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.
