Word Chaos

The Versatile Blogger Award (Photo credit: nhighberg)

First I must thank Rossandra White for nominating me for another Versatile Blogger Award yesterday. I am not going to do it justice because:

• I am a rebel (in my own mind) who doesn’t want to follow rules.
• I have written about this award here and here and here.
• I can’t think of seven random facts about myself that I haven’t already written about or that anyone would find remotely interesting.
• I love too many bloggers and find so much versatility in so many places I cannot pick 15. I think any of the people who I visit on a regular basis are incredibly talented. That’s what keeps me coming back, at first, and then those relationships have grown into (dare I say) friendships. I am just honored to be part of this amazingly versatile community.

So instead of passing on the award, I’m sending you all some flowers and a virtual hug.

Photo taken at the Botanical Gardens at Smith College

But now for the real words that want to be heard today:

WORD CHAOS

Sometimes words suffocate
crowding into my mind
in the moment between sleep
and awake
where dream fragments
fight for attention with
the to do list of the day.

Words fill my brain
streaming sentences written
across the sky or
spoken in silent voices
tempting me with images and possibilities
but then dancing away
on hummingbird wings
the speeding buzz
of ideas never to be caught.

I yearn for silence
but then the loneliness fills the void
and doubts creep in.
“Who are you without words?”
a voiceless whisper asks.
“Take away your thoughts,
your brain, your intelligence,
and you will find an empty shell.”

But I am not empty.
Words cannot control me.
Loneliness cannot define me.
Self-doubt cannot destroy me.
Because though words do have power,
I have power over words.

The Art of Being Alone

Some days I want to be alone, to sit in the silence of my thoughts and hear the echoes of my dreams.

On other days, though, loneliness overwhelms me. Instead of relishing the silence I yearn for discussions with good friends. Instead of walking alone, and listening to the rhythm of my footsteps, I miss my friend Heidi and our long walks where we talked about everything from literature to parenting, from friendship to men, from travel to dreams, from problems to solutions.

Some days being alone is a blessing. I can dress how I want, do what I want, listen to music or not, watch television or not. I can write, I can paint, I can walk, I can think. I can clean the house (or not). I can get a sense of accomplishment (or not). I can go wherever I care to go, or simply stay home snuggled under the covers with a good book.

On other days my loneliness consumes me, making me reach for the food that is bad for me, or watch movies I have watched a million times before. Books become a defense mechanism, building an armor with other people’s words around the fact that I have no words myself. Or if I have words, nobody to share them with.

“We read your words!” Blogging friends say, and that helps defeat the loneliness, but sometimes I wish for a connection beyond the computer screen. Where are the people who have met me in person, and know me beyond the written word? Some of them read, few of them respond, so I build relationships with virtual friends through the sharing of my thoughts and stories, and yet still loneliness overtakes me.

Words alone are not enough.

I need to perfect the art of being alone.

Image by Steve Kramer. Link to his post, "In (future) Memoriam . . . me"

 

One Seed at a Time

“The greatest things ever done on Earth have been done little by little.”– William Jennings Bryan

The other day, one of my truly wise blogging friends Barbarann Ayers from MakMineMemoir made a comment to me on my “Isn’t it Ironic?” post.  A comment that I’ve been thinking about ever since. She wrote:

Digging new holes for new seeds is not irony, my dear Lisa. It is your assignment. You are the wellspring of ideas for others to nurture, develop and fly. Like aircraft designers who are never the pilot. Like farmers who plant what others will eat. What you leave in your wake is idea, motivation, encouragement work for others to do, and you might only ever see a glimpse of the outcome. I saw this as a child interrupted in the sandbox, called away from my castle building, and unhappy about it, only to come back later to see a finished sandcastle built on my beginnings, by other small hands who completed the task. You are the seed planter. That is your gift. You even get to water and nourish what you planted. No irony there. The whole cosmos is a happier place because you are the source of so many seeds, so many plantings. . .

My response to her was to ask, “What happens when you run out of seeds? I feel like I don’t have anymore.”

You can see her response on my post, but I’m still thinking about it.

I know that I am sometimes good at motivating others. I know that I can give inspiration when needed. I know that I am good with young people, especially girls, at getting them to see that the world is theirs to create. I know that I have a lot to offer a lot of different people, and can usually come up with solutions when others can’t.

But is that enough?

I have been somewhat silent on my own blog this week, because I feel seedless. ( I’ve been commenting, but I just haven’t felt like writing any posts).

The silence is not a struggle with words, although the words themselves seem reluctant, clinging to the inside of my brain rather than making their way onto the page. No, my struggle this week has been a struggle with self.

I know at least one reader who, if she reads it at all, will say I am just looking for attention. Perhaps I am in one way, since this week my thoughts hover around one word:

There is a difference between being alone and being lonely. When I am alone with a pocket full of seeds, I am not lonely. I can take each seed and imagine where and how it needs to be planted, and dream about what it takes to nurture the seed and make it grow.

When I feel lonely, though, I look in my secret collection of seeds to be planted and find only dusty remnants of seeds dried out with neglect. The dust blows away leaving nothing but silence.

How do I replenish them?

I look for inspiration in the world around me, and my eye falls onto two cards that I have pinned to a cork board on my wall.

A card Nathan gave me after he graduated with his MFA and I still struggled toward mine.

A card given to me by a friend when I passed my dissertation defense.

I believe I am entering a new stage of learning. The roles and dreams I’ve lived with for a long time now no longer feel right. I’ve achieved many goals, and I guess I have planted a lot of seeds, but that isn’t enough. I need new seeds, new dreams, and perhaps a few new rungs on my ladder.

That could be exciting except that I have no idea what it means. I don’t know where to find seeds or what they will become when planted. I don’t know anything anymore.

However, not knowing might be a gift. Sidey’s Weekend Theme this week is “the unexpected.” I realize that some of the best experiences and adventures of my life have been completely unexpected. In this nebulous world of letting go and being open to new learning, I do not know what to expect.  I can’t even imagine what may happen. All I have, for the moment, is the NOW.

So perhaps my seedless silence is merely a time to rest before the unexpected happens.

Only time will tell.

The Other Side of Autumn

I’ve been celebrating autumn in several posts now, but today with a cloudy sky and a cloudy head, I feel the need to reflect on a different aspect of the season.

EMPTY BRANCHES

After the blaze of color
against a vibrant blue sky
nothing remains
but the skeletal bones
of trees against a gathering gray.

After the fluttering frenzy
of falling leaves dancing on
the playful breeze
nothing remains
but the crunchy brown carcasses,
withered reminders of seasons past
pausing before the future arrives.

The future comes riding in
on a wintery wind
chilling the bone
and hiding the bounty
of life being born underneath
the stark beauty of silvery snow.

Sometimes when that whistling wind
whispers wicked secrets of the cold
yet to come
its difficult to clear the cobwebs
out and remember the warmth of
spring, summer, and fall.

After the celebration of color
turns into a celebration of white
nothing remains
except wise words written by others,
cosy cocoa under a comforting blanket,
magical movies capturing moments,
joyous laughter with people you love
and the potential of a future filled
with dreams.

After the fall
we begin again.

Struggles in a Storm

Kaboom!

The thunderstorms started early this morning putting an end to my already disturbed slumber filled with dreams of burning houses and a search for something.

Now, don’t get too interpret-y here. The burning house actually makes a lot of sense for a change, as I learned yesterday morning that the rental house we were planning on moving into at the end of the summer caught fire yesterday and there isn’t much left. Luckily we hadn’t started moving anything in and nobody was there to get hurt. I’m taking it as a sign of things NOT meant to be.

Anyway, back to the storm. Now the rain pours down in an unremitting deluge.  A perfect day to read, write and watch movies. That is, if my brain would leave me alone.

You see, I’m back in the land of doubt. I don’t want to be here, but I find myself here anyway. It stems from being in a place where I feel unwanted. It stems from some of the personal struggles I’ve alluded to but haven’t written about. It stems from not knowing what my next project is, and not feeling creative enough to develop one. It stems from my constant concern of what others think of me, rather than my belief in myself and my own abilities. It stems from fear of the unknown, even though deep down I know there is nothing to fear.

I want the rain to wash me clean of fear. I want the rain to nurture me with a rejuvenating bath of inspiration and peace.

But for now all I feel is wet and lonely.

I hope the storm ends soon in more ways than one.

The current view from my cabin window. Rain, rain, dreary rain.

I Didn’t Think This Would Happen So Soon

Maybe I should have seen it coming. Even when she was an infant, the bond with her wasn’t instantaneous like some mothers claim. Of course I thought she was beautiful and precious, but I didn’t fall in instant love. To be honest, with this little bundle of  squirms brought with her joy, terror, and a form of torture I could never have imagined. Seriously, if  the government wants to pry secrets out of someone they should just have them spend time raising a newborn with all the sleep deprivation and exhaustion attached.

The first person she fell in love with was her Daddy.  She came out of the womb, she heard his voice, and she smiled. She is still Daddy’s Little Girl.

Tiny Sarah

She needed me though. For the milk. For comfort. During the day, she wouldn’t nap unless she fell asleep on top of me. It made for some difficult times, but at the same time it was wonderful.

Only eight years have passed and she has already decided that she doesn’t need me. She wants to spend time with anyone but me. I don’t know where I went wrong, but it seems that I never offer enough fun or stimulation or frivolity to satisfy her. Despite the fact that she does fun things with me all the time, I’m never enough.

And now I am alone with her for the next six weeks. I was hoping it would bring us closer, but it seems like my 8-year-old is going on 18 right before my eyes.

I didn’t think this would happen so soon.