The sun is rising, bringing with this new day more accounts of death and destruction in Ukraine. More lives lost, more buildings razed, more rubble piled in the streets, and more fertile farmlands strewn with metal detritus instead of young, green plants.
This morning I read billions have been donated in support of Ukraine’s resistance to invasion. Of course, it is heartening that such support is being provided; still, I ask myself why such huge support is triggered by such destructive activities as war, and such meager support is provided for more positive activities such as solving the issues of climate change, pollution, and famine. One wonders if humanity will ever outgrow romanticized view of war.
Yielding to depression helps nothing; it only adds another grain of sand to the pile of despair. Once I read about a World War II fighter pilot, who said he never allowed himself to fly a mission until he felt happy. The “lightness of being” he experienced in his state of happiness opened his senses to enemies lurking behind the glare of the sun. True, that was lifted from a novel, not a biological account. Nevertheless, it gives me a reason to elevate my mood
Although I am sure that the handful of my followers certainly think so because I haven’t posted for how long? Let me count the years: one, two. Think I will don the green eyeshades of self-delusion and pretend it hasn’t been longer. My “end of days” plan was to write, write and write even more. The plan execution was avoid writing, avoid writing and avoid writing even more.
Here I am (with new driving gloves) reeving the engine, pulling out of the driveway, and entering the fast lane. It has the be the fast lane because I must increase my speed to 75 miles an hour to catch up.
The Thanksgiving when I was seven, I suddenly announced to the tableful of relatives that I was going to marry when I was seventy. To this day, I haven’t the foggiest what prompted that declaration. Here I am, past seventy, rarely a bridesmaid, never a bride.
So here’s the deal. Having no grandchildren (Holy cow, I am at the age of great-grandchildren) to justify my existence to myself, needs must hustle my butt to claim a better epitaph than
The resolution was to post every day without fail as this was my personal record tracking my use of imagination as a means of tracking the third semester of my allotted “four score and ten.” Sigh! I couldn’t manage to string words into a sentence. Once upon a time, somewhere someone stated forcefully “there is no such thing as writer’s block.”
It’s true. I certainly can’t claim writer’s block. I lacked the stamina for noodling through half-baked ideas and pushing limp words into sentences until one morphs into a paragraph.
For seventy-four years, I asked myself “if I don’t write up to my standards, should I write at all?” If one can’t write deathless prose, what is the point of writing at all? Personally speaking, the point of “getting my hands dirty” putting words on paper is that I learn to appreciate good writing. I have certainly stumbled across some great writing that will never appear on the curriculum of a university English. Except for mine of course.
There are books that I read three times for the story then five more times to analyze and admire how the author constructs sentences, or establishes a mood or arcs a small recurring event through the story until it explodes as the turning point of the novel.
Here’s a thought. What fun it might be teaching my own English class, using my own favorite books as a curriculum.
Hot Damn, it’s the first week of March: meaning that I have missed fifty-one days of practicing imagination posting my experiences therewith (now there is pompous word.)
I’ve been toying with this idea for three years now, but never committed to serious practice of it. Nevertheless, my spasmodic attention led me to Neville Goddard.
Listening to his lectures (courtesy of You Tube), as well as reading his publications convinced me take the creative powers of imagination seriously. For the remainder of the year, I am committing myself to daily practice of imagination-putting my heart into it.
It certainly provides a focus for my life at a point where I need a passionate reason for being. The “Year of Covid-19” plunked me into a state of drifting. Not only did I not know what week it was, I didn’t know what I was doing here.
After all, I don’t have endless time and I desire a path to follow with dedication as it provides the core around which to build days filled with satisfaction, fun and all-around happiness.