(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.
Your Inspiration Pours over me
When darkness and shadows abide,
Then I hear Your voice, Sweet and Clear,
And my fear has no place to hide.
Your Inspiration Renews me
When my mind is empty and dry,
Then I see Your vision, True and Bright,
And I don’t need to ask why.
Your Inspiration Sings o’er me
When I need to be Restored,
Then my Faith finds new Strength
And I am Thankful I Endured.
They are inescapably diverting. They distract me in the most intoxicating manner imaginable; they hold me hostage like a prisoner trapped within a cage of my own making where I pace, tiger-like, undeterred by the tide of day into night and night into day, where I can spend hours surrounding myself with them without saying anything at all.
They fill my heart with yearning. They spread through my mind like a waking dream, impossible to ignore and as captivating as warmth on a freezing day, and I stand enthralled by the indescribably hypnotic sight of my thoughts and dreams taking visible form, filling my mind with ever increasing tides and torrents of relentless phrases.
They touch the deep precincts of my mind. They betray the hidden secrets of my heart, speaking boldly for any who will listen what it is that my spirit longs to attain, to satisfy, to provoke, and I have no more control over the inevitable prophesying than one might have over the wind, blowing where and when and how it will.
Like a drug I am powerless to resist, they send me into spiraling, dizzying, abstraction where I wait, transfixed and smiling like a Cheshire Cat, unabashed in my revelry, unhindered by convention, until the wave crests and crashes.
Trivial or Tantalizing, Poetic or Lurid, I hear them, see them, feel them, taste them. They send me into irrational, inexplicable fits of splendor that only I seem able to experience. And yet, when those words are spoken by You, I see a mirror, a reflection; evidence of something more than just
Sleeping with the Enemy
Let me begin by saying that I am arachnophobic. Always have been, always will be. I’m that person that goes into an unparalleled fit of screaming, shaking, and running in the opposite direction whenever those creepy-crawly eight legged monsters are around. I’m the person who wakes up in the middle of the night and strips her bed to the bare bones to make sure there isn’t one or millions of those hairy, spindly, multi-legged freaks somewhere amongst the covers. Or under the bed. Or on any of the coordinating furniture. Or lying in wait on the drapes until I go back to sleep, so it can then descend on me in the darkness of night to send me into the aforementioned paroxysm. I’m also the person who once had to single-handedly dispatch a gargantuan, tarantula sized, octoplet-limbed creature of terror who had taken up residence in my bathtub!!! (insert frenzied shrieking here!)
Fast forward now, from that ghastly day, to this morning where you will find me (hypothetically speaking) lying in my bed, dreaming sweet dreams without care; dozing the morning away because it’s finally a Saturday and I don’t HAVE to get up early. (and the congregation shouts AMEN!) I wake up, lazily search for the clock, realize it’s not even 8 AM, smile triumphantly, roll over and promptly resume my reverie. My mind drifts aimlessly through wisps of dreams still clinging to my memory; lingers over musings of hazy imaginings and teeters on the pinnacle between conscious thought and transcendental hyperbole.…until, at last, I open my eyes and stare at the ceiling… you know the sensation…trying to remember what planet I’m on.
My thoughts shift from mystical to rational, (darn it!) I begin to strategically plan out my day, workout and the subsequent primping and preening that follows, breakfast, errands, financial concerns, laundry…yeck! Oh To sleep, perchance to dream! (sorry, snuck some Shakespeare in there on ya!) But this fair thought, now ended; I must rouse myself to the full and stumble on…( that part’s not Shakespeare, that’s me being “poetic”. Shakespeare always merits Italics) So, up I get and up gets the cat (his name is Little Orange Pooz, but that’s yet another post). I turn to make up the bed and then I SEE IT! A black, fuzzy, eight-legged beastie fully the size of a quarter (OR for my British friends, a one pound coin) sitting on my curtain just above my pillow !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Typically, this is the instant where the heebie-jeebies take over, the moment when rationale goes out the window and an inescapable spasm of insanity runs riot over me. I stare in dismay, but to my utter bewilderment and astonishment, I neither freak nor flee. Rather, although I have no comprehension of why, I stand there, LEAN CLOSER, and gaze at this little furry monster more intently. I can see he’s not moving; he’s almost curled up, and for half of a fleeting second I almost smile!!! He’s sleeping! Is he dreaming? What does a spider dream about, I wonder paradoxically. Does he dream about dropping down from the ceiling in the middle of the night onto unsuspecting, sleeping young women to send them into riotous fits of irrational fear all for the sheer hilarity of it?
Who cares!!!! I shake myself…it’s a spider!!! In any other situation, I would instantaneously grab the nearest shoe and start screechin’ n’ swingin’! But, instead, I find myself walking calmly (albeit briskly) to the laundry cupboard, retrieving a duster (a long handled one to be sure!), and returning to the scene of the crime to patiently coax this denizen of hideousness onto the fluffy fibers of his waiting conveyance so I can carry him (once again, at a BRISK pace) to the door and deposit him on the first green growing thing I can find.
Ok….what’s the deal? How can this be? What alternate reality did I wake to this morning that would find me inquisitively regarding and then effectively sparing the life of my lifelong nemesis and archenemy? Is there some lucid explanation for this, otherwise, inexplicable deviation from the norm? I spend the next several hours musing over the possibilities. It could be simply that I hadn’t yet had a sufficient intake of caffeine, was still half asleep and not thinking clearly. Or it could be, perhaps, that I was so surprised I didn’t have time to think about it, really, completely. Or my body could have been taken over by aliens in the middle of the night and I was under some form of extra-terrestrial manipulation!
No, I guess not.
I guess the most likely, if least appealing, explanation is that I’ve changed somehow, in some way as yet not quite realized, or at least not quite realized until this morning, and I’m left to wonder… Is it possible that change isn’t as tedious and complicated as we always think it will be? Perhaps, every now and then, change comes quietly, when we least expect it, like a furry, not so little, spider tiptoeing into our room without us even noticing it. Curling up beside us while we’re not paying attention, it lies, waiting to be discovered and, ultimately, it transforms us into someone we barely guessed we could be.
So, here we are, post number two already and you’ve come back for more. More, in spite of the askance glances you may have received or the incredulous responses to your description of your initial experience here to your friends or colleagues or strangers on undergrounds and, yes, perhaps, even against your better judgment. Yet regardless of your reason(s)… Welcome back intrepid voyager! And while I cannot offer you a tiny cup of refreshment or a miniscule packet of peanuts to fortify you on your journey, I might just be able to offer a few potential explanations as to why you may be here.
Morbid Curiosity? A Predilection for the Bizarre? Sheer Insanity? Or maybe….just maybe….although you can’t positively say why, you actually enjoyed that preliminary assay into The Book and Volume of this Distracted Globe. If any of these are the case (and even if they aren’t), let’s get down to it, shall we? The Book and Volume of this Distracted Globe, Book and Volume, BnV…what does it all mean? I’m sure you’d love to gain some insight, apparently, since you’re here again (a state of affairs about which I am over the moon, by the way), with that perplexed look on your face. Lucky for you, I’d love to elucidate on that very topic. (for clarity’s sake, the BnV topic, not the puzzlement on your face. We’ll leave that for another post).
First and foremost there’s the obvious (and almost certainly not all that innovative) Hamlet reference (my absolute favourite Shakespeare play ever, of all time, always). For those of you unfamiliar with this marvelous tragedy: the following is Hamlet speaking about his Father, now a ghost, who only just told his horrified son about his foul and most unnatural murder… (Go ahead, read it…I’ll explain, I promise!)
Ay, thou poor ghost, whilst memory holds a seat In this distracted globe. Remember thee?
Yea, from the table of my memory I’ll wipe away all trivial fond records…
…And thy commandment all alone shall live Within the book and volume of my brain,
Unmix’d with baser matter!
OK, so there you go…(although you had no idea you were going to read Shakespeare tonight and hopefully it wasn’t especially horrific or scarring for you.) This Distracted Globe is, to put it bluntly, Hamlet’s skull and The Book and Volume is his mind and all that it contains. So Yes, BnV- otherwise known as Book and Volume- is my brain, in all its splendid absurdity and eccentricity poured out for you…yes YOU…on the pages of this otherwise non-descript little blog.
I know…its positively intoxicating (or potentially terrifying), isn’t it?
Secondly, ( you forgot already, didn’t you, that I was talking about the blog and not the whirlings of my mind) , BnV is a blog about nothing and everything, about the commonplace and the atypical; it’s a place where you may find poetry I’ve woven or tales I’ve spun; it’s a place for me to share insights (or revelations, as I like to call them ) that I might have on any given day (which, with any luck, will hold some significance for you as well and not leave you sitting there wondering, yet again, what exactly it is that I’m blathering on about.) Visiting BnV could also lead you to discover a new recipe I’ve created or could find you reading all about some character I’ve come across or created, or why I loved, hated or generally became nauseated by the latest flick I’ve seen or book I’ve read (although I am more often found writing my own rather than reading one by another). Potentially, you could also find yourself looking at a pictorial review of my day, should I have the most inconceivable impediment imaginable and find myself without anything to say (which, if you know me at all or even if you are just getting to know me is something you must be quite certain never happens).
So, BnV? Yes. And now you know why….or why not.
Shadows may capture the Noontide Sun,
Before the Day is over and done.
Fleeting and Transient, Unstated, Undirected,
Chasing delusion, with Intentions Deflected.
Yet, Residing O’re this Continuum of Sound,
Blessed Inspiration continually Abounds;
Sweet Lyric of Delicate Harmony Sings;
As Faith unfurls her Literary Wings,
Unfettered by All that is inconstant and brief,
Strengthened by Love,
And Undiminished Belief.
Beautiful Image found on Google…Credit Acknowledged to the Original Photographer
“I have never found a companion that was so companionable as solitude.”
Henry David Thoreau
Peace in Abundance
Flow over me,
Calm these Fears
Of Darkest Night,
with your Soothing,
Peace in Solitude
(Absolutely Gorgeous Image found on Pinterest…Acknowledgment given to the original artist.)
When my Focus drifts away,
Tossed upon the cloudy seas
Draw me back, Dear Lord, To Stay,
Because Your Love Eternally Frees.
When my Faith begins to falter,
Blocked by this worlds churning fire,
Anchor my Thoughts like the Rock of Gibraltar,
Let me Rest where Your Love Never Tires.
When my Dreams are shaken,
Scattered by deceit and Lies,
Remind me Lord, I am Never Forsaken,
In Your Love, my Spirit Sighs.
Stunning Photography found at: voices-of-iowa.blogspot.com
Silence Sparkles in Charismatic Form,
Endowing the consciousness with Humility,
Reminding All From what we are Born,
As We Linger, Timeless, in Perpetuity.
Traversing Eternity in Glimmers and Thought,
Inspirational Blessing through the lens is Caught.
Whispers Shimmer from Heaven Afar,
Outward and Inwardly Speaking,
Born of the Essence of Far Distant Star,
Belonging to All, While Endlessly Seeking.
Transcending Reality in Twinkling Light,
Beholding Life through the Glistering Night.
Beautiful Photograph found on Pinterest. Credit Acknowledged to the Original Amazing Photographer. Thank You!
Place of Wonders
Shadows lilting like caroling song
Whispers Transcend the unspoken calm
As sunlit dapples of subdued shine
Glint in a litany sublime
Amid this Grove
Of forgotten Rhyme.
~ Morgan ~
Beautiful Original Photographaphy found on Pinterest. Credit Gratefully Acknowledged to the original photographer. Thank you
Place of Beauty
River of Influence
Wash over my Spirit with your Infinite Splendour
Beautiful original photography found on Pinterest. Credit Gratefully Acknowledged to the original photographer. Thank you ~
How Truly Beautiful is this world. How Rich in Colour, Texture, Light, Shadow, Shades and Hues both Vivid and Pale, Stark in contrast and Harmonious in their blendings. Each day the golden shimmering orb of pale and violent splendor raises his head and Smiles down upon us, glistering and, sometimes, glowering in Radiant Grandeur, waiting for us to See, to pause, to raise a hand in Breathless Wonder beneath its superior glow and stand, for a moment, Transfixed.
Each evening the luminous moon in subtle beauty slips delicately from her ebon shroud and Sings a song of ethereal Enchantment. Gentle and patient, she glides in regal effortless flow across the bejeweled spangle, her silvery luminescence a Gift to all who lay aside their restless haste, if only for the briefest of moments, to Gaze upon her shimmering show.
The Earth is Filled to overflowing with verdant greens, supple yellows, resplendent reds, breathtaking blues, passionate purples, vibrant oranges, pale pinks, rich russets and auspicious auburns that Proclaim for all to See and to all who may Hear, should they Choose to, the Loving Touch of the Artist’s Hand.
Each mountain that has stood for millennia;
Each forest that has echoed with the song of the wolf and the cicada for eons;
Each tranquil pastoral glen that shimmers beneath the Kiss of the sun;
Each quiet beach that sings a rhythmic, oceanic song;
Each deep, mysterious blue sea that shields another world entire;
Each frosty glacier and windswept barren, giving and renewing life;
Each tawny desert filled with sand and silence;
Each roadside garden springing with wildflowers;
Each nook and crevice of forgotten wilderness;
Each Smile, Each Tear, Each Freckled Face;
A Masterpiece of Beloved Oeuvre waiting for its audience,
Waiting for You, Waiting for me,
To Lovingly See.
Beautiful Photographs found on Google and Pinterest. Credit Acknowledged to the Original Photographers.