Thursday, October 22, 2009
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
Over the past several years, I have found myself in a creative rut. One rarely shows up in a rut aware of their surroundings. It usually takes years of obscure intentions and apathetic aspirations until one morning we wake up and say, "Ummm...what the hell happened here?". That is the definition of my life over the past decade. Not that the years held only regrets, but that the years weren't filled with the little details that make life an experience, not just a passage.
Yes, we grow up. We get jobs. We pay bills. The intrigue of our early years becomes shadowed by the reality of our 'adult' lives. But why, oh why must we lose our passions, our childhood hopes and desires? No. Practicality and reality both instruct us that being an astronaut, rock star, or president may not be the path we were meant to tread upon. However, what makes us choose a life that is based purely on the stresses of adulthood rather than the pleasures? Who is to say that the ability to experience life shouldn't be hindered by but rather be encouraged by our passions? For passion does not have to be a 'hobby'.
Creating used to be an active passion of mine. All forms of art. Sketching, writing, singing, instrumentation....all were a visible part of my youth. Then I grew up. (No worries, my antipathy is directed to myself not adulthood in general.) A few months ago, certain events in my life woke me to the fact I had let everything I held dear to me, go. My lackadaisical outlook over the years had finally added up and it hit me with such a force that left me feeling incompetent and completely debilitated. I had both figuratively and literally silenced my voice, my release, my escape. No longer did my fingers light upon the delicate ivory keys of my piano; vicariously releasing my pent up emotions through Rachmaninoff or Saint Saens. My sketch book laid devoid of etchings. Empty pages of my journal glared with hostile desolation. The most wrenching aspect of this revelation was that I had done this to myself. For no one, not anyone can stifle the desires that lay imbedded in your soul.
Many times we do not realize what we have oppressed until we find ourselves in desperation, longing for something that at one point was a conspicuous part of our lives but is now only the vaguest of memories. That's where I was. In a rut. And not only was I in a rut, I was heartbroken and inundated with so many feelings of loss that I had but one way to emerge from that chasm. I reached out and grabbed a rope, that I believe, had been there all along. It had just been camouflaged as another 'thing' that I had no time or capacity for; another stress of adult life. It was my passion. My piece de resistance.
That figurative rope has given me a new lease on life. An inner-joy that can only be eclipsed by the inner-peace that accompanies pursuing passion.
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
by Lesli Jamison
In leaves that crunch with the memories of the forgotten year;
Longing and desires inundate.
Crisp breezes penetrate summers smothering air;
Here relief and gratitude permeate.
Oh refreshing wind, curtail my thoughts,
Of summer's oppressive heat.
The heat that dredges up the past,
And consumes me with defeat.
Dear breeze of change, sweep clean my heart,
Let the rains of renewal commence.
Falls golden sun and steel gray storms
Beguile the summers torrid countenance
Reap, oh autumn, my ensuing nostalgia,
Left lingering from seasons past.
The memory of a heart broken, a love lost,
Harvest these. Glean these. Sweet relief at last.
Prismatic colors, enchanting hues,
Resplendent trees rejoice!
For life bequeathed and thus decreed
The silence of summers voice.
Thursday, October 15, 2009
Hello. My name is Lesli.....and I read too much. No, seriously.
This thought hit me as I was situating my fourth book into my purse today. Thank God current fashion dictates large purses, otherwise I would be left with a small bag and perhaps only one of my cherished books to keep me company. (Not to mention the fact that Atlast Shrugged, one of my all time favorite novels, would never fit in a clutch.) On the menu for todays reading pleasure: Speaker for the Dead by Orson Scott Card (part of the Enders Game series which is incredibly brilliant), Surprised by Joy by C.S. Lewis (one of the very few books that I will read over and over again), The Bhagavad Gita (Hindu epic), and last but far from least The Romantic Manifesto by Ayn Rand. A little something for whatever mood shall strike. Apparently I am anticipating moods that swing from earthy, Hindu poetry to bugger wars on Lusitania. I have never claimed to be sane. This only fuels that fire.
I have an incorrigible mind that fails to see the severity of escapism. For that is what a book elicits for me; an escape. A beautiful traverse away from the mundane, away from the sad, away from the broken. Not to say I live a mundane, sad existence. I just happen to find beauty in the creation of the written word.
A story lends itself in the most vulnerable of fashions. It allows you to partake of its existence in every sensory way imaginable. It enables you to free yourself and live vicariously, if only for a moment, through the eyes of another. If not for Douglas Adams, I would never have traveled the galaxy with a towel and the knowledge that 42 is THE answer. Jack Kerouac lead me into the seedy alleys of 1950's Denver. Nor would I have sat with the inimitable Kurt Vonnegut reiterating the phrase "so it goes".
Now is the time to end this inspired lunacy. I unashamedly pronounce my self over-read and under-apologetic. Sweet dreams my friends, and just remember, whatever mood may strike, just look in my purse, there is bound to be an adventure waiting for you.
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
Today is the birth of my blog. It took many hours to deliver; its birth was accompanied with screams and groans; its inception was unplanned and its parent is a neurotic, over-bearing, scatterbrained, single-woman. Unnervingly, like so many humanoid births.
Today, I will lay down my trepidation and begin the journey of narrating, both visually and verbally, my thoughts, my heart and my mind regardless of a potential audience's judgment. I pray that my inhibitions be eradicated and my objectives be altruistic.....unlikely but a hope none-the-less.... :)
Today, I acknowledge my hearts desire to unload my itinerant thoughts on the world. Beware world, for once your feet light upon this path, accept being "clearly obfuscated".
Today.....it begins.... :)