Sunday, April 29, 2007
One must have chaos in one, to give birth to a dancing star.
The best work is done with the heart breaking, or overflowing.
Via ad Astra
Dreams... What are dreams? According to dictionary.com, dream: an aspiration or goal; a wild or vain fancy or hope; something of unreal beauty, charm or excellence; and to conceive of or imagine. These are fine definitions, if just a little dry.
Here are some quotes that, for me, help define the word 'dream':
Dream as if you will live forever,
live as if you'll die today.
There are those who look at things the way they are, and ask why...
I dream of things that never were, and ask why not?
Robert Francis Kenney (RFK)
Every great dream begins with a dreamer. Always remember, you have within you the strength, the patience, and the passion to reach for the stars to change the world.
A dreamer is one who can only find his way by moonlight,
and his punishment is that he sees the dawn before the rest of the world.
If one is lucky, a solitary fantasy can totally transform one million realities.
A dream. I will admit my problem. I start dreaming and planning and all is going well. Then I see leaks; problems; uninvited incursions into the dream by interloping events and actions and situations.
And I break. I lie down. I let it go. Some times I will tie up my dream in bright orange or yellow or green ribbon and carefully place it away in a safe somewhere in my consciousness. Some of these I never look at again. Others I unwrap, only to promptly re-wrap and shove back in their proper locations. Some I rip apart out of frustration or even sorrow.
The spark of inspiration persists, burning my soul. The dreams' shadows haunt me in the not dark-not light of a misty dawn.
I cannot. I must not continue doing this.
I recently unwrapped a dream and let it breath a bit; my dream of flying. Now I have a plan; a path by which to follow, and that makes me happy.
Then there are the smaller dreams of being a published author, getting my motorcycle license and a bike and driving/riding coast-to-coast, and pursuing my ham radio hobby and maybe a few other things.
Then there is my sublime dream, “Via ad Astra.” It is not a small dream. It may require decades of work. The product of this dream may last centuries or even millenia. It may never be complete. This, I feel, is proof that fulfillment from a dream is not in its completion, but in its pursuit.
Wednesday, April 25, 2007
Of their dead selves to higher things.
Alfred, Lord Tennyson
With personal power comes personal peril. It is far too easy for one to be in a time of growth and to loose their way. Like a Poplar tree sprinting towards the heavens, there is a danger of getting ones' branches tangled in the power lines.
Unbridled, unchecked, unsupervised growth is destined to result in ones' crown hitting the electrical lines once in a while. That is a danger when growing.
Many species of trees grow unchecked, gorging on the nourishment of nearby streams. Their wood is pithy and brittle and weak. The tree that grows while under some seasonal stress, away from constant comfort has wood that is strong with tight grain. They grow slowly and steadily toward the brilliant blue sky.
According to James Fenimore Cooper, “Power always has the most to fear from from it's own illusions.” This is another great danger as one follows down the path of personal growth. When growing personal power instantiates false images, problems of greater impact can come about. Each step forward must be measured.
One must not pursue personal growth without consistent fearless evaluation.
Sunday, April 22, 2007
My previous post today was, as I hope to believe, from a point of transition on the map and not a true indication of who I really am.
That's what a friend of mine told me about her particular situation; she's "All over the map." I think that's where I am too. I can't specifically define where I am or my direction or speed. I can only be sure of my existence. Maybe that's a good thing. At least I haven't lost myself yet but I feel close.
I can see the nothing beyond my self. My novice understanding of Taoism points me in the direction of believing that this is a good thing. Being a good little novice of this philosophy, I question that. I feel the cold and numbness radiate from it like so much burning heat from a wood stove in the middle of winter.
I must break out of this. It is not good for myself or my daughter. I must at least try... No. I must do it. This blackness cannot consume me. I will stand and challenge its void indeterminacy. It is a very Zen condition: no choice but to fight or run away. There is no choice but there is a choice.
Distorts the heavens from pole to pole
And leads you to believe a lie
When you see with, not through, the eye."
I promised myself that I would not engage in existential navel gazing here. I was wrong to think that. I am wrong. I am not a nice person. I apologize to everyone for them being involved with my life. This post is not full of hope, nor does it contain any sage bits of introspective wisdom. I am not a nice person.
I am told that I hold everything inside, waiting for my anger to blow. I am expressionless. I do not talk about my feelings. I am cold. I should say something when a particular thing upsets me. When I do, I am wrong. I am questioned. I am not a nice person.
I was told last night that I yelled about something I don't remember. I was told that I was an abuser. I was told that I victimized people. I was told that I am not understanding or empathetic. I am not a nice person.
I drove 60 miles last night, trying to find where someone lives, when they didn't now how to get home and I became internally upset. I waited for an hour, outside a casino for someone at 1AM in the morning and I became internally upset. I am not a nice person.
I was asked numerous times last night and once this morning why I try to make problems when all is calm and there are no problems. I don't know. I slept in a fetal position last night, in my clothes. I thought of these things. I am not a nice person.
I do not see with my eyes. I do not see through my eyes. There are no distortions. There are no lies. I am told that I am blind. I stitched my own eyes shut with rusty baling wire. I am not a nice person.
Whether I end up all alone by my own enjoyable accord, or because I really am these things I am told, it matters not today. What matters if route A or route B is taken to reach the same goal. If the goal is accomplished, who cares. I am not a nice person.
Saturday, April 21, 2007
This was posted on a time card machine at work today. For the most part, this sums up my current point of view.
For the greater or lesser, we are all broken. Some more and some less than others. Some accept their own deficiencies; with pride. Others accept them with remorse or resignation. Some, like me, cycle through these, and a multitude of other feelings regarding our deficiencies and overall brokenness.
“Do not use...” I am not referring to this in any abusive or unacceptably advantageous way. Do not use; do not utilize; stay away; I am broken and do not work correctly; I have a deficiency that does not allow for proper operation; And given proper and acceptable input, I may not operate in a predictable manner.
I am depressed. I am tired. My scars are raw and I am broken. Perhaps recognition of these conditions is a step towards healing. Perhaps recognition means nothing.
Perhaps acceptance is a step towards healing. Perhaps acceptance means nothing.
No. I really don't mean some of that. It is my currently depressive state of mind squeezing its way to the forefront of my consciousness. I am not making excuses; this is simply a reflection of my current state.
I highly value recognition and acceptance. Recognition points the way to healing; acceptance points the way to happiness. The respect, recognition and acceptance my friends freely give is invaluable. I only hope that I successfully reciprocate in kind.
Wednesday, April 18, 2007
“Write while the heat is in you.”
Henry David Thoreau.
Write, write, write... When you have nothing to write, write anyway. Just doodle with words. Describe something; your pen or your fingernail. Just WRITE! TYPE! EMOTE with words! It isn't necessary to make sense or to flow or be spelled correctly. Just WRITE!
To be honest, the above are not necessarily my own sentiments. Honestly it is a drastically bastardized paraphrase of something I think I read several years ago. And, well... My memory is certainly not perfect.
For the sake of honesty, it was indeed a sentiment of instruction given to budding writers from a classic science fiction writer. Sorry, but I simply do not remember to whom it should be attributed to. That failure of attribution not withstanding, I do strongly agree. One who wishes to be a writer, should write.
While I cannot be classified as a prolific author, and honestly I haven't had a single piece published in the last 10 years or so, I still write. Not only do I still write, I write a LOT more. Some of it makes sense. Some is utter and complete garbage; just literary doodling on my computer screen. They consist of character sketches, plot and story ideas, article ideas and research, setting descriptions, and even, just free association of words and thoughts.
What ever it is, I stand up to live and I sit down to write.