Every One of us IS creative.

This man is in my head, reading my thoughts.  (That's a link. Click it.)

This describes exactly how I feel when someone marvels over something I created. And this is exactly why I insist that Every One of us IS creative. Watch it. Think about it. Go amaze someone.

Worth Doing

25 Intentional Days 

25 Intentional Days , by Andhedrew, is a beautiful book. It is visually appealing and laid out in manageable slices. Each day offers a specific plan for living intentionally, with clear instructions and examples. Each segment also offers excellent resources to help you implement the day's activity. The plan for each day makes sense. It makes sense to do the activity, and reading the instructions is easy and entertaining. More than worth reading, 25 Intentional Days is worth implementing.

Book: Stitches

Stitches; A Memoir Davis Small, 2009 w.w. norton & co.
This graphic-novel type autobiography is heart-rendingly well drawn. The actual story begins on page 8. By page 15, you know this isn't a happy household. By page 20, you heart aches for this child. 329 pages, mostly illustration, even looking closely at the drawings and allowing them to sink into my soul, this book took maybe an hour to consume. Digesting it will take much longer.
There is a concept that we usually wound those around us peripherally. Oh, the wounds are real enough, and the pain may be hideous, but the damage is unintentional. They aren't about the people we inflict them upon, they are about us. They happen because we are so caught up in our own misery that we neither notice not appreciate that we are causing others pain. And that pain really exists because the other does not know that it isn't intentional, does not understand the hell their tormentor is mired in. We (or they, to keep the confusion down a bit) take it personally.
That is only part of what David Small suffered, but it is a part he came to understand. With understanding comes compassion, and compassion leads to forgiveness. Forgiveness leads healing.
Stitches will rip you apart. If you allow it, it will also stitch you back together again, using compassion as its thread.

I found this video on theageofreason.org If I linked every thing there that got me thinking, I'd just link everything there. The video is a teaser to lead you to the Age of Reason. Something to think about.

Scroobius Pip, A letter from God to Man.

Poems - a few

good save

What is

The answer please?

I do not know, you say.

What is the question, precious girl?

You were not listening! Again!

I was! Until I got

Distracted by

Your charms. 

~~~~~~~~~~~

 The poem above is an eintou. An eintou is a poem that follows a format of 2,4,6,8,6,4,2 - either syllables or words. If you're really good, I suppose you could do both. 
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Pease Porridge Revisited 

Pease porridge hot

Best served with a scoop

These days we call it

Split pea soup

Pease porridge cold

Leaves me agog

Thick as pea soup

Walking in the fog

You can’t see a thing

So some like it not

I’d rather pease porridge fog

Than pease porridge hot!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

new dawn

whirling eyes watch as this cream stone

mottled red, gold, and green

moves of its own accord

nestled among glittering gems

something more precious than gold

crown jewel in this dragon’s horde

with a thunderous cracking

from stone does emerge now

beautiful dragon spawn

as glistening wings do slowly unfurl

a tiny tongue samples the breezes

at the edge of a new dawn

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

song

weightless
and brilliant
as bright as the sun
you light
my way
when I am
undone

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Song, like most of these, was written for a contest. This particular contest allowed only 8 lines. Many of the people reviewing 'song' felt it was too short, or the title didn't fit the poem. I wrote an explanation of the poem - something I normally would not do, as I feel that the reader has to get what they get not necessarily what I get. This one, however, deserved explanation, as every word was carefully chosen to pack maximum meaning into minimum space. The explanation follows.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

'song' is the English translation of psalm - a song of praise.

weightless =light, but also, light itself is weightless, so the meaning here is double. Because the light is there, the burden is lightened.

brilliant = shining brightly, illustrious, magnificent, of great intelligence. Something so wondrous as to defy any other description.

bright as the sun = So intense that you cannot see it by looking at it directly, so vital that you cannot survive with out it.

you light = you, Light, you light (both an address to the specific 'Light' and a description of the action of guidance.)

my way = combined with you light, meaning I am guided by the light of Light (the guide).

when I am = philosophically, there is no "I", as we are all part of the whole. One cell in your body is a specific cell, but without all the other cells, it does not comprise a human. So, when I misplace my connection to Everything, then I am. When I recall my connection to everything, then am 'i'. (Note the case - i is a part of the whole, I is egocentric and separate. Here, "I" is the only capitalization within the poem, placing the value of "I" above the value of the light, hence "undone".)

undone= what we are when we misplace our connection to Everything. We cannot lose the connection, but we do sometimes seriously misplace it. You cannot be separate from that from which you are made, but in feeling alone, you feel undone, unconnected, unloved.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

New Beginnings

I watched as the swinging boom did bring
The building to its knees
Scattering brick and glass and dust
And random memories.

The rubble was cleared, it took some time
To haul it all away
And in its place we planted laughter
To let the children play.  

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

New beginnings (contest entry, 8 line max) is another misunderstood poem. Most people got it, but some thought "planted laughter" meant a new house was built, where an old house had been torn down. I meant that a dilapidated building in the city had been replaced by an inner city playground. I wonder if the difference in perception is equal to the difference between a "privileged" childhood and growing up poor? Or at least, not growing up well-off. Curious.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 Canada Geese

We watched the goslings hatch and grow

Three families in the pond.

They overstayed the welcome though

And we became less fond.

Less fond of their ceaseless chatter.

Less fond of the mess they were making.

Less fond of their organic matter.

Less fond of sudden braking.

And then one day they went too far,
 My little daughter’s lunch! -

They knocked her down beside the car

This thieving, feathered bunch.

I knew not how to make them leave,

To shoo them from our docks.
 I never thought I’d ever be

Rescued by a fox!

Each early morn, the fox would come

And set the geese to squawking,

And I would curse the noise it caused,

This early morning stalking.

And then one day, with swift dispatch

The fox became a winner

Feathers flew, then down the hatch

That goose was fox’s dinner.

Oh, crafty fox, you made a mess

Of feathers everywhere!

The goosey flock, in sheer distress,

Took honking to the air.

They’ve flown away and not returned,

How peaceful life's become.

My gratitude that fox has earned

And this poetic fame.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I took liberties. Canada Geese don't tend to attack people, white geese do. Mixing them added some spice to the poem. The white geese attacked a child I nannied (a thousand years ago). The fox did solve our Canada Goose issue last spring. So, I took liberties, but the events were real enough. This one did not win its contest. I apparently offended the judge who made it clear that he was not pleased with the fox. =) I'm guessing he's never had a yard full of gooseshit to contend with!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

revenge of the revenge

Oh! Sometimes you make me
Madder than a cat in the bathtub!
This time you really went too far.

Sometimes, I think of ways to get revenge
For my tattered, aching heart.
I never follow through.

Instead, I clean the house –
I go a little overboard.
I’ve been known to wash the soap.

I scrub the grout between the tiles
On the bathroom floor.
This time, you really went too far!


Your forty dollar whitening kit
Is doing a fine job.
Who knew I’d one day follow through?

My aggravation lessens as I scrub
Then escalates again.
I used the wrong toothbrush.

Yours is in the caddy,
Mine is in my hand.
This time, I really went too far.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Another contest entry, in which I had to use the bolded phrase "the wrong toothbrush".

I have to be honest - I've never been known to "wash the soap", and your toothbrush is safe with me. I'm not much on revenge either. This one won it's contest. WooHoo!   

© Copyright 2011 Rikki Ansell

all rights reserved

Body Images

In ninth grade, I was in chorus. It was a very egalitarian chorus, they didn’t mind if you weren’t fabulous. I wasn’t fabulous. I love to sing. I think everyone should sing, out loud, in public, whenever the spirit hits them. Singing frees up your soul. Singing is the wings on the angels, its what lets them soar. If I am sad, music picks me up. I have a weird line up of records to play, specific songs from each, to lift me. I start with The Mills Brothers. By the time I’ve played the first three or four songs in my line-up, I’m down right cheerful. I progress through the songs, each perkier than the last, then wander through many other albums, singing my heart out.  I may start with Mood Indigo, but I end up somewhere around Aerosmith, The Rave-Ups, and They Might Be Giants. Singing makes me happy.

Anyway, in ninth grade chorus, there was a girl who looked like the meanest girl on the planet. She had jet black hair, DoubleD breasts, and a vicious scowl. She scared me. She was quite pretty but mean looking. Now, our chorus room had bleachers. We’d line up on the bleachers just as we did on the stage for concerts, and that’s how we practiced. One particular day, the teacher called the Sopranos down to the piano to do warm ups, and this mean faced girl was the first to arrive there. She stopped on the lowest tier of the bleachers, lifted up those DoubleD tits, and dropped them on top of the piano! And then she smiled.

This was the first time I ever saw her smile. Her face lit up. She lit up. She became, in that moment, the most beautiful person I had ever seen. This was a joy like I had never expected her to possess, and I suddenly understood that those massive breasts caused her a lot of pain. I suspected there was plenty of emotional pain, since young males were (are) enormously distracted by tits and hers were enormously distracting even if you weren’t interested in tits. I wondered how she could ever know if a boy liked the person behind the breasts. That isn’t the pain I suddenly understood.

It was the recognition that large breasts were heavy that struck me; the slow comprehension that this weight pulled her off balance and required her spine and muscles to work constantly to keep her balanced and upright. I don’t think I ever would have understood that if I hadn’t seen her drop those boulders on top of the piano and smile that stunning smile.  Whenever I see one of those women who have had mega-implants installed, I think of this girl.

I think it odd that people never seem happy with how they look. Girls with straight hair get perms, girls with curly hair iron it flat.  We get breast implants or reductions, tummy tucks, nose jobs – now having your lips fattened is the thing. I don’t get that, at all. Most of the women I see with that lip thing have weird looking mouths. Honestly, to me, it looks like they have a vagina on their faces, which is probably why so many men think this is sexy. This fixation with altering appearance isn’t restricted to women. Men do it with bodybuilding, often going to bizarre extremes.

We tan, tattoo, make-up, curl/straighten/dye/cut, nip, tuck, inflate, and pierce. Using our bodies, we find infinite way to express who we are. Our bodies and faces are the ultimate canvas on which we display our creativity and individuality. If we don’t like something, we change it, sometimes permanently, sometimes not. I wonder that girl from chorus had her breasts reduced. I wonder if the lip-fattening women have regrets. I wonder. Mostly I wonder if these changes give the sculptee lasting pleasure. What I mean is that plump lips or big tits don’t change who you are, and if who you are doesn’t change, how you feel inside doesn’t change either. It doesn’t matter how you look - pretty does not equal happy. Change how you think and you change how happy you are. Change how you look and you change how you look.

Mostly. Seriously, not every one has cosmetic surgery to be more popular or sexier. Not everyone pumps iron to get hulking. There’s nothing wrong with making yourself over in your own image. Just take a good look inside and see why you are doing it. If you are doing it to ‘make’ yourself happy, it isn’t going to work. If you’re doing because the outer you doesn’t reflect the inner you, go for it. Just be honest with yourself.

© Copyright 2011 Rikki Ansell

all rights reserved

I've watched this several times. It makes me cry, but it also makes me happy. Watch.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_embedded&v=Hzgzim5m7oU