thoughts on today

It's hard to celebrate a holiday that sometimes encourages indulgence. I love having a chance to gather with friends and family to enjoy each others' presence, but secretly inside I still have a difficult time. This morning I've been continuing to watch news reports about the situation in Mumbai. It's difficult to watch, and then continue on to celebrate today with people that I love. Who am I to be so blessed to have today to celebrate with others, knowing those whom I love are safe and unharmed today. I'm inclined to downplay my joy, and downplay my thankfulness, but I know it would be wrong. So, in light of Thanksgiving, and in light of the terror and grief and pain taking place in Mumbai, Darfur, and the Congo, I must claim the love and joy and peace I have today. Nothing reminds me of this more than one of my favorite poems....so for the third time on my blog, please enjoy...

A Brief for the Defense

Sorrow everywhere. Slaughter everywhere. If babies
are not starving someplace, they are starving
somewhere else. With flies in their nostrils.
But we enjoy our lives because that's what God wants.
Otherwise the mornings before summer dawn would not
be made so fine. The Bengal tiger would not
be fashioned so miraculously well. The poor women
at the fountain are laughing together between
the suffering they have known and the awfulness
in their future, smiling and laughing while somebody
in the village is very sick. There is laughter
every day in the terrible streets of Calcutta,
and the women laugh in the cages of Bombay.
If we deny our happiness, resist our satisfaction,
we lessen the importance of their deprivation.
We must risk delight. We can do without pleasure,
but not delight. Not enjoyment. We must have
the stubbornness to accept our gladness in the ruthless
furnace of this world. To make injustice the only
measure of our attention is to praise the Devil.
If the locomotive of the Lord runs us down,
we should give thanks that the end had magnitude.
We must admit there will be music despite everything.
We stand at the prow again of a small ship
anchored late at night in the tiny port
looking over to the sleeping island: the waterfront
is three shuttered cafés and one naked light burning.
To hear the faint sound of oars in the silence as a rowboat
comes slowly out and then goes back is truly worth
all the years of sorrow that are to come.

— Jack Gilbert

directions.

some things never change.

money and sex.

"You show me your view on money and sexuality and I'm pretty sure I can tell you where your faith lies."



Don, by way of Steve.

everyhumanhasrights.org

"It is kindness and generous accommodation that are the catalyst for real change."

(video embedded)

words and names and self-fullfilling prophecies

When you tell someone about themselves, they believe you.

Identity is so fragile. When you name someone, they hear you. They beleive you.

When you tell someone they are "too much" of this, or "not enough" of that, they'll believe you.

And when you catch yourself saying of yourself, "Here I go again" or, "Like I always do", it's because someone wrote that script for you. Someone told you what you were like, and you believed them. You're still reading from that script.

When you tell someone, "You'll always be like that", they will.

I have a no-name-calling rule. If you call me a name, it won't sit well. I won't call you a name; and 99% of the time I won't even call you a name in jest.

Even the worst listeners you know will give you their full and complete attention if you're defining them. Most of my identity is derived from what people have said about me. You are not excused from this, either.

There's always a lot said about how God's words are so powerful that God was able to speak something into existence. We're really not all that far behind.

a little Robert Frost for your evening:

This poem is totally and completely brilliant. It, of course, humors the romantic in me. I love everything about it.

The Telephone

"When I was just as far as I could walk
From here to-day,
There was an hour
All still
When leaning with my head against a flower
I heard you talk.
Don't say I didn't, for I heard you say -
You spoke from that flower on the window sill -
Do you remember what it was you said?"

"First tell me what it was you thought you heard."

"Having found the flower and driven a bee away,
I leaned my head,
And holding by the stalk,
I listened and I thought I caught the word -
What was it? Did you call me by my name?
Or did you say -
Someone said 'Come' - I heard it as I bowed."

"I may have thought as much, but not aloud."

"Well, so I came."

It's not always going to be like this.

If you've spoken with me in the past few months for even the smallest amount of time, you're probably aware of my growing issue with the lack of seasons in southern California. I know, I blog about it like once a week. I twitter about it.

Yes Julie, we hear you.

Today I'm happy to inform you that I am not here to be an ever-revolving broken record. No, I'm not just writing this blog to take another swing at the gong. Yes, that's right, today I am here with an answer.

Well, 75% true. The beginnings of an answer.

I've recently reconnected with a former co-student from my Cornerstone days. Everyone, meet Asher. Asher, meet everyone. It's a shame Asher and I were only acquaintances with mutual friends, because as it turns out, she's a fountain of wisdom.

Incidentally, somewhere in that fountain of wisdom is the answer to why I've had such a difficult time with missing out on fall. Because my dear Californians, I don't care what time of year the calendar insists it is, I will not listen when the weather forecast still includes the number "90" in it.

You see, Asher has pointed out the message of the changing seasons. In her words, "...change is a sign of progression; things will not always be as they are now."

Ah. Now I understand.

I remember the first time I heard my brother, Josh, say, "Things are not always going to be this way." It struck me so deeply. I mean that's it, right? That's what we spend our lives trying to find. That's the message we're always hoping to hear. We over-analyze conversations and actions; we try with every last ounce of energy to rearrange memories until they tell us what we're longing to hear. And if, through our most sincere efforts, we're unable to manipulate anyone or anything into telling us, "It's not always going to be this way", then we start eavesdropping. Maybe you'll hear it in passing. Maybe you'll see proof of it, and know, and perhaps that would suffice. Perhaps that will hold you over.

I never realized how trained I've become to look to the seasons for a reminder of this truth: it's not always going to be this way.

I need to know that circumstances aren't static. I need to know that relationships, finances, stress and schedules aren't static. I need to be reminded that there is a rhythm. An ebb and a flow. I need to know that two months from now, life will be different. And two months after that. And two months after that.

Truthfully, without these reminders, I feel a deep sense of disorientation.

However, I chose to come here. And I like it here. A lot. Of course, I know I don't have to live here forever. But I'm not interested in talking about next year, or five years from now, or twenty years from now. I'm interested in talking about this afternoon. How do I know, today, that things aren't always going to be this way?

Where do I look? What should I be listening for?

I don't know where to start, but I'm going to start. I'm tired of poetic musings, and attractive ideals to admire and affirm from a distance. I need to know, for me, in a tangible way, things are not always going to be this way.

It's not always going to be like this.

I'll take it!

Some things you just cannot argue with.

read:

I was flipping through an old book, trying to find a specific part, when I stumbled upon this part.

"I have searched frantically for contentment for so many years in so many ways, and all these acquisitions and accomplishments--they run you down in the end. Life, if you keep chasing it so hard, will drive you to death. Time--when pursued like a bandit--will behave like one.

Letting go, of course, is a scary enterprise for those of us who believe that the world revolves only because it has a handle on the top of which we personally turn, and that if we were to drop this handle for even a moment, well--that would be the end of the universe. But try dropping it. Watch what happens. The birds do not crash dead out of the sky in mid-flight, after all. Life continues to go on.

I hear this argument and it appeals to me. I believe in it, intellectually. I really do. But then I wonder--with all my restless yearning, with all my hyped-up fervor and with this stupidly hungry nature of mine--what should I do with my energy, instead?

That answer arrives, too:

Look for God, suggests my Guru. Look for God like a man with his head on fire looks for water."

more thoughts on being and/or not being an artist:

My friend Bob responded to my last post where I begged the question: what deems someone an artist?

I find his answer holds quite a bit of merit, not only for myself but also as I consider its relevance in the lives of some of my closest friends.

I suspect one is an artist because one can find no other way to articulate who one is inwardly. If one can find another way, one should, because the life of an artist sucks. (And is unspeakably full of wonder.) I'm pretty sure at a certain point in life (adolescence, probably) one has become an artist-type whether one likes it or not. You can no longer just work in a bank. You are cursed / blessed, because something happened to you back when - something you probably can't even put a finger on - and it was probably something sad, based on a deeply sensitive kid being disappointed. When you're a kid the stories they tell paint the world as it should be - not as it is - which hurts to discover. But then, somehow, mysteriously, you learn to believe.

It seems to reinforce my idea that the most cynical people I know are also the most hopeful. I never realized until now that the most cynical people I know are, in fact, some of the most creative people I know. There is a lot of correlation to be considered, though I wouldn't rely on any of it being factual.

Perhaps this is where we come up with words like "tortured" to describe artists.

It's the internal cycle of insecurity and perceived worthlessness with something inside that won't die and is often only capable of saying one thing, in whatever way it can manifest itself: "I can't quit. I can't quit. I can't quit."

10 things

I can name at least 10 things in this photograph that make me sad:


1. My new nephew, Lorens, is there. I am not.
2. My brother and bonus sister are there. I am not.
3. My parents are there. I am not.
4. Look at the leaves. Just look at 'em.
5. They are at Robinette's Apple Farm.
6. That means there is fresh cider in at least one of those foam cups.
7. That also means there are small farm animals nearby, including goats.
8. The short sleeves show that it was not only fall, but not freezing.
9. I will not see any of these people until Christmas.
10. Free food.

creating

The last couple of years have been good for me as an artist, as far as learning how I function goes.

Side note: if you have any insight into what qualifies anyone to be deemed an artist, let me know. A few of us have been wondering. For years.

I've been able to pinpoint what time of day I'm at my most creative, and for me it's 11am to about 4pm. I'm terribly unproductive at 5pm (on the dot, no joke), and then have a second wind about 10pm when I'm lucky. I've learned the obvious, that television is a major creativity killer.
Recently I've been learning a lot about how I create in regard to my surroundings and my perception of how much space I have. I keep having this conversation, trying to figure out how to function in LA where houses are on top of each other. And I'm a lucky one, because I actually get to live in a house, not an apartment building. I've learned that I must fight my inclination to have a messy room, because I can't create well among clutter. Recently I broke down claiming I could no longer stand having a "vibe free room". So I rigged up this bit:

To be fair, my room is fine. I just needed something white, plain, and shiny. I wear mostly black and create best in mostly white surroundings. Let me know if you figure that one out, too.

So, if you need me in the next couple of weeks, I'll be in my little cave. Just cleaned.