Five Things
Since I decided to wrap up Sparkletopia at the end of 2008 (although all of last year's entries & links are still there for eternity!) I think I'll start a Five Things series about bits and pieces that are catching my attention each week to keep the inspiration going. I'll probably shift this to Fridays, but since I was out of town last week and I want to write about Slumdog Millionaire as soon as possible, I'm starting today!
Five Things on a Friday – except this week when it's on a Monday
1. Slumdog Millionaire – Just won a Golden Globe for Best Picture…what can I say? Go see it.
2. Who Does She Think She Is? – Have you heard? More great news about the 2009 Squam Art Workshops.
3. Plant Dreaming Deep – I am just finishing up another of May Sarton's journals, this one about her finding, fixing up and spending her first year in her Nelson, NH home, the house she lived in when she wrote Journal of a Solitude. Love, love, love.
4. The Story of India – Every once in a while I wish I had TV, so I could see programs like this one on PBS. Alas, I'll have to hold out hope that they'll eventually offer it on DVD.
5. The Twelve Secrets of Highly Creative Women – Jamie Ridler's 12-part interview series has begun! I am honored to be included in this group of extraordinary women. The first podcast interview is now available and an interview with yours truly goes up February 6th.
The Word on the Street
[Picture stolen from the Squam Art Workshops website.]
Can you feel it? Can you hear the sound of so many creative spirits twinkling with excitement? Our fearless leader Elizabeth has been hard at work ever since the 2008 Squam Art Workshops got wrapped up this past September, and all the news that's fit to print for 2009 is now up and running on the Squam Art Workshops website. Two spectacular weekends, new classes, phenomenal teachers…we are living right!
I am so enjoying all the buzz and chatter that has already started on blogs and in emails, not just because it is so fun for right now, but because I see this the beginning of a journey we will all continue to share for many years. It is as if we can all step back into our wildest, most daring, creative selves – the ones that tipped over the sailboats on purpose at Girl Scout camp and climbed trees so high that when we fell, we were knocked out cold, only to be climbing trees again the very next day.* The thought of late night slumber parties, running around in pajamas with flashlights and sharing all our colorful creations throughout the weekend, well gosh, how can we not feel as giddy as we do? How would it ever be possible for our hearts to do anything but glow?
See you this summer…and fall.
[* Yes, it happened to me.]
Willing To Go Naked
“My own belief is that one regards oneself, if one is a serious writer, as an instrument for experiencing. Life – all of it – flows through this instrument and is distilled through it into works of art. How one lives as a private person is intimately bound into the work. And at some point I believe one has to stop holding back for fear of alienating some imaginary reader or real relative or friend, and come out with personal truth. If we are to understand the human condition, and if we are to accept ourselves in all the complexity, self-doubt, extravagance of feeling, guilt, joy, the slow freeing of the self to its full capacity for action and creation, both as human being and as artist, we have to know all we can about each other, and we have to be willing to go naked.” -May Sarton, Journal of a Solitude
This is the manifesto, the mission statement, the essence of what I wish to do. I want to write stories and pursue the truth, to shine a light on honesty in all its rawness, ugliness, beauty and transformative possibilities. I want to give readers a glimpse into their own truths, to help them realize they are not alone in their philosophical journeys, in their struggles, in their experiences…to encourage readers to believe that they have what they need for profound inner peace within their own day to day lives.
I have been thinking a lot about this question of what, exactly, it is I want to do. When I strip away all the outward layers of my life – living in Los Angeles, being part of various communities, relationships and circles, all the experiences that fill the well of my past – the answer becomes very clear. I have been on various journeys as an artist and recently as a writer, and the foundation has always been about being an inspirational force in the world. What I am now absolutely clear on is that this impetus to inspire has become squarely focused on one very specific endeavor: to uncover the truth of human experience. This journey began about a year ago with Ordinary Sparkling Moments, and all I want to do now go farther.
So I have to say to you, lovely May Sarton, that your voice, your words, the simple act of your keeping a journal and writing as honesly as you did…all of it has become my siren call to that which inspires me most and has given me the direction I want in this new year. I understand exactly what you mean when you say I have to be willing to go naked, and I'm going to do my best to be brave in this way, to shed whatever it is I think I need to be "safe", liked, approved of or comfortable. It is nice to have these things – comfort, approval, and such – but I recognize that it is entirely possible to let these desires slip into anxiety, where actions and expressions become too timid for fear of losing any shred of what may or may not be necessary in my life. I learned recently that sometimes the experience of speaking the truth can be a tool for learning what I need to let go of, where I've spoken the truth, been rejected because of it, and suddenly saw quite plainly that certain areas of my life weren't what I thought they were or tried to believe they could be. This journey is not about staying cozy, but about letting the rain pelt my skin and the wind tangle my hair, and in that process, becoming whole.
Vision
Toward a sudden silence
The vast dry sand dunes are stirring.
The wind is blowing them so they choke
trees struggling to grow above the smothering
creep. The wind is blowing them so they bury
houses and collapse the walls inward, crushed.
The wind is sandblasting my windshield
so I cannot see where I am speeding
with my foot stomped to the floor.
The wind is blinding me with my own tears
as I stumble one step at a time into dust.
My steps are brushed out as I push forward.
I could be walking in place. I could be
rushing in wide or narrowing circles.
This sand gets into the mouth, its grit
grinding on the teeth. This sand invades
the water canteen, crawls between the hairs
to the scalp. It slips into the seams of clothes.
Only sometimes the wind falls and I can see
with a clarity that aligns the mind and the spine
where I have been, where I can still try to go.
A dear friend re-awakened my love of poetry this Christmas in the form of two collections of works from her favorite poets – Wislawa Szymborska and Sharon Olds. Not only am I falling in love with these new discoveries, I am also diving back into the works of Marge Piercy, a poet who has been a beacon of inspiration for me ever since graduate school. I have been opening up her books on random pages and taking in a few at a time, and last night before I fell asleep I read Toward a sudden silence. It was a stark reminder of how easy it is to lose my way – for all of us to lose our way – and how important it is to do whatever I can to find the calm in my own sandstorms. I feel woefully out of practice at centering myself; between scores of guests, the holidays, and my husband being home all week on vacation, I have drifted farther and farther away from that which calms me most and settles my being. As the distance has grown, the tension has increased, and it has taken greater effort than usual to stay soft in my heart and mind.
I experienced a break in the storm yesterday when I went out for a run on a foggy afternoon. Within minutes of stepping outside and plugging in my ipod, everything in me began to settle down and I could feel the clutter in my mind begin to melt away. And I practically laughed out loud at how simple it was – how immediately the effects of shutting myself off from the world with headphones and running shoes were on my mood and disposition. It didn't take a week in a sensory deprivation tank – an idea that was becoming more and more appealing by the hour – but a tiny sliver of time by myself to recharge just enough. That calm in my sandstorm is at my disposal, and even if I have to wait awhile before I can indulge in an entire afternoon of writing, it is possible to pull inward in bits and pieces to find the quiet I need to manage all the sensory input I'm dealing with during a busy time. I was reminded, as May Sarton writes, "…that whatever mad or chaotic things you do, never forget that there is your ultimate wisdom that must keep you safe and whole…".
I am on the verge of being absolutely desperate for life to get back to normal, but in tiny ways I am finding that wisdom inside myself that shows me I am still moving in a positive direction and that the journey ahead of me is filled with wonder.
