Time Piece

 

I finished reading a Jeffrey Deaver novel last night, titled Cold Moon. It is a convoluted and complex suspense story. But, underneath that story is another. That sub-story is about time. How we define it, its history, and a great deal about how we use it and think about it.

I found several quotes in the book that interested me. This one is probably my favorite of all of them:

Time is a great teacher, but unfortunately it kills all its pupils. 

                                                                               __Louis H. Berlioz

Because of the truth in that statement, I think most of us, on some level, are obsessed with time: wanting more of it, wanting it to pass more quickly, yet sometimes wishing that it would stand still. Critical of wasting it and those who seem to have too much of it on their hands, while praising that individual who uses it wisely on a regular basis. Constantly seeking ways to fill it for fear it will pass us by without a second chance to rewind it or have it again, we seem to forget that time is an invention of the human species and we have all become captives of its relentless march toward our own inevitable ending. I think we’d all like to forget that reality, and yet we have strapped it to our wrists as a constant reminder.

David Cook’s first recorded song as season seven’s American Idol was This Is The Time. Although it had a great many detractors, it is about how we all wish for a life with meaning and purpose. Grabbing the moment and succeeding at whatever we choose to do with it. Making the most of the moments we have been given, just as Cook himself has done, like those before him and others who will come after to a greater or lesser degree.

Deaver seems to have something to say about all of it. The ‘bad’ guy in his book calls himself The Watchmaker. And Deaver makes a very pointed comment about his person later on in the book:

More and more his passion for planning and order took on the role of lover. And like anyone who substitutes an obsession for a real relationship, Hale found himself looking for more intense ways to satisfy himself.

I think Deaver might be warning all of us about our obsession with time. If our real goal is to fill it, we could end up marching right past and through it and never actually living in the moments we are allotted. Instead of celebrating this time that we do have, we might simply be filling it with the debris of busyness that lacks meaning and purpose.

I have written about how each of us has a message that needs to be shared with our world. That message is a piece of truth that others need to know, but won’t unless we live it out loud as David Cook suggests in his song. There are those that believe we will get another chance to come back and do it better the next time around. There are just as many, if not more, that grasp the possibility that we won’t get that chance.

There is a Zen practice known as being present in the moment. Most of us spend far more time in the past, or thinking about the future. Both of which could be seen as a waste of time, and especially of the present moment. What, if anything, do you do to stay present to this moment, this now?

Obviously I write daily journal pages. That is one of the ways I attempt to stay inside the present, but there are many others. One of them is a question from the AA program. Occasionally asking one self how important this activity or situation will be in five years, can be a real eye opener if the question is answered honestly and with some amount of thought. Will there be regrets and can I accept and live with them, is another. Who will benefit, is also an important question. If the answer is too often, ‘only myself,” you might be in the same loop as The Watchmaker of Deaver’s fiction.

I think we are all watchmakers, creating our own personal time pieces with each moment and with every choice. Writing our story, whether or not we ever actually pick up a pen or type on a computer. Living out loud through our actions, or lack of them, on a moment by moment and daily basis. What are you making? A cheap piece that can be disposed of and replaced easily, or something exquisite and worth celebrating?

This is our time, this moment is the only one we truly have. Are you present to it, and making it better for your being there?

Expectations and Rose-Colored Realities

 

I watched David Cook on American Idol last night. My journal, this morning, is filled with my personal reactions to doing so. Not sure exactly what my expectations were in the moment, but I was once again, mesmerized, feeling a bit foolish, yet eager to see and have my senses satisfied. They were and they were not.

That’s the problem with expectations. They are so wide open, so hopeful with a cloud of possibilities that seemingly go on into an unknowable future. But, also laced with at least a fifty percent chance of failure, often more. Yet, we go on creating them, fantasizing over those possibilities and sometimes investing ourselves emotionally, and otherwise, into what is essentially a long shot at best.

When they, as they most often do, fail to materialize, we spiral downward into disappointment, sometimes depression. Think ourselves foolish or worse, for placing our emotional well-being in what is essentially nothing more than a dream, a rose-colored reality where all things wished and wanted suddenly come true.

Is that an accurate assessment? Yes. And, no. Hope is a necessity. Without it, we simply become lumps of energy forever stuck in a gray world that lacks all color. We move, but our movement lacks meaning because it doesn’t have a goal or a purpose. We trudge through our gray world, never looking up, unable to see whatever might be in front of us. What is always in front of us, are other possibilities.

That may be what is wrong with expectations. They are a narrow path, leading only to what we want, not necessarily to what we need. And because the want is so deep and strong, we fool ourselves into thinking it is a need, the only one. That one, that if it is fulfilled will make the rest of our sojourn not just palatable, but filled with contentment and enough excitement to last forever. That is a fantasy. Life doesn’t work that way on a moment to moment basis.

Life is a balancing act of ups and downs, joys and pains, laughter and sadness, and all the other opposites one can think of. It doesn’t run smoothly for more than a short time, no matter how much we may want it to do so. And because expectations are, for the most part, very narrow paths, when we get caught up in them, we fail to prepare for those other eventualities.

A lot of expectations center around other people. Other people doing what we want them to do. In the process, we forget that each individual has choices, a life of their own, people and things to be accounted for and to. As I wrote in my journal this morning, I realized that I simply wanted more time to watch David Cook. I want to sit down and talk to him, ask him questions about his journey, hear the small details of how that journey has changed and altered him.

I will never meet David Cook. If I did, I’d blow it and become completely tongue-tied and probably just stare at him with my mouth hanging open. Not a pretty image. He’d walk away, disgusted at this waste of his time, and probably thinking something quite derogatory about old women who have too much time on their hands. Would his assessment be accurate? Yes and no, perhaps.

Yes, I am an old woman and one that is fascinated by this man’s journey because it has impacted on my own. If you want to know how that came to be, you will have to go back to the beginnings of this blog. For right now, we are discussing expectations. And some of mine were fulfilled last evening. I wanted to know if I still experienced a connection with his person and his music. I did and do.

The song that he sang, Come Back To Me, has a big piece of my own story inside of it. I’d not heard it before and was surprised to find soft tears falling as he sang it. When members of the audience screamed out that they loved him, and he immediately responded with, “I love you, too!”, I laughed because that was a 100% David Cook response. So, yes, I am still connected to the man and his music. And no, he has no idea and never will. That’s the way it should be.

Which brings us to realistic expectations. One of the reasons I have them is because I keep a journal. It is always amazing to me, how easy it is to see the fantasy versuss the reality when one actually writes the words down in black and white. Those rose-colored images actually have clouds of pink mist floating around and through them. Makes it so much easier to see.

The reality may be far more mundane, but it is also easier to accept than getting lost in all that mist and coughing at its fumy presence. Which, by the way, is probably what I would do if I ever came face to face with David Cook, have a coughing fit, or faint, something I have never done in my life. Which, as far as I am concerned, simply means that David Cook is an extremely lucky man for being totally oblivious to my existence.

So, where does that leave me with all of my expectations. Surprisingly satisfied. Disappointed that he was only on for less than ten minutes, but happily aware that his journey continues with a platinum record under his arm. Happy to realize that my journey will also continue and that, on occasion, I may sit down in front of my TV and catch a glimpse of the only connection I have with him. That is reality as it should be, and I am more than happy to allow it to remain so.

Those rose-colored clouds leave a residue of dust behind that simply mean more dusting and cleaning to be done. I am so not into that.

Final Accounting: 2008

 

Today is the last day of this year, 2008. I have spent some time, looking back on the days, weeks, and months that are passing into my personal history, perhaps better labeled herstory. This has been an incredible year, an extremely good one. Looking back on it has been a mostly satisfying pleasure. My life has changed, and I have changed with it. Challenges met and overcome, dreams fulfilled, and new avenues of experience risked and met with success.

I started the year in a sort of fog, settling down in front of the TV with an unconscious, but strong inner urge to become just another couch potato. If I wasn’t watching the boob tube, I was reading yet another murder mystery, completely oblivious to the fact that I was well into committing my own form of soul murder. I wasn’t writing at all, the pen and its demands had been given up for activities that were far less demanding of any thought, let alone process.

Then came American Idol and David Cook. Bless you David. I know that you don’t know me, don’t have a clue what you did for me, but I will always be grateful, none the less. You got me up and out of that overstuffed rocking chair and back on the page. Back inside this thing I really love to do, and am quite good at. But, and this might be the most important part, I was back in a very new and different way. Awakenings are wonderful things, or can be, if we allow them.

Then the doctor diagnosed the beginnings of diabetes. What a shock that was, even though I knew that I was an excellent candidate because my father had had it and my oldest daughter has it as well. New regimens: diet, and daily blood sugar counts. Although I don’t enjoy poking myself everyday, I have done it, without fail and reaped many rewards. A new awareness of my own physical reality, a weight loss that continues and has allowed me to drop five sizes in my clothing, and a much deeper respect for my own ability to follow through and stick with it, staying inside the present moment.

I started counseling and have found it to be very satisfying as well. Letting someone else see my emotional well-being, or lack of it, has given me new perspectives on most of what has happened over the past year, as I’ve listened to an objective voice that is constant in its support and ongoing encouragement, a voice that often asks those questions I don’t even consider, or see, as important.

I began blogging in June. All new territory and one that led me here, to this site, and a deep committment to continue to explore my own personal space while encouraging others to do the same. And one that also led me back to my first love: poetry. I have written well over sixty prose articles on this site, but have also written a great deal of new poetry, exploring and finding new ways of expressing myself. Allowing myself to be prompted and challenged in several different directions.

That, in turn, has also led to the establishment of another new blog: 
 http://soulsmusic.wordpress.com/ which will be centered around my poetry and the music that feeds me. I will post there for the first time, tomorrow, on the first day of the New Year. My first post will be titled A Woman of Color, and inadvertentlycelebrates yet another new endeavor I have stumbled into. Coloring. Laying down colors and watching the patterns come alive beneath my fingers. It is closely associated with laying down words and watching the patterns come alive with meaning and awareness. I would hope that you come and take a look and drop a comment or two.

Along with all these new disciplines and activities which constantly challenge me, I have recovered a number of old friendships and deepened each of them, so that they feel new, but also have the comfort and strength of familiarity. Each one has meant a deeper commitment to my own life and has afforded me the opportunity to re-establish this person I call Elizabeth, that one who was getting lost in that overstuffed rocking chair in my living room (I haven’t watched more than a few hours (maybe four or five total) of TV in the past three months, and have read only two and a half books in that same time period).

I have also had the pleasure of creating several new friendships, here online. Meeting diverse new individuals and finding common ground is exciting and challenges me in other and different ways. I have been able to teach, encourage, and to learn, all at the same time, and with the ease of doing so from my own comfortable little space called home.

All in all, this has been a year of awakenings on many levels. It has led me here, to the beginning of a New Year that is filled with the brightness of hope and even more opportunities to learn and to experience. I was recently prompted to write about daring to dream, and found that I couldn’t, didn’t seem to have a feel for the topic and came up blank with no more than fading dribbles that went nowhere. Maybe, because so many of my personal dreams have found fulfillment in this past year, and the very real fact that I am now living inside of those dreams. They are my reality, continuing to feed and nurture even more of the same and bringing them to fruition. There is no daring involved, there is only new and deeper life and meaning.

Metaphorically Speaking

By attempting to write poetry, I have learned that the use of metaphors is an excellent way to explore and find better and deeper understanding, to enhance and enlarge ones awareness and perceptions. When we attempt to compare apples to oranges, we open new doors, find unusual views that might not have occurred to us in the past. I have used several metaphors here, to better express the wealth of advantages open to anyone who would attempt to keep a daily record of his, or her, experience.

The word record is itself a metaphor for a journal, if you consider what the word suggests: keeping a tally, a running list, or simply a written report. But what about how the word pertains to music and the music industry. Then a journal might become the songs one sings on a regular basis, be they blues, rap, folk, country, jazz, classical, alternative, or rock and roll, and so many others. And each one of those could be a specifically different view, and a rich mine to explore the manner in which one moves through life, and actually becomes aware of self and the world which surrounds that self.

A metaphor is a figure of speech, meant to open creative avenues of thought, even inspiration. They are difficult only when not attempted. Trying to think them through is hard work, but when committing them to paper, thus giving them form and shape while writing them out, we slow down the thought process and often find golden nuggets along the path we are traveling. It is always amazing to me how just trying to compare one thing to another seems to open channels and avenues that have never been explored, even less considered, or thought about.

Today, I’m going to challenge you with a list of metaphors. Some, I have already used in different articles of this blog. Others will be new and different. Go through the list, find one or two that appeal to you, and are somewhat familiar to your own experience. Then make your own metaphor for how you feel, see, and think about keeping a journal.

1. Unraveling thread from a skein.

2. Tying and untying knots in fishing line.

3. Walking along a beach.

4. Making or viewing a movie.

5. A soundtrack, the songs that would best underscore the theme.

6. Speech writing.

7. Driving your car.

8. Learning a new language

9. Gardening

10. Writing fiction

11. Baking a cake, or writing out a recipe

12. Sewing from a pattern

13. Fly-fishing

14. Bird-watching with Binoculars

15. Picking pickles, then canning same.

16. Cleaning one room in your house

17. Looking for a new home

18. Letter writing

19. Bill paying

20. Exploring a yet unexplored island

21. Creating a cure for cancer

22. Dancing alone, or with a partner

23. Singing in the Sunday choir

24. Falling in love

25. Waxing the car, or the kitchen floor

This is a pretty rich list and perhaps, for you, as it has for me, suggests others that might better serve your purpose. Choose one and compare it to your own experience of keeping a journal. It is best to compare using something you already have a good knowledge about. So, if I haven’t given you something that you do have more than a passing comprehension of, by all means, choose one that suits your expeirince . And in the process of making your own metaphor, keep track of those new perspectives that open before you.

Metaphorically speaking, I hope you find that secret gold mine and begin to dig and work the rich veins that have accumulated over time, waiting only for that shovel you alone may carry. If you do, I further hope that you come back and share your new found wealth with the rest of us. We’ll be digging our own tunnels, but will stop long enough to celebrate with you. Remember to always carry a lantern, and if you run low on the fuel that keeps it burning, I have an extra large supply I am willing to share with you. Good luck and prosper at your prospecting.

As for me, I’m going to go listen and watch David Cook, who has become a living, breathing metaphor for the Hero’s Journey and renewing the American Dream.

Curious Confession Time

Okay, I was raised Catholic, went to parochial school, so I know the drill: “Bless me, Technologies, for I found the stats page on this site yesterday.” I did a History major in college, as well as one in English, so I do have a wee bit of understanding about stats. Know they can be made to say whatever the prevailing bias of the stats. maker has in mind. Even understand, on some level, what an a priori definition can be. All that aside, I went from a single viewer to viewers in the double digits yesterday. All because I used (some would say dropped), a particular name/s.

The name/s were important to the story I was telling. They set up the scene in which I was fast becoming a couch potato with a TV obsession. For a few uninhibited moments yesterday, it gave me the very fresh feeling of a young teen-ager involved in her first popularity contest, blushes and all. But then, my ever present observer stepped in and whispered in my ear, “Okay, take a good look and understand what happened here.” A cold water shower and a light slap to the cheek usually wakes up any of us dreamers, even in mid-snore. I swiftly apologized to my observer, and to the young teen-ager for leading her down the garden path to corruption. But, secretly, it still felt good.

Curiosity is an extremely good energy force. It can compel us out of the place, state we are in, and get us moving toward something all together different. So, my heartfelt thanks to all of you curiosity seekers. Sorry, if you were disappointed, but you also provided me with another opportunity to discuss one more important element enhanced by regular writing. You got it, curiosity.

In attempting to put down ones thoughts, one is forced to find a language that expands to express those thoughts into some form of clarity. That, in turn, also creates that persistent observer I keep mentioning. He doesn’t just make comments, he/she also asks questions, sometimes very pointed questions, makes acerbic statements, as well as using a great deal of humor in all of that. She will often focus my attention on points of interest, prompting even more curiosity and closer inspection. That not only loops back to more of the same, but also has a tendency to bookmark it in my memory, making constantly new connective points for synchronistic adventures.

“Curiosity killed the cat, but she came back because she has nine lives.” I’ve had, and lived, a number of different lives: Housewife, Mother, College Student, Divorcee, Single Parent, Published Poetry and Prose Writer, Bookstore Manager, Editor, Publisher, and Freelance Writing Instructor, to name a few. Many of those lives were based in nothing more than curiosity at their beginnings. How many lives have you lived? Which was your favorite, and which one were you most glad to walk away from? Are there others you would like to try and what steps would you need to take to make them more than a wispy cloud somewhere far out on the horizon? Are you curious enough to write about it?

All of which brings me back to that name. I’d apologize, but I need to drop it again. Not for the stats (I know that’s just a momentary thing), but in the hopes that its owner will somehow find this particular space and come to know how really grateful I am, that he all unknowingly saved me from the life of a Tubular Root Plant, and set me back on my Journey accompanied by music, the best friend I have ever known, lots of periodic resting places like this one, and enough curiosity to continue. Gratitude doesn’t have much value except to its giver, unless the name of its receiver is also apparent. Thank you, David Cook, and best of wishes on your own journey.

An Example of Synchronicity

One of the rewards of being a teacher assigning exercises within the classroom, was my choice to do those exercises right along with my students. Many of them were shocked at that practice, and even more so when I would take my turn to read the outcome right alongside theirs. I felt that it drastically reduced that whole dynamic of me as someone above, or in some superior position. I truly wanted them to know that even though I might have been doing this thing far longer than they, I still had to struggle with it on occasion and stumble through embarrassing moments of sudden realization, just as they did. It seriously reduced the amount of tension inherent in such a situation, but also increased both the intensity and depth of participation.

That said, I am going to offer you, the reader, an example of synchronicity. I am aware that it might be a difficult concept to wrap ones head around and I also want you to get the best understanding I can offer. And just as I did in my classroom, my example will be drawn from my own personal experience. In my Introduction, I briefly outlined some of the circumstances that led me to this space and the writing of this blog. My example is drawn from some of the details involved in that experience.

I moved back here, to the city of my birth, a little over a year ago. With my physical disability, and the current situation in my family of origen, my energy levels were sorely depleted and I got sick. During that recovery, I spent most of my time, reading, sleeping, eating, and watching television, an activity I had not engaged in for many years because I didn’t own a TV set. Someone gave me one and it seemed only appropriate that I use it under the circumstances.

While flicking through the channels one evening, I stumbled on to the first auditions for American Idol. I had heard of the program, but had never watched it. I wasn’t into reality TV. It is far too scripted to be defined as such, or that’s what I thought at the time. But I remained seated and decided I’d give it at least one attempt. Everything, even a TV series, needs the benefit of the doubt and I was free to change the channels at any time, right?

I never changed the channel, becoming so engrossed that later in the season, I actually found myself resenting anyone who called while I was watching my program. At first, I was definitely intrigued by Michael Johns, the Australian. I’m a sucker for that Aussie accent and he sang Bohemian Rhapsody without musical backup, and nailed it. Sorry, I am a product of the sixties and seventies, and I was impressed. However, as the season progressed, I became far more fascinated with David Cook and what he was doing with the songs he chose and how well he was doing it. My apologies to Michael, but when David did his version of Hello, I sat up and said the same.

Part of me being a writer, therefore an observer, sort of sat back during all of this, intrigued by my own sudden diversion onto a path that was totally disconnected from normal behavior. When Mr. Cook did Music of The Night, I felt compelled to pick up my phone and actually vote, oh my (said that silent but ever present observer). I realized that all of this new behavior might be noteworthy and began to keep a daily journal after having stopped for some time. But I did even that differently. Usually I write my journal pages longhand. For whatever reason, I chose to do this particular writing on the computer, and coincidently (sure that it was coincidence), began to follow the news articles about my favorite musician of the moment.

A note here might be best: I have always known that writing will eventually lead the individual, who participates in it, back into him/herself. My main schtick in writing is self-exploration, so turning back to the journaling was a very natural move on my part. I wanted to explore my own behavior and the intensity of my response. My fascination was a simple curiosity, but I wanted to record it and see where it went.

Eventually, it led to the knowledge that David Cook had a Myspace page, where I could go and hear the tidbits of his ongoing progression through the ranks of competitors and ultimately the number one position. But to get to his page and view his blog, I had to register on the site itself. I promptly dismissed the idea of creating my own page, knowing I wouldn’t do that, and the specifics of why I was there. I also continued to write and explore my own personal interest.

That, in turn, led me to a dialogue about heroes. I had explored and taught classes on archetypal energies, one of the best known being that of the hero. When I had registered on Myspace, I saw that empty page and had noted some of those blank spaces, one of them being the heroes of the user. I knew that I had identified strongly with Mr. Cook, so I began to write about how he measured up with my own list of personal heroes, starting with my father and running through about five more. It was a very interesting comparison, and David held up quite well.

That led me to a personal dilemma (what else was I expecting)? I knew I had a hero, the most prominent of all of them, but one that no one else would consider inside of that definition. I couldn’t leave her out, she was a direct link between the music, David Cook, and myself. She hadn’t been in my life for ten years, and that was a pain I carried around silently inside of myself. Along with a thousand questions as to why our relationship had ended in chaos and seeming insanity. Hers and mine, if I am to be completely honest. I had hit the proverbial brick wall. Do I open myself up, write about her as a hero in my life, or totally disregard this seemingly curved path back inside myself and how I became whoever I am?

I dithered around for a bit, then wrote about this piece of sacred ground inside my own experience. I made detailed statements about why she was a hero, and how much I had learned by befriending her, and how very grateful I was for coming to know her, and myself, by doing that. It had been ten years since that experience, and I was a bit astounded at how certain I was of my thoughts and feelings. It really was an easy write. But more important, was the realization of how all of it had changed while living in that silence. I was satisfied.

The very next afternoon, she called me after years of silence. Asked me for my email addy, and gave me hers. We laughed and talked for two hours. And promptly began the process of renewing our relationship. It hasn’t been easy, but it certainly has been a tremendous joy for a might have been couch potato watching reality TV, of all things.

That is my example of synchronicity. It might be a bit more convoluted than others, but the end result remains the same. If I had not gotten sick, watched the show, connected with a totally unaware David Cook, started writing directly about all of that, entered the arena of the hero archetype, and finally written about one of the most prominent heroes in my own experience, realizing and detailing those very connected diverse elements, I might have been completely taken aback by that totally unexpected phone call. Instead, I welcomed it, and her, with a warmth and eagerness that seemed both genuine and natural to me. I was, after all, connecting the dots, being in the right place, doing the right thing for me, and confidently taking the next step in this journey I call my life.