Between Meals

Purpose
(When the changes in people change us, it can be unnerving but appreciated).
Your petals came on softly with refrain
In the shadows of green they gather strength
Above the darkness is a canopy
That asks for naught but all one might give
To pick you from the moss you’ve grown interred
With the hope of being plucked in one breath.

Black and White
(This one is for the authors I've read)
In between the lines of black and white, I see you.
In the words not spoken, in the silence there, I hear you.
Without a touch, far removed in time, I feel you.
With all of this in mind and more, I know you.

Anticipation

Just a few days more and the bird flies.
There will be only feathers left, and lies.
Soaring high above on the wind at last
The hurt will come and go with the past.

Let the breeze direct where you will go
Feeling each rise while looking below.
You will touch down again one day soon
With your feet beneath you, and the moon.

At 6's And 7's

    Working in an advertising agency can be fun.  In a session where we brainstorm ideas, we make thousands of connections in minutes to come up with something that works for the need at hand: an image, a name, color combinations or more entire concepts for what goes into a mailer, an ad or broadcast spot.  Entire campaigns can take whole days at a time.  Some sessions can be like P90X for the brain. 
    During a recent session, in making a connection between the number 6 and the number 7, I threw out "at 6's and 7's" without remembering what it meant.  Did it sound familiar in relation to gambling? Was it negative?  I asked what "at 6's and 7's" meant?  Someone said "crazy, confused."  Well, maybe that's why it was so familiar. 
    Intuitiveness is my strength.  Compartmentalizing is my game.  I missed the mark on both counts this past month and it had me at 6's and 7's to my core.  Working out a misunderstanding led to a disturbing realization.
Deciding what to do about it is equally difficult because decision making is my weakness.  My fallback is ignoring the problem like I do so many times.  Tuck it away in a compartment and write about it, laugh about it in a few years. 
   But, that is at odds with a personal goal:  be myself, be real.  I envy others without guards, without governors on their brains.  If what others think of me doesn't matter, why do I guard myself?  Mostly, I think to make sure I understand myself.  I have always been different from my peers and it took a long time into adulthood to accept it.  Mostly, the difference between myself and other females has always stood out for me, beginning with my mom and my sister.  As much as I enjoyed being in their company, shopping with the girls was painful for me.  A book and a swing in the hammock always seemed to torturously call my name when I had to do my duty.  I had fun talking to the guys about politics or sports but never the girls about hair and clothes.  This remains with me still.  Forcing myself to connect with women over ridiculous conversations about shoes and babies continually makes me wonder what is wrong with me.  I have accepted that I am different, but I wonder why all the time.
  Should I be out shopping for a pretty Spring dress instead?  What does it matter?  Can I evolve not to be at 6's and 7's with what I've been told is natural and normal?  Is that what has confused me?  Finally, for once, I know what it feels like to be normal?  Give me back odd and different, please!

When Stupidity Comes

My Ghost

You’re not an apparition but you’re untouchable.
You’re not translucent but I can see through you.
You’re not a cold wisp of air yet you send chills down my spine.
You’re not a ghost, but you haunt me.

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J'ai vu beaute aujourd'hui
 I saw beauty today and it did not bother me.
As long as I can glimpse its soul, I will set it free.
The depths rose up to meet me but desire overcame.
If I lost sight of it, my heart would not be the same.

_________________________________________

It's easier to love someone than to like them.
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With You

Fourteen times I see you blink then stare.
Are you here, there, or anywhere?
Closing my eyes so you can't see
I am there with you, you and me.

Tribute to Bunny Watson*

Opening my heart and mind to new possibilities recently has led to almost constant occurrences of connecting so many things together that I feel the need to further ponder on some of them. External and internal sources, old movies, new acquaintances, blogs, something said in a meeting last week, a song, a photo, the label on a can of hairspray… my mind doesn’t stop connecting what I hear, see or think even after I go to sleep.
 The following came to me as I watched the movie, Working Girl, and it reminded me of something a coworker said about their enthusiasm for their work:
 I had the awesome privilege of working with my favorite magazine’s creative director years ago. He was fresh out of college, eager, naïve, inexperienced but absolutely brilliant and he knew it. His creativity and determination to take risks at every turn paid off. He became a graphic designer then art director at our state’s foremost magazine. There was no stopping this force of ingenuity and he finally landed where he belongs at Wired Magazine.
 It is amazing to me that I have the fortune to encounter such a unique individual again. He is nothing like the first one in that his brilliance is not delivered in the same manner and that he is actually modest to the point of being demure. His passion for his work has been called naïve in attempts to squash it. Heartbreaking. My boss recently commented that he wanted this person's passion and idealism encouraged. I assured him that no one could stand in the way of the determination I’ve seen.
The killing of passion for something is murder, even if the passion is sometimes misdirected. There are ways to motivate, guide and reward passion. I often wish I could bottle it so I could administer it to others as a cure for their cynicism or apathy. Or, possibly take it for my own jaded outlook on life at times.

The movie is over and the heroine of the story succeeds in accomplishing her dreams. In real life, I hope there is no end to what my heroes can and will accomplish. As for myself, I will keep striving to do my best, look for answers, make connections and encourage passion at every opportunity.

*Title refers to Bunny Watson, Katharine Hepburn's character in the movie, Desk Set, in which Bunny "associates many things with many things."
_______________________
UPDATE:
After writing this but not ready to post it, I found this article about Wired Magazine posted yesterday.  The creative director speaks on the development of the digital magazine format in the video at the bottom.  Amazing.

Convergence of Wisdom

I am not smart but I enjoy being around intelligent, wise people and reading all kinds of information to compensate for my shortcomings. A recent company blog was echoed by someone I follow on twitter from the other side of the world. It’s sort of cool when things happen like that. When I read or hear it once, it’s interesting but when it is twice in two days from seemingly unattached sources, it makes me think I’m suppose to stop and listen. Both even mention Thomas Edison!

“We can choose to change our thoughts.”
“Are we allergic to change?”
“Failures sometimes produce results that are better than the original plan.”
“All those failures are just leading you to that one success.”

 I have failed. I will fail again.

“There are no failures, just experiences and your reactions to them.” – David Krause

A change of heart, change of mind came in a flash of lightning months ago and I’m just now realizing it as it manifests itself in the strangest ways. Heartbreaking, gut-wrenching frustration and anger gave way to an almost giddy, idealistic dream-state a few weeks ago. Actually, that manifestation is denial of failure and change. Now that I understand it for what it is, I can face it, stare it down and crush it.

Beauty in the Simple Things

There are few things in life more satisfying than finding beauty in the simple things. Being able to see that beauty often times means an open heart, an open mind and a positive attitude.


Acquiring a positive attitude can sometimes be difficult, but if one is willing to change their perspective and look at a problem, a challenge or just a simple task with different eyes, it’s possible. Attitudes are the outward portrayal of our inner thoughts. Negativity in our attitude indicates troubled waters beneath.


An open mind is a welcome to all ideas, differences and views. It doesn’t mean discernment is tossed to the wind but that there is no threat to core values from other things not originating in our own minds.


An open heart is the most difficult to nail down because it is not logical and actually is a misnomer. Our hearts are biological in nature and have nothing to do with thoughts and feelings. While it may seem that feelings originate there when something emotional happens to us, it is the physical change of the heart muscle and flow of blood in reaction to our thoughts or surroundings that is felt. An open heart is simply a willingness to feel, whether attached to logic, fact or something not understood.


Of the three, attitude, mind and heart, it is an open heart, the permission to feel, that helps us to see the beauty in the simple things. Sometimes it is not the physical vision that is beautiful, but the feeling itself. It is time to find beauty in the simple things again.

Kudos for The Constitution State!

Catholic bishops in Connecticut have gone too far. http://bit.ly/bCMuxj Contempt chokes me.  Catholic bishops should have nothing to fear, right?  Place faith in God or in a jury of your peers.  If the Connecticut Senate passes this bill, their fears will become redemption of many victims.
And then the IRS can make their investigations:  any organization that moves to influence voters, legislators and lawmakers should not be tax-exempt.

Bedtimes and Headlines

This will be the most candid of anything I've written so far, in my life.

My Google Reader is my best friend, the introvert that I am. As I sifted through the headlines during lunch today, I drank from the articles of industry rags, news wires, history and science associations and special blogs as if they were an alixir to problems I wanted to cure. Good 'ole rock n roll buffered me from my main distraction, letting it drown out the voice that commands my heartbeat.

One headline I scanned quickly among the news items was this NY Times's one about sexual abuse cover up by the Catholic Church.  Moving quickly past it, I thought I had left it behind, at least until I saw it on the news or in another headline later.  But, no, it had attached itself to that part of my brain that processes things unconsciously, or subconsciously, (guess it depends on if I've been drinking), to flash across the iPad inside my eyelids when I was ready to go to sleep (yes, at 8:30pm). 

The flash of fury had been there when I first saw the headline, but having mastered the skill, I pushed it aside to keep company with the rage of a sexual abuse survivor.  The fury still burned and would not let me sleep.  I opened up my laptop to find the story and write about it. 

Fully understanding the influence and authority of the Catholic Church over its people, finally reading the story made me want to vomit.  Even though I'm not Catholic, this is my confession:  the last three years have been the worst years of my life save for my 5th year as a child.  When I was a little girl, a young man thought he'd teach me a thing or two about life.  Suffice it to say, I learned enough. 

Stories of child abuse, church or organizational cover up, family cycles of abuse, they all get to me not because I went through it, but because most incidences can be prevented if the first one is reported.  I never opened my mouth until I told my Mom when I was 22 years old.  After all those years of crying in the dark, the tears still would not betray me after words had told the tale.  Shame, fear and uncertainty were my childhood friends but we don't stay in touch much anymore.  If children are told not to be ashamed, to tell us of any uncomfortable situations with anyone, including relatives, maybe first time predators will be one time predators. 

The current Pope is culpable for continuing the Church's policy of sweeping ugly truths under papal robes and pointy hats.  The bishops' red robes are now visibily stained with the blood of the children they have damaged for life.  I feel the hatred of the same papal power Queen Elizabeth I felt during her reign.  No omnipotent supreme being in existence would allow innocent children to be defiled in their name.  But that's another post and now I must sleep if I can.

(hesitating. hesitating. hesitating. Can I really post this?  Yes. No shame, no fear.)

Voices in the Dark

It comes in a whisper, an easy breeze through mossed trees
Touching down just out of sight.
Little flutters tickle, warning of what is to come
When my heavy heart takes flight.

In one small breath, trying to exhale brings darkness near
While the whisper promises air.
The day wears on with the wind in the trees, still not seen
Is the answer to prayer.

Ode to a Spring Morning

Aspens gently sway by rushing waters
Luring bird song to promise another day.
In green depths of heavenly shadows lashed
Winter loses its last hold on the fort.

Smooth moss runs its path across hard stone black
With graceful tendrils left to work their trade.
Thickets of vines and thorns often bristle
To whisper warm wind in vales long waiting.