Whahooooo-ooo!
Ladies and gentlemen you may have noticed a bit of a lag in my posts...a bit of a lack in their meaning...a bit of that old writer's block...
Well, I think I've licked it for now. I've been reading this book called Writing Down the Bones, and it has been flat out calling me on all of my personal BS that has been standing in my way of writing. Mainly the absurd idea that I am writing for anyone but myself. The ridiculous notion that there is any purpose other than the transcription of what I think.
The preposterous thought that I have to be eloquent or well planned, and the insidious game of trying to value every idea and thought that I want to write about.
And the biggest one of all...that it matters whether or not everyone gets it.
Don't get me wrong. I want to connect with you all so much that I am willing to put my heart, soul and life on the big open Internet, but I've finally realized that the only way to do this is to begin talking. Talking about what really matters to me. Talking about what I think about when I wake up in the morning and when I go to sleep at night. Talking about the challenges that I face and the utterly perfect imperfection of just being me.
Ladies and Gentlemen, look out. I have come to the end of my writing time for this morning, but I want to leave you with an excerpt from a poem that comes to mind this morning. It's a bit raw and dirty, but here's the truth. So I am I ;-)
stretch
Brian Crabtree, 1995
...
When I was finished scraping, the walls looked a little bare.
I got tired of staring all day at the rough bony slimy ceiling dripping
cold hard reality slowly soaking the floor and dampening my feet.
It took me four years of searching for the right wallpaper
before i realized the only pattern i'd love for the rest of my life
i'd have to make myself.
I painted
the inside of my head
a fiery pink paisley plaid.
If it hurts you to look at it, you'd best stand back,
because if you look into my eyes you're sure to catch a glimpse.
Stop by for a visit sometime.
if you knock loud enough and i like your eyes
i might just let you in.
But if you think i'm weird when i squirm,
you ain't seen nothing yet, cause right now...
I feel.. like a nice... long... S-T-R-E-T-C-H
I WANT TO DRAW
I WANT TO WRITE
I WANT TO PAINT THE INSIDE OF MY CAR
I've found the answer to life, the universe and everything, but it's not 42.
It's not the bible, the tao or the koran.
I've found my answer to the one fundamental question... how should life
be lived. If you want the secret (THE secret) of the universe, I can
explain everything in one imperative: TO THINE OWN SELF BE TRUE.
Speaking of painting the inside of my car ;-)
6 comments:
Bring it on! My ears are open (through my eyes). My heart is open (through my mind).
Writing Down the Bones is amazing and probably just as eye opening as it was 15 years ago when I read it.
So glad that you are finding your writing niche! The poem you posted is absolutely gorgeous! Thank you for sharing. :)
Writing Down The Bones is an awesome book. I've been a writer for years and it's still my number one go-to resource for inspiration from the trenches. Natalie Goldberg is absolutely amazing.
Cool poetry - keep it up! I love reading about your family and the efforts you make to buck the establishment and demand a pure life in the face of so much misinformation and chaos.
Your place looks great! I love painting. I'm going to go do some today. Instead of writer's block, I've had painter's block...but I'm getting back into it. I am.
I think you have tapped into my heart
this time : ) .... looks like we're on the same path.
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