The Duality of the Storm

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I have had some great feedback from a few people who wonder how my more positive posts can actually qualify as “writing from the shadow.” One way or another, the general gist of the conversation goes something like this: “Life is not all positive. In fact, for myself and others it is the exact opposite. ‘Life sucks and then you die,’ and there is nothing you can do about that.” This is how they see the “shadow” metaphor playing out.

I completely understand where they are coming from. But here’s another way of looking at this:

In a philosophy class I took a few years ago, entitled “Optimimism and Pessimism: A Philosophical Inquiry,” this topic was tackled in studying what a historical span of various philosophers and thinkers had to say on this dichotomy. At the beginning of the class, we were asked to identify which camp we fell into (or whether we were a mixture of the two).  What I found the most interesting was how several people identified themselves as optimists precisely because they were natural pessimists. As one student said, who was prone to depression: “If I didn’t choose to be optimistic, I would put a gun to my head.” For him, optimism was a choice he made to deal with the difficulties in his life, but it was not based on “hiding his head in the sand”  pretending that these difficulties didn’t exist.

One of the thinkers we studied during the class was Dr. Viktor Frankl, who built his life’s work around a similar idea.  Dr. Frankl was a Jewish psychiatrist and neurologist living in Vienna at the time of World War II.  Dr. Frankl was imprisoned in Auschwitz and endured incredible suffering, including the deaths of his wife, his parents, and most of his family. Based on these experiences, Dr. Frankl called himself a “tragic optimist,” – one who is well aware of the darkness of life but who has chosen to transcend it by finding meaning and purpose in it.  (To learn more about Dr. Frankl, see my earlier blog post about him from last spring).

While I have thankfully not suffered anywhere near what Dr. Frankl has, I have experienced other kinds of hardships, including a difficult childhood that left its mark on my psyche, and almost losing one of my children from a childhood illness that left her with a complex seizure disorder and lifelong developmental disabilities.  Yet I have also seen beauty and meaning come from these experiences, and that is what this blog is about: a reflection of both aspects of life—the difficult and the transcendent.  To find meaning in hardship is not easy. However I am compelled to try, most often from and with the strength of love, in all its many forms.  I am also compelled to do it because my soul and spirit fought to transcend it, often inexplicably, in spite of my own emotions and inclination to despair. Even within my own nature, I find this duality wage its war.

The storm picture used to illustrate the meaning of this blog (pictured above and to the right) also symbolize the dual aspects of life:  the churning waves crashing against the bench on one side, while giving way to the calm waters on the other side. And likewise, the black storm clouds on the left begin to break on the right, revealing the sunlight as the storm is abating.

This is what I write about in this blog. I write not only to find the sun in the storm, but the gifts hidden within it – within me – within us all, as we are faced with making sense of our lives and the responses we need to make in facing its very real challenges. I also do it to lift myself from the logical despair that can come from experiencing tragedy or other difficulties that make no sense at all at the time (and perhaps never will).  I also do it in case it might help someone else, just as other people have helped me when writing of their own suffering.

I truly understand where those who gave their feedback are coming from. I actually have felt the way they do at times. Yet my , but my soul and art continually compel me to find meaning in those experiences and perhaps transcend them.  It is that which fuels my life, art, and purpose.  And most of all, it is how I find healing and meaning in it.

Please share your thoughts on this subject: I would love to hear from you.

Photo of storm clouds and waves image used above and in the Blog header is the work of photographer Jason Swain, and is used by permission. To see more of Jason’s excellent work, click on the link below: http://www.jasonswain.co.uk/.

The Writing Oasis

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I never realized how difficult it is to blog regularly.  I know that we bloggers are advised to write regularly and often–all for very smart reasons.  For me, though, it is more a “quality rather than quantity” equation:  I just don’t feel I have anything of import to say that merits posting so frequently.  My mind is constantly thinking, of course, so it isn’t the problem of having nothing to think on or ponder about. Life certainly supplies a fresh batch of ideas every day even if my internal reflections aren’t exactly acting the muse.

On the face of it, that’s nothing to worry about.  There is a lot of life to live, and if a writer is out experiencing it rather than chained to their laptop, I think it makes us happier and healthier, or at least more balanced.  On the other hand (as I’ve written here before), if there are too many distractions taking you away from writing, that’s an imbalance too.  A writer who is not consistently writing is an unhappy person.  There’s also the discipline of it — a workout to your soul that is similar to the benefits brought to your body by physical workouts.

I need to remind myself about this by analogy – just as a walk around the block is better than nothing at all when it comes to physical exercise, writing something, no matter how small, has the same benefits to my mind and heart.  This daily writing exercise is something that most successful writers say they had to train themselves to do. Perhaps if I did that, I would open up the floodgates and brilliant pieces of writing would rush out … okay, maybe not.  But that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t experience some benefit.

However, this post is not just about repeating advice that most writers have heard a dozen times.  I wanted to add another take on this subject.  It is not simply that I have avoided the discipline of daily writing because I don’t want to write or embrace my ADD and refuse to focus on anything for more than two minutes.  The main reason I inexplicably avoid something I really love to do is: I run.   I run from writing because I am not ready to go that deep into what I am thinking.  It essentially is running from myself.

It isn’t that I am frightened of what I will find, but because it is just a bad habit.  Writing takes up a lot of time, and while I love it —  it requires me to open up my heart, my mind, my life, and my soul.  It requires me sacrificing other things I would rather do so that I don’t have to dig deep.  It requires that I discipline myself to step away from all the things I worry and think about on a regular basis.  It is much easier to switch on the TV, watch a movie, or find a million other distractions.  But all that is a substitute for thinking and creating, and not nearly as satisfying.  You would think the choice would be a “no-brainer,” but it is not that easy for me.

So the point I am trying to make throughout all of this is … there are times to get out and experience all that life has to offer, to be with the people we love, and to feel the sun on our face and move our bodies out in the wilds of nature, or the urban jungle, wherever your playground is.  But there is a time to quiet the distractions and come home to your writer-self.  There’s an oasis there that is just as important to find as anything else we seek.  In fact, wandering aimlessly in the desert of distraction can run your soul and heart dry.  It’s time to replenish and find out what the waters of the writer-self has in mind — and it never fails to surprise me how little I know about me.   It’s time to stop running and start writing.

Image credit (royalty free): http://www.dreamtime.com

The Work at Hand

“I find myself most drawn to art that has arisen from a deeply personal conversation between the artist and the work at hand. It is art that walks perilously close to the Edge, that crosses the river of blood into the Faerie, that flies so high it is scorched by the sun, and then returns to tell the tale to us.  It is art that needed to be written, or painted, or sung, or woven, or otherwise shaped.  It is art gifted by the Mystery to the maker, and then in turn, gifted to us.”

— Terri Winding

“All you have to do is write one true sentence. Write the truest sentence that you know. Writing is nothing.  You just sit at the typewriter and bleed.”

— Ernest Hemingway

Using Hemingway’s metaphor, we know that open wounds bleed and so do open souls:  creating works of art that flow from the deepest parts of ourselves and of life.  Whether our creating begins with “writing the truest sentence we know,” as Hemingway so brilliantly instructs us to do,”or walking over the river of blood” as Winding describes in her beautiful metaphors, we write our truth.

There have been times in my life when I wrote from those places of despair.  As I have said before, they could also be portals of inspiration and healing despite their rigor.  Other times I wrote from the opposite end of the spectrum: happy, joyous, celebratory times, which also inspired me to write.  There were also rare and special times when inspiration would seemingly come from nowhere, like the rush of an incoming tide, leaving in its wake a flood of words on paper that flowed easily and almost effortlessly.

These are the times when, as mystical as it may seem, I feel as if I am being guided from a Source outside myself: yet its voice and medium are my own experience and understanding, like the liturgical metaphor of the connection between bone and marrow.  During these times I feel as if the creative process is almost like an act of worship, but not in the traditional sense of the word.  Rather, it is a journey, where I travel the outermost reaches of my soul and find God there waiting. Others will call their creative experience something entirely different, and it is right that they do: there is no single definition for the creative process, unique as it is to each writer or artist.  Perhaps we all draw from the same Source, I don’t know; but each time we create we give ourselves a glimpse of what is possible.

I wish I could have these mystical experiences every day, but of course I don’t.  Those times are wonderful, absolutely, but much more common is the simple day-to-day discipline of writing, the choice to create as an act of will and heart.  I struggle a lot — writing this particular post being one of those times.  I felt like I couldn’t put two cohesive thoughts together.  My Inner Bitch was urging me to skip writing this week and “apologize to the entire Blogosphere for having the audacity to post this piece of crap.”  :)   Life is messy; writing sometimes is too.  And so I write from this particular part of my own shadow, stare that Bitch down and write … anyway.  As Jack London once said, “You can’t always wait for inspiration, you have to go after it with a club.”

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Many bestselling authors admit they still struggle with self doubt despite their success.  I found that comforting. In his book, On Writing: A Memoir of the Craft, Stephen King mentions how he will work feverishly for as long as it takes to get everything out that he wants to say before he will go back and edit.  He said if he stops before he gets all of it out, his self-doubt will kick in and he then finds it hard to finish.  In the closing paragraph of his book, he wrote of the hope that what he wrote will give his readers the “permission slip” to go out there and just do it:

“You can, you should, and if you’re brave enough to start, you will. Writing is magic, as much the water of life as any other creative art.  The water is free.  So drink.  Drink and be filled up.”  

Stephen King’s encouragement reminded me of a similar quote from Goethe, written over two hundred years ago:

“Whatever you can do or dream you can, begin it. Boldness has genius, power and magic in it.”

As writers and artists, we can wait for those splendid divine moments or we can write our way into them.  Either way is a gift.  Hemingway’s timelessly beautiful advice on “writing the truest sentence we know,” is a writer’s best first step.  That truest thought begins the conversation that Winding says is “between the artist and the work at hand.”  Begin: write from the shadow, “walk the Edge,” “cross over the river of blood into the Faerie,” or “fly so high you are scorched by the sun;” –but however you do it,  just begin.  And wherever that first step of truth may take you, please “return to tell the story” of that Divine conversation you found along the way.  We are as hungry to participate in that conversation as you are to create it.

Photo Sources (in order of appearance):

Photographer: Glores.  http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Computer_keyboard.gif

Photographer: Zaui/Scott Catron.  http://www.flickr.com/photos/zaui/4455991107/in/photostream/

Photographer: Weinstock.  http://pixabay.com/en/hand-child-paint-play-colorful-93168/

Artist:  Winslow Homer. http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Incoming_Tide,_Scarboro_Maine_by_Winslow_Homer,_1883.png

Photographer: Katara. katara1439.deviantart.com

Artist: Sarah Klockers-Clauser. https://www.flickr.com/photos/sarabbit/4549185468/

Photographer: Chandra Spitzer. http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:M82_Chandra_HST_Spitzer.jpg