This post has nothing to do with today’s Daily Post prompt, ghoulish, but I wanted to end my month-long self-challenge to blog every day with a link to the Daily Post since so many of you who commented and liked my posts came through this portal.
What did I learn from engaging this self-challenge?
First, it was an exercise in finding connections. I was able to find some kind of relationship between the daily prompts and my imagination, even though at times that connection was tenuous and convoluted. Usually I wrote these posts sometime between 6 am and the time I started the day job. At the very least, I proved to myself that the synapses can still fire even that early in the morning.
Secondly, I learned to expect the unexpected with regard to the responses. For example, yesterday’s post about “Fluff” was a piece of drivel in my opinion, yet it got more likes than any other of my blog posts in the last month. Then there were other posts that I thought were pretty darn good — which hardly got a look. I think my Inner Critic has gone on a bender because my writing instincts have become a bit skewed.
Third, I reinforced my commitment to write every day. The writing has become every bit as much a morning spiritual practice as has my yoga, meditation, and reading.
What’s next? I am still going to be writing every day but not necessarily through blogging. I have some personal writing that has gone long unattended, and I also want to work on my drumming and photography.
Oh, who am I kidding? If a prompt floats my boat, I’ll still be posting!
Thanks again. And Happy Halloween!!!!
“An onomatopoeia is a word that phonetically imitates, resembles or suggests the sound that it describes.”*
Words like buzz, creak, gurgle, snap, sniff, snore, and slurp are all onomatopoeia.
Here is a long list of onomatopoeia.
Surprisingly, I don’t see the word “fluff” on it. That’s odd because to me “fluff” is the sound you hear when you toss a pillow and punch the sides to add some air to the inner stuffing. “Fluff, fluff, fluff.” It has an empty and muffled quality to it– much like this post — which is a piece of fluff.
Sorry, that’s all I got today. 😳
ljg (c) 2017
Candles in the Dark
I am quite ashamed of myself. I made an agreement with myself that I would become involved with a daily self-assessment practice. My plan was to take a few minutes each day to write in my journal an inventory of my behaviors, both good and bad. If I had been unkind that day or morally failed to step up to the plate in some situation, I would note that in my journal so that I could own it, make an amend if necessary, and in general try to improve myself.
In addition to confessing faults, I would also note those things for which I have gratitude.
I have a roof over my head, food on my plate, clothes on my back, and an income. I live in a place where I am relatively safe, there are people who care for me, and in some small way I am making an impact in the world. I am more fortunate than 99% of the rest of the world.
Yet I consistently fail to state that gratitude for what has been provided to me.
That selfish, self-absorbed, center-of-the-universe attitude — well, I own it. It is mine. And I need to excise it from my life.
One way that I will deal with this is to get back on track with writing a daily examen. Let this be the first entry:
Thank you, Lord, for the opportunity.
Like most people, I have preferences. I prefer a regular over decaf, I prefer air-conditioning over sitting in the sweltering room, and I would definitely prefer to have more money.
But here’s the problem: the desire for things or situations slowly takes over my thinking. That continual “wanting” and not getting eventually makes me one miserable person.
On the other hand, let’s say I did acquire everything I want, I know that I would either be ungrateful for it, or would realize that it doesn’t really make me happy, or would become disinterested in it and decide that I prefer something else. Then I’m back to my first point and the cycle begins all over again.
It is called “lack of contentment.”
I’ve heard that the Buddha said that the greatest wealth was contentment. I know that Paul told the Christians at Philippi “… for I have learned how to be content with whatever I have.”
When wise people like this make such comments, it stands to reason that perhaps I might take heed.
So let me just say that I:
Prefer to be wise,
so that I may be content
so that I may be happy.
A writer could examine “orange” in a number of ways: as a sweet, juicy type of fruit, as a prison uniform, as the aftermath of a bad trip to a tanning salon. A writer might describe orange as an emotion — not as angry as red nor as happy as yellow. Orange is confident … or orange is sickly… it depends on your frame of mind.
A good writer can convey this visual through words. However, I am a photographer as well so I’m just going to show it:
Sunrise over the Gundo
ljg (c) 2015, 2017
Surreal is one of the words that is often misapplied, in my opinion. It means “marked by the intense irrational reality of a dream”*
I hear it used by the news media to describe current events. Indeed the rapid succession of fires, floods, storms, and temblors, the idea that WWIII will start at any moment, the incomprehensible and dangerous behavior of our elected leaders, the depths of moral depravity that many have willingly entered, and the illogical belief that apples are bananas and real news is “fake news” seems utterly irrational and make us think that we are part of some bizarre collective dream. It is not surprising then that the word “surreal” is bandied about.
But I will let you in on a little secret: it’s not surreal. It IS real. And it bites.
The sooner we get out of a state of denial that dictates that this is some nightmare that will evaporate when we wake up, the sooner we can get to work to fix things.
I think many of us need a cold bucket of water in the face.
ljg (c) 2017
Today’s Daily Post prompt is Identity. My first thought was that I would write a little biographical sketch. How easy is that? Not so much, it would seem.
At first I thought I would list where I come from, where I live, who my ancestors were, what culture embraces me, et cetera; that I am a daughter, sister, cousin, friend, child of the Most High, et cetera; what I do for a living; that I am a writer, drummer, home cook, artist, photographer, et cetera; that I like natural history, astronomy, literature, psychology, et cetera.
Then it occurred to me that my identity seems to be wrapped up in demographics, relationships, vocational pursuits, and all the et ceteras. These external realities don’t really convey who I am. Who am I internally? How would I describe my spirit, my soul, my psyche? Does she have name?
I realize that I need to give this some thought.
ljg (c) 2017
Isn’t she pretty?
If you have wondered why I use the pelican as my avatar, a trademark of a sort, it comes from an encounter I had with a pelican a few years ago.
Pelicans are actually indigenous creatures where I live, but I never saw one while growing up. DDT and other pesticides had killed them off, but when those substances were banned, they made a comeback. One day while I was hiking along a sea bluff, I came across a juvenile or a female — it’s hard to tell which– perched on the railing. She did not startle when I approached. Had I wanted to I could have reached out and touched her. Instead I just marveled at such a magnificent creature. Right then she became a symbol to me of one coming back from the brink. Whenever my creative spirit feels crushed I think of her.
The picture above is the actual pelican I encountered.
I have other “trademarks” — ravens, the moon, the sun, stars, and dancers — but I always seemed to come back to the pelican.
ljg (C) 2017
I don’t know which is worse: the high-pitched shriek of a child in full melt-down or the sound of thirty or more Harleys as the local biker club goes roaring down my street. Though I simply move away from the screaming child, upon the bikers I heap colorful invectives urging them to drive their bikes en masse off the end of a pier.
What is worst is when there is a cacophony of noise. For example, I knew a person who liked to listen to one type of sporting event on a radio while watching another sporting event on the television all the while trying to have a conversation with two or three other people in the room.
I think I did go mad during that episode.
The worst noise pollution I heap on myself when I turn on the cable news outlets and watch the talking heads screaming over each other about the current antics in Washington. Why do I do that to myself?
I must be a masochist.
ljg (c) 2017
As I have stated many times in the past, I think it is vital to a writer’s life that she or he write every day.
Just as doing a cardio workout or a strength-building regimen on a daily basis would keep a person physically healthy, writing every day keeps a writer’s skills toned and in shape.
Writing for a few minutes every day also helps the writer gain insight. That insight can be on anything from the writer’s personal life to the broader world where solutions to social and political problems may find their way into a finished essay.
Sometimes the insight comes slowly. Fragments of thought become words, words develop into plots, characters come to life and stories are born..
Sometimes just putting the first word on the paper will flip a switch and light will suddenly illuminate the imagination.
That being said, once again I give my admonition to write on a regular basis and write often.