Today I KNOW without a shadow of a doubt that I will writing this book in a manner that is the best I possibly can. How is that news?
Because it feels like the first time I'm gonna do something the BEST I know how. An artist's standard. Those of you who've read my first book, know that it wasn't the best I could have done. I'm not putting it down for the sake of asking for additional feedback, positive, negative or otherwise about it, I'm just stating the facts as I see them. My perspective. What I know to be true.
Let's not even go to my education. At no point, no point whatsoever, did I ever delude myself or anyone else into believing that I was in it to do my best. I was in it to get my degrees. What would be required? And that's what I did. And that's all I did.
For the most part, that's how I've done just about everything. Relationships too. What do I need to do to get my needs met? And that's what I'd do. That's about all I'd do.
Enter Alice and this book. A little story. On Friday I'm sitting in the library reading through her papers. As had happened on several occasions over the last few days, it proffered an insight into my own life, my past, my viewpoint. I'm keeping a journal of the process of writing her book. As I write the insight working with her papers provided, I see even more clearly the parallels between her life and mine. Though she's three generations away in time, we're like twin sisters in ways that astound. For reincarnation believers, I don't sense she and I are the same spirit...I could be wrong, but it doesn't feel like I was her.
The parallels begin to look like they'd make a great angle for a book. Yeah. What about a book about a writer discovering a writer, discovering and being lead to a new life of her own as she uncovers this other life. Oh, it's been done. Plenty of times. I thought it would work for me and Alice, and well, too. And then I heard her ruffle up her little feathers.
It's like she was standing behind me as I was going through her papers and whispered loudly in my left ear the equivalent of "I don't think so. This book is about me. Don't mess it up. Stop messing around."
And I grumbled something about being able to pull it off if I really wanted to, but that I understood that she was the driving force behind this particular book and that she hadn't steered me wrong yet in any way, so I'd be a good little clerk...uuhhhh, writer.
She's actually quite a character, this Alice. Inspiring.
She's inspiring me to do a great job with it. That makes sense, too, considering her own writing career. Could this be another reason she chose me? Could she tell from the other side that I was so much like herself. I read through the letters she received from publishers. They all saw potentional in her, but she wasn't able to pull it out. There was something missing.
Now that I'm more familiar with all that was going on in her life, I know the many things she was dealing with that kept her from concentrating on her best possible writing. I won't list all the parallels I can relate to here...not ready, yet. I can see why I'm inspired by her to make this a true work of art to the best of my own ability.
No one has ever seen me do anything to the best of my ability. Not me, not anyone.
This is gonna be a first. I can't wait to see how it all plays out.
Sunday, October 14, 2007
Sunday, October 7, 2007
Chestnut, Elvis and Alice
On a recent segment of NPR, a jazz pianist, Cyrus Chestnut, was given airtime to highlight his newest CD, "Cyrus does Elvis". I was required, once, as part of a group tour to visit Graceland. I don't dislike Elvis, in fact I like his music and rhythms as much as the average American. But being just after the Baby Boomer generation, I wouldn't say I love or admire him any more than I love or admire a sports legend, movie star or president. They are part of the fabric of American life. I wouldn't love or hate Elvis or any other icon anymoe than I might love or hate one thread on my comforter over another thread.
I wasn't expecting much when I heard the segment introduction. A jazz pianist does a rendition of Elvis songs...big deal. And then I heard them. A totally new take on songs I've heard innumerable times.
Just before they played the first tune, Cyrus explained that he was fascinated by the impact Elvis had on American music. He was a fan. My translation of what he said is that his first love was jazz music and he wanted to re-interpret the early pop icon through the lens of his loving jazz piano eyes. And boy, did he.
I listened and loved. After playing two songs at the request of the interviewer, Cyrus was given the opportunity to pick his own choice as the last sampling from the CD. "Well, let's see...All the songs,they're screaming at me, wanting their turn to be played. Like a 3rd or 4th grade class, "Who wants to come up to the board?" and all hands raise, "MEeeeeeeeeeeee."
He decided on a piano solo of "HoundDog." It was even better than the other two. I'm guessing he chose the right one to come up to the board. And that the song that was chosen was so grateful and so delighted, that it "showed out" as they say in the south.
The way he described the songs as alive is what moved me to blog about the experience. Lately, I've been experiencing the life in things that most people don't normally attribute an active and distinct quality of personality, character and purposeful will. For me it is primarily the lively world of words that has opened up and let me in.
When I heard Cyrus so heartfelt and genuinely refer to the songs as having a will, a desire to be brought from their world into ours, I felt my viewpoint validated. It was great!
To hear the segment and the music for yourself, go to:
http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=15039843
I wasn't expecting much when I heard the segment introduction. A jazz pianist does a rendition of Elvis songs...big deal. And then I heard them. A totally new take on songs I've heard innumerable times.
Just before they played the first tune, Cyrus explained that he was fascinated by the impact Elvis had on American music. He was a fan. My translation of what he said is that his first love was jazz music and he wanted to re-interpret the early pop icon through the lens of his loving jazz piano eyes. And boy, did he.
I listened and loved. After playing two songs at the request of the interviewer, Cyrus was given the opportunity to pick his own choice as the last sampling from the CD. "Well, let's see...All the songs,they're screaming at me, wanting their turn to be played. Like a 3rd or 4th grade class, "Who wants to come up to the board?" and all hands raise, "MEeeeeeeeeeeee."
He decided on a piano solo of "HoundDog." It was even better than the other two. I'm guessing he chose the right one to come up to the board. And that the song that was chosen was so grateful and so delighted, that it "showed out" as they say in the south.
The way he described the songs as alive is what moved me to blog about the experience. Lately, I've been experiencing the life in things that most people don't normally attribute an active and distinct quality of personality, character and purposeful will. For me it is primarily the lively world of words that has opened up and let me in.
When I heard Cyrus so heartfelt and genuinely refer to the songs as having a will, a desire to be brought from their world into ours, I felt my viewpoint validated. It was great!
To hear the segment and the music for yourself, go to:
http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=15039843
Sunday, July 29, 2007
Marvelous Mornings
From an email:
"Talk about relating. Why do I love, enjoy and bask in time alone. I marvel at my own existence. I'm a little embarrassed to admit it and own it. It is so unheard of. Who does that? I kid you not, one of my favorite things in the morning when I wake up on a Saturday, Sunday or other no-work day is to literally roll around on the bed smiling and grinning at my life,
the way it unfolds so magically (my view of it anyway)
the freedom I have
that I wake up aware of the angels around me and communicate with them
that I have dreams that tell wondrous tales
that I can do whatever I want on these mornings (not that I do much more than the usual reading the paper, drinking my tea, emailing or talking on the phone...but I COULD)"
Gilbert and I have been talking about my gift to give...if that wasn't already clear.
I get a kick out of marveling at God, at beauty, at myself, at life, at ideas, at crystals, an angels, at options..... I didn't know until recently that my relationship to marveling, my particular brand of it, was something different from the experiences of most folks.
That's important to put on the table because we've talked about Saturday mornings before and I never cared or found it important to identify what I do when I wake up on many a weekend morning. I've only been really aware of it for the past couple of years. By aware, I'm mean present enough to appreciate it. I've had them my whole life whenever I can wake up alone.
No longer distracted by anything external, she was finally able to bask in her own existence, and found it splendid.
It wasn't until I watched the movie and heard those words that I was able to identify, to recognize myself, and in particular, to recognize my mornings. After all these years of talking about Saturday mornings, I was always able to say what I didn't do, but never what I did do.
What do I think about specifically when I'm doing all that reveling, all that basking?
OK..this is me going public. I've never shared this because I'm just now getting to a place where I don't fear that I may be crazy. Better said, I'm just now at a place where your reaction to what I'm about to write won't change my experience of it. You don't have to believe it. In the past, I was on less certain ground (pay attention Gilbert, as this relates to "secrets"). I couldn't share this because I didn't want anyone to take the experience away from me by casting doubt on it, by mocking it, by questioning any aspect of it. I've had enough of that, had enough of it as a child. If I learned one thing about me and my fantastic marveling it was to keep it to myself if it mattered the least little bit to me....lest it be cruelly, deliberately, or insensitively taken away.
Today, I have confidence enough in the experience, certainty enough in it's being true for me, that I don't care how fantastic it sounds or how unfamiliar it is to the rest of humanity...and, MOST IMPORTANT, I'm not afraid that, really, I'm just crazy.
So here's one of my favorite mornings:
I have some cool dream. I lie in bed and reflect on it. Usually, if it's really something I need to get or understand I'll have three different dreams that all have some theme.
The theme that matters is usually not the obvious one. So I lay in bed and I replay as much of each dream as I can. I intuitively have a sense for which dream is most fleeting and most needs to get downloaded before I lose something. If I have a distraction-free morning I don't have to write them down, the details stick if I spend time reflecting immediately after awakening.
As I play with them, find themes and recall some of the more interesting details, I begin to marvel at the symbolism used. The way my mind put it together to make a point. I am often in awe.
After I ooh and awe a while, I start to appreciate the application of the dream to my life. That's when the real fun starts. Because then, that's when I hit a little resistance. My ego starts to see that the dream implies I need to do something a little differently, grow a little, move closer to God in some area of my life.
When my ego starts to resist a little, that's when the angels...yes, the angels...chime in. Maybe they're dead relatives, aka ancestors. Maybe it's just my higher self. Whatever, whoever, however...I hear these smart-ass comments. On occasion, I've even felt like they were God Himself commenting on my need to get with His program.
Sometimes they just put a smile on my face. The comments usually sound something like, "No, of course you shouldn't listen to the obvious sense of that dream, what you've been doing so far is working so well...obviously." Who wouldn't laugh? If the comment isn't sarcastic, then it might be just plain insightful images, like suddenly a string of relevant situations fly through my mind all at once. They are judiciously chosen, ordered and screened. I can't help but accept the message, face the truth, learn the lesson, apply the wisdom.
Donna, you've recently heard me revel in doing two things--napping and walking the neighborhood. It's more of the same thing.
If I could I spend my every moment of every day doing nothing more than communing. Communing with nature, communing with God...and watching movies, I'd be a very content camper.
Communing with people can work too, but I've still got a bunch of issues that keep me from getting caught up in nonsense when I defensively sense any kind of criticism, competition, complaining, pointless jabber-jawing or manipulation of even the tiniest degree. Then I can't be bothered even the tiniest degree.
So, those mornings I'm talking about have become more and more common since I got off the meds. Since I brought in all those crystals into my home, I don't get bad dreams or nightmares anymore...Seriously! As recently as somewhere between 6 and 10 months ago, I did have one. I haven't had one since. I started housing crystals in my room 12 months ago. Yep, just 12. I have had a cross on my bed for three years, if you were wondering. There's no such thing as too much support. God doesn't make anything useless.
All that to say, the absence of nightmares and medicines have only increased those kinds of mornings. The communing type. In the past, they'd be interspersed with the "planning my day" mornings, now much less so. In fact, since I stopped committing to things I'm not genuinely interested in doing, I hardly ever have them.
Well, I can't really distinguish how much is not committing to things I'm not genuinely interested in doing and how much is the ability to be present without social anxiety in whatever I participate.
"Talk about relating. Why do I love, enjoy and bask in time alone. I marvel at my own existence. I'm a little embarrassed to admit it and own it. It is so unheard of. Who does that? I kid you not, one of my favorite things in the morning when I wake up on a Saturday, Sunday or other no-work day is to literally roll around on the bed smiling and grinning at my life,
the way it unfolds so magically (my view of it anyway)
the freedom I have
that I wake up aware of the angels around me and communicate with them
that I have dreams that tell wondrous tales
that I can do whatever I want on these mornings (not that I do much more than the usual reading the paper, drinking my tea, emailing or talking on the phone...but I COULD)"
Gilbert and I have been talking about my gift to give...if that wasn't already clear.
I get a kick out of marveling at God, at beauty, at myself, at life, at ideas, at crystals, an angels, at options..... I didn't know until recently that my relationship to marveling, my particular brand of it, was something different from the experiences of most folks.
That's important to put on the table because we've talked about Saturday mornings before and I never cared or found it important to identify what I do when I wake up on many a weekend morning. I've only been really aware of it for the past couple of years. By aware, I'm mean present enough to appreciate it. I've had them my whole life whenever I can wake up alone.
No longer distracted by anything external, she was finally able to bask in her own existence, and found it splendid.
It wasn't until I watched the movie and heard those words that I was able to identify, to recognize myself, and in particular, to recognize my mornings. After all these years of talking about Saturday mornings, I was always able to say what I didn't do, but never what I did do.
What do I think about specifically when I'm doing all that reveling, all that basking?
OK..this is me going public. I've never shared this because I'm just now getting to a place where I don't fear that I may be crazy. Better said, I'm just now at a place where your reaction to what I'm about to write won't change my experience of it. You don't have to believe it. In the past, I was on less certain ground (pay attention Gilbert, as this relates to "secrets"). I couldn't share this because I didn't want anyone to take the experience away from me by casting doubt on it, by mocking it, by questioning any aspect of it. I've had enough of that, had enough of it as a child. If I learned one thing about me and my fantastic marveling it was to keep it to myself if it mattered the least little bit to me....lest it be cruelly, deliberately, or insensitively taken away.
Today, I have confidence enough in the experience, certainty enough in it's being true for me, that I don't care how fantastic it sounds or how unfamiliar it is to the rest of humanity...and, MOST IMPORTANT, I'm not afraid that, really, I'm just crazy.
So here's one of my favorite mornings:
I have some cool dream. I lie in bed and reflect on it. Usually, if it's really something I need to get or understand I'll have three different dreams that all have some theme.
The theme that matters is usually not the obvious one. So I lay in bed and I replay as much of each dream as I can. I intuitively have a sense for which dream is most fleeting and most needs to get downloaded before I lose something. If I have a distraction-free morning I don't have to write them down, the details stick if I spend time reflecting immediately after awakening.
As I play with them, find themes and recall some of the more interesting details, I begin to marvel at the symbolism used. The way my mind put it together to make a point. I am often in awe.
After I ooh and awe a while, I start to appreciate the application of the dream to my life. That's when the real fun starts. Because then, that's when I hit a little resistance. My ego starts to see that the dream implies I need to do something a little differently, grow a little, move closer to God in some area of my life.
When my ego starts to resist a little, that's when the angels...yes, the angels...chime in. Maybe they're dead relatives, aka ancestors. Maybe it's just my higher self. Whatever, whoever, however...I hear these smart-ass comments. On occasion, I've even felt like they were God Himself commenting on my need to get with His program.
Sometimes they just put a smile on my face. The comments usually sound something like, "No, of course you shouldn't listen to the obvious sense of that dream, what you've been doing so far is working so well...obviously." Who wouldn't laugh? If the comment isn't sarcastic, then it might be just plain insightful images, like suddenly a string of relevant situations fly through my mind all at once. They are judiciously chosen, ordered and screened. I can't help but accept the message, face the truth, learn the lesson, apply the wisdom.
Donna, you've recently heard me revel in doing two things--napping and walking the neighborhood. It's more of the same thing.
If I could I spend my every moment of every day doing nothing more than communing. Communing with nature, communing with God...and watching movies, I'd be a very content camper.
Communing with people can work too, but I've still got a bunch of issues that keep me from getting caught up in nonsense when I defensively sense any kind of criticism, competition, complaining, pointless jabber-jawing or manipulation of even the tiniest degree. Then I can't be bothered even the tiniest degree.
So, those mornings I'm talking about have become more and more common since I got off the meds. Since I brought in all those crystals into my home, I don't get bad dreams or nightmares anymore...Seriously! As recently as somewhere between 6 and 10 months ago, I did have one. I haven't had one since. I started housing crystals in my room 12 months ago. Yep, just 12. I have had a cross on my bed for three years, if you were wondering. There's no such thing as too much support. God doesn't make anything useless.
All that to say, the absence of nightmares and medicines have only increased those kinds of mornings. The communing type. In the past, they'd be interspersed with the "planning my day" mornings, now much less so. In fact, since I stopped committing to things I'm not genuinely interested in doing, I hardly ever have them.
Well, I can't really distinguish how much is not committing to things I'm not genuinely interested in doing and how much is the ability to be present without social anxiety in whatever I participate.
Saturday, July 7, 2007
Let's Try This Again
So...What had happened was...
I had too many different ideas and audiences for my MasterRabin. On the one hand, it was an update for my friends and family. On the other hand, it was a chronicle of my metaphysical adventures...which does not particularly interest my friends and family. And let's add that I shared the MasterRabin site with people I'd never met and then didn't want to get too personal. I definitely didn't want to list names of the friends and family members I might discuss, so then there was an additional layer of self-censoring.
Which didn't really matter, since I wasn't writing anything on it anyway...because, like I've said, I couldn't settle on the blog's point or intended audience.
Enter...Living Heaven On Earth. Gilbert suggested I include a link to the site as part of my auto-signature on email. That wasn't a good option for me. But it did lead me to decide on starting fresh with a blog of my endless epiphanies.
Wow! That's a great title. I just decided (and reserved) that blogspot name for a general blog of my cultural observations. Changing the world, one little word at a time.
Anyway. The email that spreads the link says everything else that needs to be said.
I had too many different ideas and audiences for my MasterRabin. On the one hand, it was an update for my friends and family. On the other hand, it was a chronicle of my metaphysical adventures...which does not particularly interest my friends and family. And let's add that I shared the MasterRabin site with people I'd never met and then didn't want to get too personal. I definitely didn't want to list names of the friends and family members I might discuss, so then there was an additional layer of self-censoring.
Which didn't really matter, since I wasn't writing anything on it anyway...because, like I've said, I couldn't settle on the blog's point or intended audience.
Enter...Living Heaven On Earth. Gilbert suggested I include a link to the site as part of my auto-signature on email. That wasn't a good option for me. But it did lead me to decide on starting fresh with a blog of my endless epiphanies.
Wow! That's a great title. I just decided (and reserved) that blogspot name for a general blog of my cultural observations. Changing the world, one little word at a time.
Anyway. The email that spreads the link says everything else that needs to be said.
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