one of us from the crowd. Everyone gets their turn eventually. And there is no rhyme or reason. No fairness. No limit for some. And are these hardships comparable? Weighted? No. No, they're not. Suffering is relative to one's own experience and ability to respond. Suffering should be respected for what it means to the person it impacts without judgement or comparison. Suffering is not punishment or deserved. Just ask Job.

In my life, suffering initially triggered the need for a creative outlet and then, later in life, it suffocated it. I ponder this often, but no understanding comes. What sparks the tinder can also smother the flame. One can contemplate it or ignore it or just accept it without understanding. I don't know what works best. I don't have the insight to pick it apart. I do know, eventually, when the time is right, lifting oneself up brings the light a bit closer. Whether that is lifting your head from your pillow, sitting in the tub to take a shower because standing is too much to ask, or whatever endeavor gives a lift in mood. Bit by bit. Reclaiming power has a way of sparking and not smothering the creativity that was hibernating until its joy becomes possible, seen, welcomed.

It's there not too far away. Be patient. Be forgiving. Be ready.

Maybe solace can be found in a work of fiction. A place to escape. I don't know for sure, but maybe. TY tinybuddha.com for your message and TY to the universe that brought it to me.

Time...and Place

Time echoes...

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Did you know the average echo time is ten milliseconds? I'm not sure I ever thought about it before, but now that I have--thought about it--I find it amazing. Quick. Instant gratification for anyone who has sent a shout out inside a canyon or cave or another boomerang place somewhere. How often do we get such quick responses to things we send out into the world? And would it be any more useful than the echo of our voice? No change to what we flung out there or maybe a new perspective?

Sometimes though there is no response. No action. Sometimes what we send out into the world is left to sit. And that is all it takes. A small step away becomes a mile away before you know it. It becomes a thick layer of dust on that shoebox holding whatever treasure you placed in it before sliding it onto that top shelf of your closet. Such is the way of things we neglect even when it is unintentional. Priorities change. Sometimes, in my case, mood changes. It's been about three years since I made an entry to my website's blog spot. I haven't been on my website in eons it seems, well at least three years' worth, and it took a bit of stepping up and dusting off to get the process going for accessing it today.

Time, like many things, can be forgiving. It is patient even when it seems to be anxious to move on. It is never ceasing in the big scheme of things and very limited when you take the time to pick apart the details of how time is spent. Where did it go? How was it spent? Like it is something to be grasped or commoditized. It is unique to each of us and unique to the moment. It is to be cherished but it is to be cursed as well. A dichotomy with shades of grey. I had stepped away from writing. Then, back a few years ago, I thought I was stepping back into it, but no, I did not. I am not sure this is a step into it either. Maybe just a dabbling that I am already trying to figure out. Analyze. Appreciate.

Instead of writing, I started re-reading my series after letting it go for so long. It is a strange experience knowing for a fact you wrote something but wondering where the words had come from. I always felt like my characters were living creations within my thoughts and that they drove the story. Apparently, that is true. It has been fun. I am about halfway through book two. Secrets of Time: Finding Light. Today is a rainy day and a good day for dabbling and reading. With so much complexity in the world, I think that hoping everyone can find time to dabble or read is a good sentiment. I also think that revisiting the familiar, allowing nostalgia every now and then, gives one time to regenerate and take that step out and send something new out into the world.

Pleasure

What is it about the smell of toast that is so pleasant? Not too much to do to achieve it: Bread popped into a toaster, button pushed, patience. And whala, simple pleasure! The photo above is the beginnings of my peanut butter and jelly sandwich for lunch today. While putting it together, the aroma that filled the kitchen made me take pause. I have no big events or special memories tied to the smell of toast that I recall, and yet there it was--that smile and feeling. From toast.

Sometimes, when I am reading a story, I find myself pulled so far into a scene. It somehow triggers some emotional response that I cannot trace back to its roots, but it is there none-the-less. In creating a story, it is my hope to find a bit or two spots in the narrative that folks may fall into and get lost for just a little while. Although my writing cannot compare, some of my favorite moments reading still light a smile. Fear. Intrigue. Sadness. And pleasure. Just recalling the words and moments brought to the page by some of my favorite authors replays it all so simply:

❤Harry Potter's birthday cake on the island in the middle of a stormy sea. (JK Rowling, Harry Potter & the Sorcerer's Stone)

❤Katniss Everdeen's moment in the tube before being elevated into the Hunger Game challenge for the first time. (Suzanne Collins, The Hunger Games)

❤Elsa Wolcott Martinelli's stance on the back of a pick-up truck fighting for picker's rights during the Dust Bowl just before being mercilessly shot (Kristin Hannah, The Four Winds)

❤Lali (Ludwig) Sokolov driving away from the Russian soldiers after serving them and being liberated from Auschwitz weeks before. (Heather Morris, The Tattooist of Auschwitz)

❤Alice Van Cleve's first horseback ride into the mountains to delivery books to isolated families (Jojo Moyes, The Giver of Stars)

❤And Kya's long long wait in jail after knowing only freedom and independence. (Della Owens, Where the Crawdads Sing)

These are just a drop in the bucket of the many moments I have had finding simple pleasure in reading. Not too much to do to achieve it: Grab a book, have some light, put on my glasses, read. Replay. And whala, a trip into another world.