Autumnal Hues

golds and gourds, 

goblins and ghosts...

 

ochres and oranges,

weathered and worn...

 

pumpkin and purple,

a plethora of plummeting plumage...



autumnal hues,

a blanket of seasons change...

Posted by Ryan @ Current Ripple
more posts (here)

Dream....Interrupted

It has been a while...but I'm back....with a poem about last night's alarm... and a picture of Maya when she was a baby...

Dream....Interrupted
The shrieking vail of the siren, another alarm,
and the dream implodes behind the eyelids
impaling them in thin, broken shards.

In between the up and down undulating sound
and the rocket hitting the ground
hard
there is a general silence
a huge breath holding
and them
the mighty
BOOM

we all exhale
and do a body check
a body count
is everyone all right?

"Mummy, who are the people that make the rockets
to kill mothers
and babies?"

Gather around you the tattered night
and go to sleep
my precious
you have to finish your dream.


Israel
Ashdod 2011

Soft stillness and the night

Photo: awesomestories.com

I'm feeling nostalgic tonight for some reason.  I have been browsing through my Drafts folder here at Healing Morningto see what snippet might jump out at me to elaborate upon and birth a new blog article.  This one seems to be it.  A stanza from William Shakespeare:

How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank.
Here we will sit, and let the sounds of music
Creep in our ears; soft stillness, and the night
Becomes the touches of sweet harmony.

I ran across this weeks ago, most likely on Facebook.  It brought to mind summer evenings from my childhood, long before the advent of cable television and the internet.  Indeed, at that time, we had three television channels and were lucky if two of them could be received on our antenna way up on the ridge where we lived.  Thus, many evenings during warm months were spent outside in lawn chairs doing this simple thing....talking.  And looking at the stars.

It was such a peaceful thing.  Being with family, visiting, laughing together.  Or just being silent and gazing upward at the expanse of stars.  Some nights we would spread out a blanket to lie on, and it was then that I would imagine that the stars would drop down to touch my face.  We lived far enough out in the country at that time that city lights didn't compete in the night sky and we could see the constellations clearly.  The Big Dipper and the Little Dipper were always easily discernible...and we would attempt to identify other constellations from the Encyclopedia. 

Balmy summer nights, filled with quiet conversation and cicadas humming in the background.  The scent of freshly cut grass, blooming roses and honeysuckle would hang heavy in the moist night air.  If it had been an especially good day, there might be the rare store bought treat of Jiffy Pop popcorn...that miraculous creation that we watched in fascinated delight on the stove top, the shiny aluminum dome poofing up as the popcorn popped inside. 

Those days are long gone, and I remember them fondly.  The Shakespeare snippet above brought the memories to mind, soft and misty, like an old photograph whose edges have been gently worn soft with time.  Ghosting along my mind's eye, hovering there with wraith-like purpose, insistent to not be forgotten. 


"...soft stillness and the night..."  The words bring a slight ache of wistfulness to go back there again, to that back yard in the country on that side of that ridge...and let the stars drop down, once again, to touch my face.
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If you enjoyed this post and would like to read more, you can find me at Healing Morning blog.

Of life, death and living

May 22, 1991:  I had just gotten ready to leave for a picnic at the zoo with my friends when our neighbor rang the bell. "Did you hear the news?"

It was 7 a.m. Ma was in the restroom, Dad had just brushed his teeth. "No," he said. "Why?" The neighbor said, "Rajiv Gandhi was killed last night." We didn't even know how to react. The youngest prime minister of India. The most dynamic politician of our times. Gone. Just like that.

Mom's eyes welled up when she heard the news. It wasn't the age of multi-channel TV browsing; there was no internet; we read the newspaper; heard the story on the radio; and got updates by word of mouth.

He was 47. I, 13.

I vaguely remembered when his mom, former prime minister Indira Gandhi, was assassinated seven years ago. Mom and dad kept referencing that eventful day in light of Rajiv Gandhi's shocking demise. They were stunned that two members of the same family could be killed so brutally in less than a decade.

I didn't comprehend the politics behind the assassination, but I remember losing my appetite; feeling a sense of gloom and hopelessness; and wondering what could have been...

August 31, 1997: Woke up to this headline: Princess Diana Dies in Paris Crash. "Impossible!" I shrieked. How could she die? She was so young! An accident? What? The paparazzi drove her to her death? That doesn't even make sense. For the next 10 hours, I sat glued to the television.

BBC dedicated the day to an analysis of the circumstances in which Di departed. Then there were the wedding videos. The documentary on her life as an outwardly charming princess, inwardly depressed wife. Princess Diana wasn't even Indian! I hadn't followed her life history. I didn't see her regularly in our local news or on TV. But, still, her death affected me.

I remember watching the funeral procession; William and Harry with their innocent little droopy faces; Sir Elton John singing Candle in the Wind; Earl Spencer's eulogy; and the thousands of people who showed up at Buckingham Palace to express their grief over the untimely demise of the People's Princess.

Mother Teresa had died a day before Princess Di's funeral, but for some reason, even though her death was a bigger loss to the Indian people, Diana was on top of my 19-year-old impressionable mind. Such a fairytale-like life -- with some modern-day drama to boot -- coming to such a sudden, horrific end.

October 5, 2011: It was 4:35 p.m. on Wednesday when a colleague came to my desk and said, "Mansi did you hear thenews?" Her face was ashen white. I jokingly asked, "Who died?" and she said, "I just received a text. Steve Jobs just passed away." "No way!" I exclaimed. He couldn't have. I immediately went on Twitter. It was going viral with the news. #SteveJobs and #RIPSteveJobs fast becoming popular hashtags. But Twitter couldn't be relied upon (or perhaps, I just didn't want to believe what I had heard and was seeing). I called my husband who works at Apple. "What happened?" I asked. "Yeah...it's true," he said. "We all knew it was coming..." He was right.

Since August 24, when Steve stepped from his position of CEO, we knew he had very little time left. But still. For him to leave so suddenly ... a day after the new iPhone 4S was announced ... it just seemed so wrong. With him, even though the news was "expected," the shock was just as tangible and unexpected.

I felt the same deep sorrow I had felt first in 1991 and then in 1997.

I didn't know any of these people. I hadn't met any of them. And yet, I found myself mourning. That same feeling of, "This isn't fair," kept rearing its head ... and then that feeling of helplessness ... the realization that such is life ... the overwhelming feeling of mortality.

When Rajiv Gandhi died, I was nowhere near his age, and yet I felt he was too young to be snatched away from us. When Princess Di went, I  hadn't experienced love and marriage and yet, in her death I felt wronged. I wanted her to have experienced a happy life. She never got the chance.

And with Steve, as has been said over and over this past week, there is an undeniable sense of feeling cheated -- the man was a visionary with so much to offer the world. He transformed entire industries ... the way we interact and engage with devices and with each other. He shrank the world manifold while taking Silicon Valley genius into homes worldwide. With him it wasn't just a sadness because of the void that was created, but a deep, all-engulfing, extremely selfish sense of overpowering grief ... disappointment at being robbed of the chance to see what else his creative genius could offer ...

I wasn't the only "fan in the distant" mourning in 1991 or 1997. I am joined by millions of others all across the world in 2011. These three people couldn't be more different. Their contributions to this world uniquely apart. Their charisma, their ability to be a commoner while standing apart from the crowd, distinctly similar. Their impact all powerful.

They went too early.

In a world plagued with short-term memory ... in a life that seems increasingly fragile with each passing year ... these losses seem to stay. They are a reminder that life is full of unexpected turns. And that there are no guarantees .

At the risk of stereotyping, let me say that Indians have a tendency to save for tomorrow. It's almost in our DNA. We grow up seeing everyone around us "planning for the future" ... a future that they may not even be alive to experience. And we internalize it.

With Steve Jobs' demise and the memories it has raked up, I've become ever more cognizant of the fact that life is for the living here and now. Don't pinch corners for what will be ... what is, is all there is.

The three-year-olds I hang out with seem to understand that concept so well. They don't know what tomorrow means. They aren't aware of the concept. And everything in the past is simply "yesterday." That's really how simple life needs to be.

Today is all we have. Let's make the most of it.



This post originally appeared on my blog, First Impressions.

Your Creative Process?

Recently I've been thinking a lot about the so-called "creative process," thanks to a couple books I've been reading: Gail McMeekin's "12 Secrets of Highly Successful Women" and Oriah Mountain Dreamer's "What We Ache For." Some people, and I might be one of them, claim that humans are innately creative beings. But I'm haunted by questions: why must we try so hard to complete creative acts if the creative impulse is supposed to come so naturally? And why are only some things recognized as creative while others are not?

Innovation and creativity are buzzwords in the current economy, and it appears that success depends on them. But only to a certain extent--if we actually unleash all our creative impulses, all order would disappear. With the current torrent of technological advancements, it's easy to think that our lives are becoming more mechanical and less creative. Yet, even though technology can seem like the furthest thing from creativity, it was born through a creative impulse, an inspiring idea.

For me, I struggle to come to terms with my computer; we have a love/hate relationship. Years ago, I realized how vast a resource computers can contain, yet how much a drain it was to constantly sit staring at their screens and typing on their keyboards, not to mention the other, more subtle aspects like radiation. Now, it's as if my whole existence depends on my computer, yet I often can't stand it--especially sitting there nonstop as if I'm glued to it.

Often I will have an idea that I would like to blog about, yet as soon as I turn on the computer, it's as if my creativity shuts off. I love the ease of typing but my mind shifts into another gear when I'm in front of the computer. It's difficult to maintain focus on writing alone. Then, when I try to write with pen and paper, I find the feeling so awkward, it's as if I've almost forgotten how; through all the years of typing, I'm out of practice to write by hand and the letters sometimes get mixed up as they're coming on to the page. Have I suddenly become dyslexic from all the scanning I do on the computer? I never had great penmanship to begin with, but now it's all the more worse for lack of use. It's become encrypted!

Nonetheless, my urge to contribute creatively to the world pushes me to keep trying--to strike a balance between new technologies and the primal need to document my perceptions of the world on paper or virtual page. Like the cavemen who created the first tools just so they could paint their walls with images, so too I seek to use the latest tools available to enable my feelings and thoughts to take some form beyond my own head.

I'd love to hear from you in the comments: How do you balance the benefits of technology with its costs? What's your creative process?

Grasshopper Thoughts, Vol. V, October 2011

I've mentored many a writer in my adult life, taught many adult education classes on creative writing, and lent a helping hand to countless new bloggers.  At some point, the question always arises of, "What do you do when you get writer's block?"

That's the age old nemesis, isn't it?  Writer's block, artist's block, musician's block....it isn't career specific to just writers.  We all hit moments where inspiration just refuses to flow.  It has been 29 days since I last posted here at Healing Morning and this is outside the norm for me.  While I am not of the blogging daily approach, I do tend to write at least once or twice a week.  I won't go into the reasons for my recent dry spell, but I will share that the answer I almost always offer to the question above is, "Just write.  Don't focus on whether it's good or bad...just sit down and start writing. The very act of being in writing 'motion' will often wake up your writing Muse." 

Another favorite tool of mine is to Grasshopper.  If you follow me here at Healing Morning blog, then you're familiar with this concept.  Grasshopper Thoughts is a process of just allowing your mind to flit....or hop (like a grasshopper) in myriad directions with no logical focus.  I find it to be therapeutic to do this.  It can be as entertaining to write this way as it can be for people to read it, and it allows a glimpse into that writer's soul in a curious manner.  Little tidbits, little gems, little windows into who they are.

So, in the time honored tradition, I now commence Grasshoppering to encourage my own Muse to release her death grip on my normally prolific writing.

• I'm a fan of the good, old fashioned Emery board to file my nails.  Yes, I know that all manner of new inventions exist for this, including metal nail files that are touted to be better for your nails.  They don't work for me.  Metal nail files take forever for me because I'm fortunate to have nice, healthy, strong nails.  Nope, give me a traditional coarse grit Emery board and I'm happy.  Besides, those metal nail files make my teeth hurt with the sound they make on my nails.
• Some genius person took the Cool Whip concept and morphed it into chocolate Cool Whip - bless their hearts!  I'm not a big sweets eater and can go long stretches without eating ice cream, sometimes longer than a year.  It's just not a temptation to me.  Once in a blue moon, however, chocolate Cool Whip, still frozen is ideal.
• I opened an old book the other day, and from its pages fell a perfectly pressed sprig of Lily of the Valley.  I lifted it to my nose and it still carries that beautiful fragrance.  I think I pressed that flower there when I was wee, and it remains to this day my favorite old fashioned flower.  It was a delicate, floral time capsule moment to my adult self from my very young self and I was assailed with lovely memories.
• The last time I bought Crayons, they smelled different and I was devastated.  How could Crayola do this?!  Whose idea was it to tweak the formula?  No doubt it was done to save money, as that drives any corporation's bottom line, but it made me sad.  The aroma of Crayons is iconic, or it used to be.  It's still close to the original smell, but different.  These are the moments when I stubbornly dig my heels in against change.
• I was driving my Mom somewhere recently, just out running errands, and I said something to make her laugh unexpectedly.  We glanced at one another and smiled, that silent "I love you for who you are and how I feel when we're together" communication.  I'm blessed.
• Someday, someone is going to invent a way to prove that creative people are NOT airheads, dingbats or incapable of remembering things. We just think and process things differently, but we manage to get everything accomplished.  I'm serious - someday, someone will invent a way to quantify this fact. And THEN you'll all be sorry! ;-)  Just sayin.  *And if this way has already been invented, then I'm the first to cheerfully declare that I TOLD you so!  :)

I think that's plenty to get the writerly thoughts warmed up.  With luck, it won't be another 29 days before my next post.  For now, Grasshoppering has done the trick to shift the logjam loose a trifle.

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If you enjoyed this post and would like to read more, you can find me at Healing Morning blog.

at a loss...

I must admit that I have neglected my postings lately...

see these past 12 months have been filled with a whole shit load of loss... it's taken the proverbial wind out of my sails for the last little bit.. melancholy is right now, a very good word.

started with the death of my marriage last December, and all that come with the decision to end a relationship.. next comes the filing for divorce and a revisiting of memories of what I/We had hoped would be on into the future... the forms are printed, partly filled in and that is as far as I have gotten... the undoing of the promises and dreams, comes down to some procedural court filings and a countdown to the day they can be processed into the end of what once was...

then came the death of my dear friends 14 day old grandson due to a heart defect that could not be rectified.. that was a tough service.. so raw the emotions of losing such a wee one... so loved and nurtured during his short stay here on earth... how he touched the hearts of all of us who prayed for a different blessed outcome, that sadly was not to be...

those of you who follow my blog know that in June, I lost who I considered to be the matriarch of my family, my beloved Rita... who stayed with us and kept us hopeful for 5 weeks following her stroke... so extremely blessed were we to have the time we did with her before she peacefully drew her last breath and moved onwards across the horizon, leaving us shattered and alone... I still feel so blessed that she allowed me to be with her when she made her journey home, and that still brings me great peace that she drifted off so easily... it was my miracle to witness...

then, just 6 weeks ago, the news that a friend had passed after a tragic motorcycle accident jarred my reality as to the uncertainty of time we are allotted in this place... waiting for updates and eventually traveling to be with others to celebrate this young mans incredible spirit... tears, laughter, photos and fellowship rounded out a fitting tribute to someone who touched many...

and then again two weeks ago, the unexpected news that one of our team had passed suddenly overnight... complications of surgery undertaken in the weeks prior... the shock was palpable, she was an amazing Lady.. full of life and love for her friends and especially her beloved family... a true Angel here on earth, who worked with numerous community organizations, opened her arms and heart to whomever needed a lift, who was sooo in love with her husband of just 5 short years, her children and grandchildren who she adored more than life itself... if you wanted to see Linda glow, mention her family....

so here I find myself, on the other side of all of this loss and I am myself lost... I read back the words I have written about my life and how at it's end "it will not have been one moment longer or shorter than was precisely planned for my journey..." and I am no longer quite as sure... I understand that we are all headed in the same direction and that no one or no thing will stand forever, but this onslaught of "leaving" has jarred me a bit. These past months have seen more loss than the entire previous decade... I can say that my faith is intact, I am just lost within the questions of why, and when... how and when is my time... will it be peaceful, will we have the time to say our words to each other... why do the good ones get taken so soon...

I hold fast to the knowledge that I am loved, and that I Love.. my existence is filled with an array of amazing persons whom I adore... I understand more clearly that to love them and cherish them, adds colour and texture and depth to my world, and that it will also in time add sadness and grief as we inevitably lose one another... all part of the same painting, all plants in the same garden of life... for to love someone today, must include that they were brought into life to live their seasons, to flourish and then decline and fade away... just as summer roses or spring tulips burst forth into life, blossom and grow, and then fade at seasons end, so to will we fade at our seasons end...

so I guess I am "at a loss" as to how to catch my heart up to my head... time I know will smooth the emotions into memories and smiles of all who have gone on ahead... time will take the edges off of the grief and fill the garden with life anew... I guess time will walk my path with me... and time will allow me to say the words I need to say, will allow me to hold and touch, cherish and support.. and Love...



original post can be found here @ Current Ripple