Sparkle Boat

Wednesday, November 30, 2005

Low on Inspiration...

...high on Determination. Or at least that's what I have to--need to--believe.

And besides, wasn't it I who wrote a few weeks ago that there's no such thing as inspiration? Yeah, I thought that was me. Better put up or shut up, eh?

So I haven't been writing these last few weeks, and I know that's an untenable situation. I have been feeling that diffuse sense of unease lately, and I know it has to do with my not writing. I have given myself a two-week reprieve, mainly because of Thanksgiving and then the fact that I have started a new job. I think it will take a couple of weeks to adjust to a new schedule, new hours, new people, but then I should be able to bounce back into my writing. Really, I can't not, or else I will suffer the consequences.

So by this weekend, I will begin again, working to get myself back on track. I am struggling with low energy right now, with a desire to just collapse into a heap when I come home. In fact, this very entry is a great effort against fatigue, and the fact that I am even here, writing it, is a victory for me tonight. I have absolutely no idea how people have any energy for themselves if they work and have kids. And yet it's been done. Just because it's hard doesn't mean it isn't possible.

And I do believe it will become easier over time. Which is why I'm showing up here right now. It's a baby step. It's a few minutes of writing for myself, and while this is not art or creative brilliance of any kind, it is mine, it is whatever I want it to be.

I work on the 9th floor of an office building, and the first day of work I climbed the stairs from the basement to the 9th floor. By the fourth floor I was sweating--(and I'm relatively in shape)--by the sixth floor I wanted to jump ship and head for the elevator. But I kept going. By the time I got to the 9th floor, I was out of breath, my heart was clanking against my ribs, and I felt totally useless. But I didn't give up, and I've been climbing that staircase every day now. And, incrementally, each day it's easier, and I know I grow stronger.

And so it will be with my writing. Coming to the page today was like starting a run after getting to the 9th floor that first day, but already, I am feeling flushed, optimistic, strengthened by the effort.

Pushing onward, determined, I will continue to be a writer.

Tuesday, November 08, 2005

Our Truest Selves

As I was driving to the coffee shop this afternoon, I was struck by the juxtaposition of this scene: A small Asian woman--slim, lithe, very petite--walking an enormous dog. It looked to be a Great Dane in shape, though with the spots and coloring of a Dalmatian, and it was just huge and potent and well-muscled. A strong dog. Its body was at least as high as her ribcage, and its head probably close to equivalent with her shoulders.

She was small and it was huge.

And I was struck by how dangerous the dog might have been, how easily, with the right temperament or provocation, the dog might turn and use its square jaw and shearing teeth on a body like that, and how quickly a body like that would yield to that animal's inherent power.

But then I looked at that dog's face: Carefree, tongue lolling out the side of its mouth, happy, and yes, even a little dumb. And I thought: How in the world did an animal with that kind of power get domesticated? And further: Is the dog even aware that it is an animal with that kind of power?

What's the point of all this, you ask? Well, I recently saw a movie called "What the Bleep Do We Know?" and while it is a bit of a New Age fest, it was also provocative and engaging and inspiring, in the way that New Age stuff can be. (If it wasn't, the New Age would have died out a long time ago.) There was a lot of talk about what we think we're capable of, and how that leads us to live lives of routine and negativity--an "I can't do that," or "I'm just hopelessly neurotic," etc. kind of thinking.

But what I'm wondering is this: What if we're domesticated like that dog, unaware of our inherent strength and ability? What if we're happy and fat and comfortable--which is fine for some of us--but for the ones that feel a need for a greater purpose or a more complete freedom--what if that comfort and domestication is the thing that makes us think we're powerless to do anything about it? What if we're huge, potent Great Danes and we have no awareness of it?

Obviously I'm not really speaking on a physical level, though I'm sure that could apply too. The firewalkers and the Eastern stuff--like breaking bricks or boards with a karate chop--is evidence of this, but what I'm really interested in is the mental/spiritual stuff. The voice that says: I'm not a good writer, or I could never make a film. Where does that voice come from? Because it is possible--people do it--and so obviously we have inherent power to create and achieve, but we often have no faith in it.

I wonder how complete the domestication is for that dog. If it were threatened, would all those layers of submission fall away? Would the dog's fighting instinct materialize when needed? Or would it turn away, whimper and cower?

I think that some of us fall into the former category and some the latter. Some, when threatened with illness or mortality suddenly shrug off their fears and engage their potentials, finally aware that they are divinely capable of so much more than they thought, while others find themselves terrified to face the weight that such capability places upon them, and so they turn away, give up and wither, waiting for their days to end easily and painlessly.

I have never been so tested, so it is conjecture, but if I am, I hope to find myself in the former category. But why should it take such a threat? I am challenging myself, and any who read this, to become more fully aware of the powers inherent in each of us, and to learn to harness them to the lives that are the best expressions of our truest selves.