What We Don’t Speak Of…..is what Ive been up to. Well, this and I’ve been finishing the final revision of book three of The Mercy Series…. while also working on this new Non-Fiction book, writing a little bit each day.
Today I created a page for this new book on my website. I’ve uploaded part of the preface and a comment box for feedback.
I would LOVE for you to pop by, have a read, and leave a comment about what you think. It would mean a lot to me and the feedback would be invaluable. ❣
If interested, this is the link: https://www.cynthiaamorganauthor.com/upcoming-projects
Though Shatters of Silence resound
with the Clangor of tympanic Resonance;
My Thoughts are fixed, Entranced upon You
through the Melancholy Dissonance.
Happenstance stands on the Precipice,
Waiting on Decision’s final Charade,
But Plans well laid, Unfaltering Tempt
And I Follow through the Dizzying Parade.
There was a small village, smack in the middle of nowhere. While the rest of the world updated their Facebook pages, Tweeted, LinkedIn, texted, posted, and multi-tasked at a pace even Data from the Enterprise would find impressive, this tiny island of inhabitation, cohabitation and harmony went on in blissful serenity. Isolated from the modern economy by miles of wilderness and separated from the modern culture of Want, Avarice, Greed, and Self-Promotion, this community set its standards for excellence by different measures.
Led by a Chief who was the most honorable of men, who was just and merciful, caring and compassionate, yet strict in his moral code, the people of the village lived in a collective accord with each other and with nature. They shared their wealth, as well as their poverty, equally; they worked together for the prosperity of all and, when needs arose outside their sphere of influence they would make appeals to their Chief to provide for them.
One day a young man, who was recently married and whose wife was with child, came to the Chief with a request of pressing urgency. Sitting down at the fire with this young man, the Chief listened carefully to his concerns without interruption, his kindly expression filled with understanding and patience. The young man, however, was fretful, distracted, impatient and tense, and repeatedly rose from his place at the fire to pace around the room or go to the door and stare anxiously outward, his emotions ruling his thoughts and logic.
It was not a simple request he was making. What he needed was not something to be found within the limits of the village and the price of collecting it was costly. Nevertheless, the Chief listened, understood, and assured the young man he would work diligently on acquiring the item, regardless of how long it took. He asked the young man to wait until he sent word to him that he had what it was he asked for and could come back to get it. Agitated and unappeased, the young man went away.
The following week the young man returned. His countenance was shaken; his nerves were frazzled. He asked the Chief all over again for the item, repeating much of what he had already said, never giving the Chief a moment to assure him that the process of acquisition was already taking place and it would not be long until it would be shipped to the village. Overwrought by worry, the young man begged insistently, growing angry when the Chief tried to explain the simple fact that, although the man’s request had been heard, it was still being worked on; the young man would have to wait just a bit longer.
Another week passed and no message came from the Chief to tell the young man the item had arrived. Thoroughly vexed, the young man decided to set out on his own for the towns, miles away through savage wilderness, with little money in his pocket. He did not know how he would attain the item he needed, but he carried with him a blade that would protect him from harm as well as convince those who sold the item of his urgent need. He left his home, his wife, his unborn child, his village and his chief.
The very next day word came to his hut that the Chief requested him to come to his tent at the center of the village. The item of his desire had finally arrived; the Chief had worked tirelessly, night and day, to raise funds so it could be purchased, packaged carefully, shipped and he now stood with the delicate, beautiful treasure in his hands, awaiting the young man’s arrival so he could give it to him and they could celebrate together.
The young man, however, did not come. He was lost in the wilderness, miles away, and did not know that the answer to his prayers was waiting for him and that all he had to do was come and receive it.
Beautiful artwork courtesy of: http://www.themothersprayer.com
An argument is the longest distance between two points of view.
No one is able to stand up indefinitely under the weight of carrying a grudge.
Faith is taking the first step
Even when you don’t see the whole staircase.
-Martin Luther King, Jr.
Just a few thoughts I stumbled across and wanted to share…
Images found on Google plus
Grasping, clinging, creeping, sneaking,
Climbing toward the heights for peaking,
Snatching the light, encompassing the host,
Staking its claim to brag and to boast.
The Kudzu claims the entrepreneurial prize,
Though a simple vine to human eyes.
When Daylight fades on the sill of the world,
And the Sweet Kiss of Moonlight seeks my face,
It is Then I feel Your presence closest to my heart
And know the Joy of Your lightest Touch.
When the Spangled Night is caressed by stars,
And Tranquil zephyrs Intoxicate my Senses,
It is Then I feel the Warm Touch of Your lips
And Shiver in the heat of Your Love’s Devotion.
When the night lark Sings to the Glistening Dawn,
And Venus in her orbit Traces the Ebon Night,
It is Then I Know Your Heart was made for mine,
And Weep in Love’s All Encompassing Splendor
Beautiful Image found on Googleplus
(A rewind post from 2013)
I need some BnV!
Yes, you heard me, I need some BnV. I don’t honestly think I can live without it. (Book and Volume that is.)
I must confess since I began writing this blog, (which, if I continue confessing I wasn’t entirely sure about starting off with,) I have found myself wanting to write more and more and more and more, found I have far greater inspiration than I’ve had in years, and found an unparalleled sense of accomplishment in “seeing” (so to speak) that others find my particular form of creativity (or madness, whichever you feel is more relevant) enjoyable, interesting, amusing or, at the very least, frighteningly intriguing. (Perhaps you’ve had a similar experience with yours?) Well, let’s face it, BnV does have a certain indescribable quality about it that makes you scoff, shake your head, and yet, come back for more. (yeah, it has that affect on me too!)
But to come back to my original point, in the past 25 days (I know, just 25 days!) (yes, I agree, its seems longer) (you may choose to insert interminable here…) I have found such pleasure in writing again that it’s hard to put into words….which is a bit of a conundrum given that writing is, after all, the crux here. I’ve often wondered how writers can lock themselves away from the rest of the world, eat little, talk less, and simply immerse themselves in their craft, letting the world go on without them, little caring, little worrying (maybe), but I no longer wonder about that. Now it is me (or, to be grammatically correct, should that be I?) who finds herself wishing she could do the aforementioned: forget the world, the job, the tedious responsibilities of life (though not the cat!), lock herself away from all resort (rather like Ophelia) (sorry, I did it again, but don’t let me deviate into Shakespeare… just yet!) and write until I come up gasping for breath.
Without BnV, where would I be? I admit that sounds a bit dodgy, perhaps risqué. My apologies for the double entendre (I think)(it’s just so catchy, really), but in all honesty, I sometimes feel that compelled, THAT enticed….to write, that is, and to hope that whatever it is I am saying will either make someone out there in the byzantine blue smile, chuckle, or have one of those OH! moments. (or, at the very least, that said hypothetical person doesn’t run off screaming like Macaulay Culkin in Home Alone.)
Admittedly, 25 days is not very long to come to such a epiphanic realization that my writing means more to me than most anything else, but there it is in its undeniable, inexorable splendor. Sure, I’ve heard it said since I was a child that finding your passion and pursuing it is the only way to truly be happy working through the salt mines of life, but I’ve also heard it said, over and over, again and again, as I am sure many of you may have, that I should get my head out of the clouds and concentrate on the serious matter of getting ahead in the world. Making it big, securing the future, having a reliable, steady 9-5’er that will pay the bills, put food on the table, yadda, yadda, yadda. (To quote Elaine Benes) So who can blame me that it took this long to have the aforesaid epiphanic insight? (yes, I just like “saying” that word!) Well, besides myself, really, since I’ve known since I was 10 years old that writing was what I loved to do best.
Ok, so you’re probably wondering about now what my point is? Well, as I said in my very first post,(go ahead and re-read it, I’ll wait for you) I’m far more likely to natter on endlessly about nothing in particular than anything specifically, so in reality I don’t truly need a point right now; however, you are in luck because I do, actually, have one. No drum roll please. No tympanic reverie necessary. No triumphal horns pealing in proclamation; no, my simple and unadulterated point is just this: (ok, I agree, I adulterated it quite a bit in the last few paragraphs, but let’s not be mean spirited…) that I think Curly from the movie City Slickers put it best:
Curly (Jack Palance): Do you know what the secret of life is? [holds up one finger]
Mitch(Billy Crystal): Your finger?
Curly: One thing. Just one thing. You stick to that and the rest don’t mean shit.
Mitch: But, what is the “one thing?”
Curly: [smiles] That’s what you have to find out.
When Love is struck
Upon the hands of time,
Waiting with a purpose,
Chaos becomes rhyme.
When Passion is played,
Plucked like a lyre,
Patience finds merit,
Tears become fire.
When Love is promised
Before life takes breath,
Yearning has its answer,
United beyond death.
When Eternity spans
Like the Cosmos turning,
Love Without Ending,
Flames without burning.
When Union is true,
Two Souls share One Heart,
Endings are beginnings,
Never again to depart.
Beautiful Image found at: beautyandtruth.org
Like the tide upon the whim of the Moon
I wait for Your coming,
Neither late, nor too soon.
You come to me in visions like the night,
Reassuring my heart
That all is Right.
Like the Serenade of the evening lark,
I wait upon You
Seeing Light, not dark.
You fill my Soul with Laughter, with Smiles,
Taking my Spirit
Where there exists no guile.
Like the Gentle touch of Your Beautiful hand,
I wait on Your love
Certain I Understand.
You are my Soul Mate, Destined for me,
Filling my Heart
With one Irrepressible plea,
For Love, For Joy, for Two Hearts Set Free
From the bonds of separation,
For Divine Unity.
Beautiful Image found at : projectillum.com
One heart unleashed
by all of this.
One life altered
Through all of this.
One heart waiting
You the only goal.
Beautiful Original Artwork by: Mark Spain
Alas, My Love, how Empty is
This bed without you.
How I strain to hear the
Soft and subtle rhythm of
Your Sweetest breath.
How I long to Feel the
Gentle Warmth of Your arms
How I yearn to lean close,
A soft and tender Kiss to bestow.
Alas, My Love, this bed lies empty,
You are not here, not yet,
And in reverence of its Lonely state
I do shun its comfort
To lie in distracted vigilance
Upon the floor
Beautiful Original Artwork by: Moonchild-Ljilja