A few days ago I was reminded of family duty of communication. Work and daily life chaos had prevented me from calling on of my aunts for far too long. I was reminded periodically, but “things” got in the way. She took the initiative to call me, never chiding, but reinstating my obligation to keep in touch more regularly. I’m to keep that in mind came the unspoken instruction.
Break to when I got off the phone. Questions swirled in my brain. How often do we change course in our lives through such a soft-toned reminder that someone worries about us when they do not hear from us often enough? And how often do we voice the same concern over one who’s been silent too long?
Causing people distress isn’t something I indulge in purposely. Yet, as it does for so many it happens occasionally through social interaction and family dynamics. Somewhere there must be a mechanism for the prevention of the effect of our lives.
Direction came from my Creative Muse as she let fly with one of her spurts of healing juice. I discovered within me the unstoppable need to put poetry to picture for Claudsy’s Blog. This process takes as long as writing a blog post and is not something done to save time.
Examination of suitable photos takes nearly as much time as writing the specific poem that will hold court in that image. Sizing the photo, getting Sister’s copyright with proper placement, and sighting the position of the text box, all take up time. I’m fussy. Everything must be just right before I hit the save button, and if it isn’t, it hits the trash bin.
Fortune smiled for me, I had the exact photo that fit my mood. Muse wrote the poem through my fingers. Et voila, a poem photo is produced and posted.
Gathering other images for use with poetry kept me moving that day, along with my other writing obligations. Stretching my writer’s fingers has become a full-time occupation lately; one which keeps me growing and moving forward. The experience is a good one, albeit exhausting.
Here, in my small office space does magic occur. I don’t concern myself with whether someone will lift my new creation for their own use. I’m sure some already have. I think of these personal triumphs as ambassadors, carrying part of my purpose with them on their travels.
In the time it’s taken to write this short piece, something I’ve created from nothing more than a thought and a supposition has taken flight to destinations unknown, to ask questions, offer solace, lift a spirit or simply offer beauty. That is its only obligation and my only concern.
Jumbled within our daily exercise of life, should we not take one hour to create something for no other reason than to share it? Should one have to desire more than that revelry in order to enjoy the process of creation? Must we have other agendas?
Knowing the soul’s purpose for creation is, I learned, absolutely necessary or there can be no joy in it. If the act of creation causes dis-stress, pain, confusion, tension, and a sense of never being good enough, it becomes the destroyer of the one creating; its own antithesis.
Longing to free Muse from a stagnant prison empowered me to begin writing, to make a serious effort toward publication and the writing life. My hard work led to being published several times in several genres. Along the way, the business got in the way of the creation.
Making room for life within the business of living under the title of “Author” can wear down anyone as it did me. I’d lost sight of my purpose in writing. I’d almost lost the joy creation. I was brought up short before it was too late. And I’ll always thank those responsible for it.
A Break from habit, Causing me to follow a new Direction to make a closer Examination of the Fortune in ideas Gathering Here In Jumbled array; Knowing, Longing for the Making of new creations for all.