Thoughts of the Miraculous

I wrote this on November 11, 2008. But, I thought it was a nice posting for the Christmas season ... Season's Greetings to you All :)

Today is first snowfall.

I could smell it last night -- it smells of heavy anticipation.

And the sky is a strange shade of grey on white. When you wake up, you know it has snowed even before you look out the window. The air that filters into the room, between the curtain and the window's edge, is more bright, more sharp, but less warm.

I don't mind it. Snow is inevitable.

When snow comes, I feel a sense of relief. That indeed Edmonton is the same as it always has been -- spring, summer, fall, winter. Winter.

Even if we can't rely upon world financial markets or politics, we can still rely on winter.

Not to mention that everything looks ineffectual just before snowfall. The grass is yellow, flowers are wilting and the trees are almost bare, leaves clinging to the end of their branches.

But with that silver frost and layer of white outlining all that remains outside, all of a sudden the tree is beautiful again. Each branch made complex and purposeful once more.

Yes, snow uncovers the miraculous in the ordinary.

Blogging

my writing isn’t me
it guides me
shelters me
shows me to myself when I am lost

but my writing is not me

it is a thread woven into the fabric of my day
it is the dye that colors the hue of what I love, what I hate
the catalyst that helps an emotion become a thought
or a thought become a passion

and if my words are not me
if you do not know me
from reading the words on this page
what would I suggest you do to
know the real me?

listen to me laugh?
watch my face while I watch the daily news?
scan my grocery list?

my writing is a portait of
the whim of an emotion
the wisps of my hopes
the whispers of my rationale

my writing is a moment
of my reality or
imagined reality

but my writing is not me

(inspired by an August posting by Serenity Tide)

occupational hazard

I attended an incredible conference last month focused on the Science Fiction and Fantasy book publishing industry.

Everywhere I turned, I ran into an editor, writer, publisher from all of the major publishing companies in North America. I didn't (unfortunately) come across my favorite author of all time (who inspired me to be a writer in the first place - Robin McKinley), but there was enough there to keep me occupied.

Of course, there are lots of "sub-genres" in this genre: paranormal, mystery, paranormal-mystery, horror, gothic thriller, etc. It was a great opportunity for me to really s-t-r-e-t-c-h my imagination.

As a result, though, I have been imagining strange sorts of happenings all the time now, freaking myself out.

The other day, one of the little pipes in my condo had a little leak, leading to the sound of lightly rushing water in the middle of the night. As I heard the sounds of swirls and I reached for the my bedside lamp, I couldn't help but think, "gee this would make a great opening for a horror short story".

I quickly banished the thought out of my mind, knowing that just like every horror story out there, I would actually have to go "see" what all the noise was about.

Last week, I picked up the phone to have one of those phone canvassers ask me, "can I have a moment of your time?" It got me thinking, what if I said, "yes" and he said, "thank you" and then hung up ... would I find that creepy? Absolutely! And, off I go again on another tangent of strange happenings that make me really not want to answer the phone at all these days.

I like that my imagination is running amok. It's exciting! I'm just not so sure how healthy it is for my anxiety levels.

Consistency - the Sequel

consistency vs. passion

it scares me
to reek of complacency
Hear ye , Hear ye -
announcing
adherence to a pattern
shackles
rendering emotions useless

And yet, ardent passion
love of life
listening with one’s soul
has no obligation to commit

where does consistency live?
In the heart and not the mind?
In your soul but not in thoughts?

is human nature, by default,
inconsistent

is that so bad?

integrity might be a better goal ...
to have integrity sometimes means
being inconsistent
but you can still be
a
constant

**

"A foolish consistency is the hobgoblin of little minds, adored by little statesmen and philosophers and divines. With consistency a great soul has simply nothing to do. He may as well concern himself with his shadow on the wall. Speak what you think now in hard words and tomorrow speak what tomorrow thinks in hard words again, though it contradict everything you said today. 'Ah, so you shall be sure to be misunderstood' -Is it so bad then to be misunderstood? Pythagoras was misunderstood, and Socrates, and Jesus, and Luther, and Copernicus, and Galileo, and Newton, and every pure and wise spirit that ever took flesh. To be great is to be misunderstood."

Ralph Waldo Emerson


(thanks to Quiche for stimulating this little round-about of a muse)

debt

consult the daytimer

plan the thinking
schedule the planning
planning the schedule

until you forget
that time
isn’t borrowed

Musings on Consistency - Part I

When I quit my job, I scheduled a week away in a cabin, on a lake, away from the city.

I had dreams of achieving Thoreau-like inspiration for my writing, but as anticipated, I spent the first few days sleeping a lot. However, I did get an hour or two of writing in each day. I was extra alert … aware that I might miss work or feel frustrated as I tried to re-integrate writing into my life .. but strangely … as I slowly fell into the new rhythms of my life, what surprised me most was the weather.

In the morning, it would be gorgeous – a shocking blue sky – followed by a violent thunderstorm, then brooding clouds in the afternoon and maybe mild weather, alternating sun and shade in the evening. It wasn’t always in this order mind you – but it was some strange combination of the three contrasting conditions.

At first, I attributed the strange weather to the lake. Perhaps, I was in the middle of some geo-thermal anomaly that made the lake a hotbed of weather dynamics.

But, as I moved into August, set up my business at home, and found more time to write at my own kitchen table, I realized that every day was simply inconsistent. At least, the weather was.

I’ve worked for many years in an office setting. Sometimes with a window and sometimes with just a picture of the outside world. Nevertheless, I had assumed if it was a sunny day – it was sunny and nothing else. I had forgotten that weather evolves, moves, creates.

Now that I have time, space and energy to really see outside my window – to see that weather is everything but a constant, I’m seeing that life is like that too.

Theresa's Final Gift

I've wandered
from your sheltering hands
to walk in unknown lands,
some full of shadows of many forms
and some with none at all

I've drifted
from the humility of love
gentle acceptance
lost in the swirl of apathy
suffering in scientific tyranny

I've tried
to return, a prodigal daughter
never too far, always listening
for an answer
for that spark of passion
that used to be our guide
leadership without vanity

But when I heard
your most precious daughter
lifted her fist against the sky
cursed the darkness
welcomed the darkest of your enemies
- doubt -

I knew
there always is a place for me
in this family

I looked for proof in light
when, of course,
you are found in darkness

Prince Edward Calls

Prince Edward Island, on the other hand, was a different experience altogether.

How is that? One shore seems so foreign. And another -- not so far away -- feels like home, though it's the first time I've ever laid eyes on it.

Perhaps it was the rolling hills of farmland. It was enough to remind me of my own province: the hay bales, the activity of fall harvest. But their land is not flat, so I could see the delightful patchwork of reds, oranges and yellows embedded in their thick greens. And yet, there was still enough of the clean blue sky for me to see, so my prairie senses would not be suffocated.

And the sea! Red cliffs dropped to the rolling waves, framed by hardy strands of pale green grass. Truly enchanted.

Yes, here, I could transplant myself for a year or two. I have already started to devise ways to return ...