The Reluctant Writer

I changed my pillow a couple of days ago, and I haven’t been sleeping as well as I usually do.

Last night, just as I tossed toward the edge of sleep, I saw a cool river flowing through a grove of trees. The sun was reflecting off the leaves and the sparkling water. I could hear cheerful, rushing river sounds and a light breeze shuffing through the trees.

Then the sounds hushed, the trees disappeared, and the lush ground turned into a light brown, dusty sand. The river slumped by reluctantly in a viscous, dull green ripple. The landscape seemed flat, dead, and incomplete, like the beginning of a painting. The water was silent, but in contrast to the landscape, it was alive. The green river was swirling with hundreds of faces.

The faces were placed on geometrically shaped heads, mostly rectangular, some round or oval. All the faces were one dimensional like simple drawings with little variation. Expressionless eyes and mouths were heavy lines evenly applied to a small, blank square, as if the artist were a prolific, well-regulated machine. Hundreds of geometric heads roiled the water.

The heads began to rise out of the water in multiple, mixed layers, tumbling over each other like ants in a mound, then sinking randomly back into the water. Dozens of rotating heads with blank faces, floating up in different layers. One face kept reappearing. Square head with pointy hair like a cartoon character. The eyes were downward slanting lines. The mouth was an open “O.” No nose, no body, no neck. Just a sleeping cartoon face. I found it hard to breathe.

I saw this anonymous face slip up from the murky water several times, linger for brief seconds, and watched it slide under the water again. Sometimes the face came with a twin, but it was mostly alone. One of a group of a dozen geometric heads – roiling in and out of the water. Never changing shape, saying nothing, hearing nothing.

I turned away and the heads and faces morphed back into the sparkling river with its lush fresh grove and bright sun. The sounds of life returned. The leafy trees brought back my breath.  

I looked for the sleeping “O” face and sensed it one last time. More like the thought of the image rather than the image itself. The effort woke me.

My dream had lasted only moments. Its oddity hazed just out of reach, seeming to beckon me back to that troubled landscape. Should I go back? Was there some purpose to my returning? Was there a message from the sleeping O face? Would the faces be the same?

My eyes closed again and welcomed the softness of my pillow as my body eased. I realized that next time the scene would be different: Changed by time and immersion into the calm darkness of deep sleep.

And all the men and women merely players;

They have their exits and entrances;

And one man in his time plays many parts,

His acts being seven ages.

      –William Shakespeare

If life is really a play, then which act and am I in now and which part am I playing? Better yet, what parts are others playing?

I heard someone say once that each person has the starring role in the play of his or her life. I’m the star of my own life; you’re the star of yours. Remembering that makes regarding others in my life ever more interesting. I wonder sometimes how much typecasting have I done in choosing my friends. I also wonder who has cleverly written themselves into my script, and what might other see while observing my play.

Theatre has the capacity to teach us, and to transform and ultimately transcend our mundane daily lives. The most impactful play I was ever in was “Playing for Time” by Arthur Miller. The play is about the women’s orchestra that played at Auschwitz during WWII. The musicians survived by playing for the notorious Nazi leader Doctor Mengele, who adored certain classical music. The play depicts the cruelty and death of Auschwitz, but also contained some lovely music.  I played the part of Lisle and played the clarinet as part of the orchestra.

The play is extraordinary in its depiction of life for those women, but much of the transformation for me happened in the warm up exercises we did as a cast. Because the cast prisoners had to portray being beaten, and the cast guards had to portray beating them, we practiced stage techniques to prevent injury. The sticks were padded and no one was ever hurt, but we had to learn to trust each other to make sure it stayed that way. We developed a high level of respect along with the trust in each other. We also relished the parts of the play that depicted the victory of compassion.

One of the exercises we did was to play a scene with prisoners and guards mingling and in character. We felt the emotions of fear and hatred fill the stage. We began to understand our own parts – prisoners with the terrified understanding that they were hated without knowing why – the guards hating the vermin prisoners, but without a basis for it other than what they’d been told.

Then we switched parts.  It was disturbingly easy.

That’s when we all began to understand how easy it is to hate without reason; to want to rid the world of an imagined menace; to become irrationally cruel upon command. And we began to see the overwhelming fear from both sides of the scene.

As a cast we began to have compassion for both prisoners and guards. We began to understand how easy it is to slip into bigotry and cruelty reserved for monsters. We began to see our own shadow side and claim it for our own, but with the compassion and tenderness of expanded perspective.

Through the exercises, the directors brought us to greater understanding of our own selves in relation to all humanity, not just the play. It was masterful. Being a cast member in “Playing for Time” changed me forever. I played one of the three surviving members of the orchestra depicted in the last scene. Just re-reading some of the script today brought tears to my eyes in remembering the lessons and the people I encountered onstage.

In my own life, I have to determine who I will allow to direct me and how. Ultimately I direct myself, but others play their parts: co-director, stage managers, costumers, music, lights . . . more than fellow cast members. This play is open ended and will continue long after I exist stage left. 

For now I try to accept that other actors enter into my play as they are, and that they are the lead in their own play. My part in their play could be major or just a bit part. I have fired some actors from my play and have been fired from other’s plays. How I research and develop my character and interact with other actors in this act is a decision I make every day, whether I’m aware of it or not.

And every now and again I hope someone throws roses.

In My Room

I am always alone.

I am never alone.

Memories steal my solitude and hover over me — foretelling and forgetting.

My room is full of noisy memories in dark of midday and in living night.

Memories of teddybears, slippers and tabbycats.

            Muddy paw prints on my pillow revealed to Mom our midnight secret.

            Tiger could jump so high into my window.

Christmas Eve giggles with my brother,

            While Dad shook Santa bells under our window.

Father, Brother, Mother, gone. Memories linger past death.

Memories of perfume and sweat from hopeful liaisons.

            Will another offer be made?

In my room The Empress guides me past the falling Tower.

The Wheel turns, the Hermit nods.

She moves me past the Chariot and the vacillating Lovers.

She looks the Emperor in the eye and wonders when his time will come.

Sweet, Seething Death.

In the morning – resurrection for all.

I am always alone.

I am never alone.

Oh WAY COOL!  I get to post.

You know, most days slither by pretty much the same delightful way. I get up when I hear My Human’s hairless paws hit the bedroom floor upstairs. When she opens the door, I rush into her bedroom and attack the grey cat that gets to sleep with her. I NEVER get to sleep with her unless it’s on the back of the couch when she naps. She says I’m too restless, whatever that means.

Anyway, then My Human makes this vile brown liquid which smells like decaying acid bearshit and actually drinks it. Rowr it stinks. She used to get in the water box every morning and change her fur, and leave the house all day, but these days her schedule is different. She’s usually home most of the day now working on the light box with little square keys she pushes with her front toes. Her claws look so funny… they’re flat and they don’t move.  But she pushes those little keys every day. And makes more liquid bearshit.

While she’s gone I usually sleep a lot, either on the back of the couch, in the closet, or when she leaves her bedroom door open, on her bed. That’s the best because it smells like her. Right on her soft head thing. Pdpd dpdpdpd  pdpdpdpdpdpd  mmmmm zzzzzzzzz. Perfect.

When I’m not sleeping I like to annoy the brown cat she calls Beano. Beano is partially blind on her right side, and she doesn’t grok that I just want to play. So I sneak up on her right side and touch her somewhere. She whirls and hisses and growls and it’s so damn stinkin’ funny. Then I chase her.   HAHAHAHA  HAHAHAH. AHAH .rrrrrrrrrrr…. ppdpdpdpdp.  It’s funny.

I also rush the birds on the patio. Bam! Right against the glass and they allllll fluttdtdtdtdter away. Hahahahaha  haha.  She sets out little seeds the birds go nuts for. They’ll even fight each other for their own little spot on the table. The birds with the bobbing head feather are the funniest, first because of that stupid topknot, but they peck each other, flap around, and rush in circles. What a spectacle.

I love playing with dangle mouse. I get to jump way high to catch it in my mouth, hold it down and let it fly up to thump the ceiling. Whap! Then do it again and again. My human puts it behind the door at night so she can sleep. Killjoy.

My life is actually sublime. Lots of food, sleep in cozy places, and get petted a lot. It feels so good to be petted. Humans get massages, we get petted and it’s free. Ahhhhh… pdpdpdpdp…

It wasn’t always like that. The day My Human found me about a year ago I was all alone in the bushes behind a building where she used to work. She came out with another human, picked me up by the neck scruff and took me home with her. I was so hungry I couldn’t see. And terrified. I can’t remember how long I had been out there, maybe a week or two, but I was afraid to move afraid to stay and so hungry. I think she saved me. I could see a big, dark space opening up for me and I would have gone there in a couple more days. I don’t think about it much anymore because my life is pretty much perfect these days.  I purr a lot and kiss and snuggle with My Human often because I love her and I’m grateful she found me. Some people think we don’t have emotions, but they’re wrong. So wrong.

Anyway I think I’ll go eat and take a nap now, play with dangle mouse when I get up and kiss My Human.

We’ll talk again, I’m sure.

Freddie

I just realized something with such force I can’t let it go without writing it.

I don’t want another job. I don’t’ want to go to a mind-numbing mind-sucking office and sit at a desk or a stinking cubicle and work at doing something boring and soul constricting to make someone else rich.  I don’t need to be rich. Comfortable would be nice. Maybe even rich.  Oh SHIT! What am I saying? Rich is good.  It’s FABULOUS! Let’s all be rich. I MEAN IT!  LET’S ALL BE RICH!!!!!!

God damn it!  I want it .  I want to be fulfilled at what I do FOR ME.  Is that so bad? I want to make my living with something that helps me live. I don’t want to make a dying instead of a living.

I’ll take it a step further . . .

I want to find my soul mate. I want to find that someone sweet, smart, sexy, adventurous, soulful, with a million dollar laugh. I want someone I can talk with forever. And laugh with and be idiotic with and love and kiss and touch and nurture and be nurtured by. I know it is an ongoing project that it just doesn’t happen. After two divorces I know as well as anyone possibly could. But I want to find that someone who will make the effort with me and make it worthwhile.

I want that.

I want color. I want art. I want words and wisdom. I want love. I don’t want a fucking job.  Getting fired was the best thing that has happened to me in a long time.

I’m thinking radical thoughts. Can it happen?

I can’t see that far ahead, but I know it’s good.

Wanna come too?

In the last blog I was dashing off to leave a resume for a prospective job. It was a nice office. Quiet. Very quiet. I haven’t heard back yet.

Well, then I had lunch with friends. It changed my whole day. Isn’t it crazy how just having lunch with friends can turn things around? Being at home by myself instead of being around people all day has been the hardest part of not working. So it was good to just sit and chat with my buddies for an hour. Everyone should vow to lunch with friends at least once a week. It’s just good for the soul to eat and talk together.  I kinda think of this blog in the same way. It’s another way to lunch and talk with friends.

After lunch I ran a couple of errands and went into the office to say hi and see what was going on. One of the guys I worked with on a project was so open and glad to see me, it made the day even better. He even had a job lead for me at a super place writing training material which for me would be a fun job. He even sent an email in advance for me. That wouldn’t have happened if I hadn’t gone to lunch. 

This evening I went for a walk in my neighborhood, but I have to tell you my neighborhood isn’t typical. It’s up against the foothills behind the little town of Farmington UT. I can walk out my front door and in about 15 minutes of walking be on the Farmington Canyon trail. From there I can walk or hike for miles.  This evening the temperature was perfect, no wind, the sun just about to go down, no bugs. I have an almost unobstructed view of the Salt Lake and Antelope Island in some parts of the walk, and from the hills tonight’s sunset was glorious. I will not go for walks without my camera any more. I’ll find another picture and post it so you’ll see why it’s hard for me to want to move from here, even though I talk about it a lot. It’s just so stunning at times.

 All in all a comfortable, engaging, lovely day.

So we’ll see what happens next!

So Memorial Day came and went with no fanfare and no ghosts. It just came and went.

I take it back. There were ghosts. Shades of insecurity and a remembrance of angst. Not the actual angst, mind you, just the remembrance of it.

Since I learned that the construction job has gone phhhhbbbttttt, I’ve experienced a little fear and insecurity about finding another job, or in the alternative, if I could make it freelancing. I don’t really know how to do a full-time freelancing business, so it’s all new territory. Fiddle around freelancing I’ve done. A resume here, a report there to supplement the full-time employment. But taking it all on full-time is a little daunting.

Last week one of the men from work gave me a number for a job, which I did, and today I’ll take a resume to this company. It sounded like the pay might be less, there may be travel involved, and I would be a junior writer. Hmmmmm wonder what that means, and what my chances are of getting it elevated to Sr. writer. We’ll see what happens when my loaded resume hits.

Going to drop off the resume now. More later.

Behind those eyes:

Everyone wants to be extraordinary. Everyone.

Sometimes we forget that we already are.

And the hardest part about it is realizing that we are already there, but it may be manifesting in a way we don’t recognize as extraordinary. It is all part of a path we travel, in community. We don’t always see the community because of our own inability to see past the mirror, but it’s there. I love that.

We don’t know our own unique power. Our own marvelous, wondrous glowing BEING.

We all want to be cherished.

We all want to be acknowledged.

We all want to be loved.

We all want to love in return. But although fear overcomes the desire, there’s always another chance to acknowledge, assimilate, and bypass the fear.

Sometimes we feel empty, but it’s only because we haven’t learned to look in the mirror to see what’s behind those eyes with appreciation and candor and tenderness. We are beautiful. We are perfect. We change and we grow.

But too often we see the negative, not the beauty. But that’s okay.

We feel inadequate because we compare ourselves with artificial boundaries and standards that mean nothing.

It goes on and on because it is eternal. We search, we find; we engage we deny. We grow we regress; we advance and advance a little more. We keep moving.

For every “we” substitute “I” and you’ll have the Truth.

I am powerful, beautiful, strong, sensitive, earthy, real, and now and eternal. I am love and beauty and fear and joy and feeling and numbness and faith and denial and prayer and blasphemy and . . .

I am nothing and everything behind those eyes. All in this singular, precious moment.

Behind those eyes. . .

I Am.

Tuesday morning – May 20, 2008

Hi all – It’s been a while and I’m getting back on track with lots of things. Since I’ve been off work, the rhythm of my entire life is changed. It’s so weird for me to not get up on weekday mornings, get all gussied up and trudge off to the office. Spend 9 hours in Layton with co-workers, trudge home, declare myself officially stupid and brain dead and veg out. Now I get up at about the same time, but no alarm clock. Shower or not (maybe later), hit the computer for email, do whatever in shorts and a t-shirt, and have the whole day on my own.

I have wanted to take a month off for the longest time, and now here it is. Two weeks was actually enough, and I allowed myself to fritter as much as I wanted. Now in the third week I’m dealing with the days as if I’m working, not frittering, either on a paid project or a self-promoting project for my own work/job. But it’s all self-paced and the rhythm of it is so different, and sometimes a little lonely. Which leads to the next topic.

Topic – Job Update and Expansion of Ideas

The interview guy from PB called me yesterday about the job. He says he wants to hire me and is working out the details of which department I’ll be in. Apparently someone else decided the company needed technical editors and hired two people already – one in Seattle and another somewhere in the West. So I’ll have to take a test to qualify, which is fine with me. The soonest I could start would be June 9. This would be a really job with a great company. A big plus.

In the meantime, I’ve just finished one resume yesterday, started another one this afternoon with a client interview, and finished a quicky letter today for a couple with worker’s comp/attorney issues. Ca$h money for the ability to type and edit as I go. $core. So far this week, I will make $250 and it’s only Tuesday. At this rate I will make as much or more than I used to bring home from my old job. There’s more: A guy from my ex-work called this morning with a phone number and a job prospect. Yesterday a consultant from the old job called, learned that I got laid off, and wanted my resume because he’s always looking for an editor and desktop publisher. If this keeps up, I may have enough work to not worry about a job. HEAVEN, heaven, HEAVEN.  I’d love it. In fact, I think I’d like to design it that way. Hmmmm. Something about having cake and eating it too. Now I wonder why would you have cake and not eat it? Finger paint with it?

New Topic – Blogging as a Way of Life

I haven’t written for about a week and am giving myself a bunch of flak about it. I have gotten some flak from Jenniphur too. Seizui posted about not writing as much and got a helpful message from ctanglefoot about writing when the inspiration strikes. I also agree that writing when the Muse strikes is best especially when the Muse is feeling generous. So thanks, ctanglefoot. You’ve helped me too.

However, I know myself well enough to know I can’t always wait for The Muse. Lazy bitch takes naps and won’t answer my calls. Leaves me high and dry. Parched, screaming, and kicking the floor with my heels. I have to suck it up and go it alone or completely kiss it off.

One thing I’ve noticed is that I tend to avoid writing when I have a lot on my mind because I think I will write forever and still not say it all or adequately. So in effect, I psyche myself out of expressing myself because of time limitations. Correction: PERCEIVED time limitations.

When I actually sit down and start in, I have a great time and it helps me sort it out as I go. Plus there’s no way I could say it ALL. So it’s all about creating little chunks here and there with less worry about continuity. That will come in time just like patterns within chaos. The point is to write and express and stay in touch.

The continuity may be chaotic, but in this venue it may also be somewhat irrelevant. This isn’t Writing 603 or even 101. It’s a blog where the act of expression is more important than the goal of meeting a deadline. The standards are my own, and I tend to try to outdo myself. (That’s the arrogant little Text Tart, Words RUs word techie talking.)

Blogging offers an opportunity for me to stretch myself in a way I couldn’t or didn’t in Writing Classes, and I took a frightful bunch of those from 101 to 660). My blog is a very public diary, but it’s becoming an outlet I’m beginning to need and welcome. The blogosphere is a place to give something as well a place to seek advantages. A fascinating venue with Diversity and Freedom and a sense of Infinity.

So my challenge is to write and express and hope those who choose to read me will see value in either the information or the companionship shared in this new electronic Blogosphere world. I want to be part of a bigger community and find out just what the possibilities are. My challenge is to show up and hope that honesty will trump arrogance. (No guarantees about avoiding flippancy. In fact, I’ll guarantee a large amount of it from time to time. My Muse is an intermittent psycho.)

So my apologies to my adoring public, small though it may be. I love you all and can’t wait for more blog-adventure.

So, what’s next . . . . ?

Hey Sid – I hate wet bowls as much as you do, maybe more since I’m a girl and well, you know . . .

Here’s a partial answer to your pissy rant, (which I loved btw):  (for those who haven’t seen it – http://sideon.wordpress.com)

I found a vitally important article on the internet recently through a health e-zine I get. A study in Amsterdam found that putting a picture of a fly in the basin of a urinal improved aim and reduced spillage by 80%. It gives the users something to think about. The ultimate target practice – AND IT WORKS!!!!!

I damn near fell off my chair when I read that. Here’s the link: http://urbanlegends.about.com/library/bl_fly_in_urinal.htm

I have also been reading a great book by Bill Harris (Thresholds of the Mind) where I read in the forward that meditation is “doing one thing at a time with your whole being.” It brings one’s mental focus to a point and holds it there for increasing amounts of time. Click! Connect!

So the fly actually induces a mini-meditation for all those errant whizzers. Improved concentration makes you a deadeye at the urinal. The proverbial “bowls-eye” fly.

One could take this a step further with candles, incense and little ringing bells in the “meditation” room, but that may cause a fire hazard. Unless someone uses the candle for target practice as well.

As an added bonus, you automatically enjoy a completely new spin on “Stream of Consciousness.” James Joyce would be proud, if a little pissed.

Of course, as a female this whole bowl issue is purely academic since I’ve never used a urinal, nor have I had a problem hitting the bowl. At least when sober. Usually. No further comment.

It does make me think, however, that Emily Dickinson could have written “I Heard a Fly Buzz When I Peed,” as a precursor to this brilliant solution. She obviously has a fan in Amsterdam.

So, gee-whiz Sid, I hope my e-pissle for today will bring you some badly needed relief.

A big wet one,

Blossom