Saturday, October 27, 2012

Whence they came

http://fr.freepik.com/photos-libre/plumes-les-poules-plum-plumes-482314.htm
  I often ponder the process of writing and my mind's eye always conjures a mental image of a symphony of sorts, where music, color, texture and emotion all come together in a tapestry.  There is the scientific fact that our brains produce electrical energy, and that each thought and spoken word is eternal.  Radio waves translate our human thoughts into a different type of electrical current that goes out into the cosmos to linger there forever.

When we create, we produce something tangible, born out of our deepest selves.  It's an effort to express the inexpressible.  I don't know that we ever truly can match the wordless images in our minds, but occasionally all the planets align and we hit that sweet spot.  I have experienced a small handful of those moments, when I sit back after reading something I wrote and feel an immense satisfaction that I communicated those inner feelings properly.

In this lifetime, I believe that I was destined to write.  I learned to read at the very young age of three, with daily visits to my maternal grandparents who lived next door to us.  Local banks used to hand out yearly calendars with small gold painted pencils in a clip at the top of the calendar.  My grandmother found those small pencils the ideal size for my wee hands to manipulate.  I would visit in the morning and she and I would make the walk to the mailbox together, stopping frequently along the lengthy driveway to investigate various wonders.  Upon returning with the daily newspaper for my grandfather to read, I would sit on my Granny's lap and she would go through the alphabet with me on scraps of paper.  We would then take sections of the newspaper after Grandpa had finished reading them, and I would learn words from the articles, then I would write short sentences with those small gold painted pencils in the white spaces between the articles.  Pulling recognized words together, Granny and I would create a short story.  I would then transfer my small self over to my Grandpa's lap to read to him what I had created, laboriously trailing my tiny finger over the scribbled words.  By the time I started kindergarten, I had a firm grasp of the rudiments of reading and writing.

I don't believe I've ever looked back since then.  I remember having an almost overpowering urge to read, read, read....everything I could get my hands on.  Throughout elementary and high school years, I wrote many a report and essay, but it didn't occur to me that this would be something from which to create a career.  For some reason, because writing came so easily to me, I didn't consider it as a career option.  It took me a good stretch of years in many iterations of industries to begin retracing my roots and coming back to those elements of childhood.

These days, I am comfortably at home again, deep in the embrace of words and the process of writing.  I write both for work and for personal satisfaction.  I never find a tedium to it.  There are certainly times when the Muse abandons me and I go for long stretches of time remaining silent.  Those stretches of time feel somewhat odd, as though a part of me is missing, but I have learned to not push the process.  Those stretches of silence are necessary, and allow me to tend to other areas of my life for a while.  I come back to the world of writing refreshed and renewed, and the words flow again with color and texture and energy.

This recent renewal cycle, air was my Muse.  The flow of it, how it can whip and tear at the earth, how it can paint patterns upon water, sand, rock and metal.  It can carve expression lines into every object on the planet, given enough time.  This is what came out of my fingertips....

I sat, isolated
looking inwardly
my focus on the cadence of my breath
and the wind teased
prompting me to lift my eyes
and regard the dance before me
my mind stepped up
into the sky
taking bites of the air
plucking harmonies and weaving them
into gossamer, silver-shot plumes
...and leaving them dancing there
whence they came
punctuating the autumn day
with a curious level 
of strength
my own
like unto the wind
invisible
until applied with sureness
carving indelible expressions
emotions from depths
that shape who I am
emotional currents
...revealing in my eyes...wisdom
from a well of experiences
....breath, life, peace...dreams...
swirling now
eddying across my soul
presenting my true Self
....whence it came?
rich and gossamer
silver-shot plumes
...dancing in the air




20 comments:

  1. Beautiful! I'm glad you found your blogging mojo :) xxx

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    1. Natalie, thank you! I'm glad my blogging (and poetry) mojo is back as well. Really glad! Thank you for visiting, sweetheart. :)

      - Dawn

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  2. I know how you feel... I rarely lose the desire to write and when I do... I never worry because once I relax it comes back to me even better. I am glad you are feeling like writing again.. I look forward to your blogs:)

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    1. Launna, that's what works best for me, also. If I push it, what I create never satisfies my critical eye. If I just let it be, eventually the words return. And if I'm fortunate and I do what you do...relax into the writing...true beauty is born from my hands and my spirit. This post really made my heart smile. Thank you for joining me. :)

      - Dawn

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  3. Welcome back to writing. I know what you mean about the creative flow sometimes just needing to take a vacation. It is at it's best when the Inspiration is Upon you. This is when you're writing is at its most powerful. I love writers who come from the heart. I love what came out of your finger tips.xx

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    1. Raven, thank you for the warm welcome back. The summer was a dry, dusty place to traverse for me, full of so much challenge on myriad levels - for me and for those I love - that words failed. They dried up with the painful moments, I guess. Odd that now, during the dry, windy months of autumn that my words have returned. Autumn is always a time of change, I find. I'm happy with what came out of my fingertips as well. :)

      Much love to you,

      - Dawn

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  4. This is beautiful, glad you are writing again. <3

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    1. Jan, thank you. I read back through the post and the poetry each time someone leaves a comment, and I remain happy with this breakthrough. I'm glad others are enjoying it, also. :)

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  5. Of course you were destined to write dear Dawn; you hold the magic in your soul. The story of your learning to read shows that you had partners in that divine plan and purpose for your career ;-) Gotta love that Granny!
    And your poems, they are the deepest expression of who you are. The miracle is that you are not only doing what you were born to do, but you are doing what you love,like in these lines from Rumi…

    Today, like every other day, we wake up empty and frightened. Don't open the door to the study and begin reading. Take down a musical instrument (your poems, words)
    Let the beauty we love be what we do.
    There are hundreds of ways to kneel and kiss the ground.

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    1. My Granny was wonderful, I agree. When my nephews were born, it became clear to me how unusual it was that I was reading & writing at such a young age. It just goes to show, if adults take time to devise an interesting method of learning, children will dive in with eagerness. I look back on that time of my live with such love, because it was part of the foundation of who I am today.

      Rumi...you know he touches my heart regularly! Thank you for sharing this snippet of his, and for sharing your thoughts with me.

      Much love to you!

      - Dawnie

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  6. Aw - I can just see the little girl you sitting on your grandparents' lap. So sweet. What a way to start.

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    1. Anna, it's a very special memory for me and I'm glad I shared it. I imagine it was equally delightful for my grandparents as something to look forward to each day. I was so earnest with those daily lessons, determined to wow the world with my knowledge!! :)

      Now I'm off to see what's going on in your world up north!

      - Dawn

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  7. What a wonderful memory of the time spent (so well, might I add) with your grandparents. It never ceases to amaze me how the seemingly insignificant things which happen when we are very young often lead to what we love for a lifetime.
    And, your poem? Simply breathtaking, dear Dawn!
    So glad to see you back here blogging!
    Blessings to you!

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    1. Martha, it really is fascinating, yes? As Debra mentioned above in her comment, my grandparents had a Divine part in a greater plan for my future. They couldn't have known that time spent with a wee granddaughter would produce a fulfilling career many years down the road, but that's exactly what happened.

      My poetry - I'm glad that you enjoyed this one. I don't share that side of my writing that often, but this one just jumped into written form and demanded to be seen.

      Blessings to you, also, my friend. <3

      - Dawnie

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  8. What a beautiful story! I, too, feel like I was destined to write, at least *something*. I do feel weird when I'm not writing something, like all of that potential energy is there waiting to burst out, but I can't find the release valve for it.

    And I feel immensely accomplished when I do produce something, so I know that it's good.

    I'm so happy to have helped remove the block for you!

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    1. I feel weird during dry spells too, Dave. I don't know - perhaps that's part of the process? To feel the absence of such a cherished friend so that when it/we return, the joy is even brighter and sharper, allowing the words equal clarity as they pour onto the page? I've turned it over in my mind quite often and that's one of the front runners for logic on the topic. Not that creativity has much logic to it, mind you!

      I'm happy we're both back from that infernal limbo stage. :)

      - Dawnie

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  9. Some people go a lifetime without really feeling true passion towards something, without really feeling "home"..where their thoughts, hearts, intentions all align and become focused and streamlined, purposeful. You definitely have a gift, and you are so blessed to truly recognize that!

    I loved hearing about your early childhood memories with your grandparents. Precious times!

    I could relate to these lines:

    "There are certainly times when the Muse abandons me and I go for long stretches of time remaining silent. Those stretches of time feel somewhat odd, as though a part of me is missing, but I have learned to not push the process."

    Great post! :)

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    1. Jessica, it's a curious thing, when something that came so easily at such a young age turns out to be the most intrinsic part of us. Each time I have strayed from writing to do other things, I haven't necessarily been unhappy. I've thrived in different career iterations, but writing is what feels the most authentic and natural to me. It's also a bit odd to do something for work and also live with it as enjoyment and hobby on the sidelines, but somehow I just never tire of it. Writing here at Healing Morning allows me a different canvas for creating.

      I'm glad this post struck a common chord for you; I daresay all writers, all creative souls, for that matter, can relate to the Muse remaining silent at times.

      Thank you for visiting! :)

      Namaste',

      Dawn

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  10. beautiful expressions.. choice of words is impeccable..

    u write rally well.. keep on writing..

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    1. Deepak, thank you for the kind words! This was one of my favorite moments of recent writing, so I'm happy you enjoyed it. :)

      Namaste',

      Dawn

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