Creating a Community

“He was the force behind the first community of professional writers in the New World, a community whose work and ideas underlie almost everything we write and think even.” (Susan Cheever, Louisa May Alcott)

Photo of American Transcendentalist, writer, a...

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The above quote refers to Ralph Waldo Emerson, who wanted to gather writers around him in Concord, MA. Sometimes he offered them a rent-free home, sometimes they simply visited, but it seems he managed to bring together some of the brightest creative minds of the 19th century.

This fact got me thinking about the changing face of community in our century. In many ways, this blogging community is a virtual gathering of the kind Emerson envisioned. I’m not saying we are all the most brilliant minds of our generation (although I’m sure some of you are) but the way we interact and write about our life and times will certainly have unforeseen effects on the future. It is already affecting the present; with easy access to information and each other’s words we have to reflect on artistic and intellectual property as well as on the proper ways of interaction in a community that has no real rules. Do we need rules?

There are no real leaders in this community. There are bloggers who have tons of followers, but some of them don’t seem to interact in the same way. Smaller bloggers guide each other to other blogs, in a way that creates a complicated web of relationships. When you think about it, this is a fascinating community guided–except for on rare occasions–by mutual respect and interest, rather than having leaders and followers. (Sounds almost socialist, doesn’t it?)

In the aftermath of my changing addresses, my numbers havedropped. At first this bothered me, but then I began to think about the advantages to a smaller, more intimate community. In a smaller community we can exchange ideas more readily, thus helping each person achieve their individual goals and strengthen themselves as artists and writers. In a smaller community, like those gathered around Emerson’s dinner table, we can really discuss and debate without having to slough through a lot of excess chatter.

While I’m sure many of us wish to “make it big” perhaps the true joy comes from the intimacy of a small community.

What are some of your thoughts? I’m struggling with what all this means to my little brain and the project that I’m pondering that brings many of our community stories together.

What communities do you belong to?

On a side note, I would like to point members of my community to this little video/post by Steve, who has given me a new perspective on myself and what I do.

Once More into the Wild

“Do not go where the path may lead. Go instead where there is no path and leave a trail.” (Ralph Waldo Emerson)

Many thanks to Hilary Clark from Pining for Poetry and Prose for pointing that quote out to me today, as today I feel lost in the wilderness, unsure of which direction to choose. But perhaps the direction does not matter. I just need to take a step and forge my way through the underbrush, embracing and learning from whatever comes into my path.

Words fail me today. I cannot interpret the mass of thoughts jumbling around my brain. I cannot describe the heaviness I feel deep inside.

ONCE MORE INTO THE  WILD
A Prose Poem

An image keeps popping into my mind of a dark forest. Here and there, amidst the trees are doors of every shape and size. Some simple, some elegant, some austere, some intimidating. None of them have windows. All of them have locks.

All is stillness and silence.

Far ahead in the distance there is a flutter of filmy cloth. A lavender curtain decorating an open window. The breeze blows through, carrying on it the tinkle of bird song and a laughing stream. I cannot feel the breeze yet, but I know that if I could it would bring elusive scents of beauties unknown. The window is bathed in golden light, with hints of green. A glittering green vine has climbed over the windowsill  reaching tendrils through into the heavy dark forest; but the guardian trees will allow no breach of color and light.

The window beckons but I don’t see a clear path to get there. I fear the doors that lead to places forbidden because someone could come crashing through to bar my way. I fear the leafless trees that reach their crooked hands toward me, threatening to trap me in a merciless grasp.

And yet I move one foot forward. The window beckons.

A Journey into the Wilderness

[Submitted to Poetry Potluck Week 36--Sketches, Images, and Impressions]

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