creative emptiness February 27, 2008

I want to write and I can’t. I feel blah. I force myself to write two pages in my notebook. I reread them. I shouldn’t have. I write words on this page, in my blog and I wish i wouldn’t. I shouldn’t always write here when I feel this emptiness. I should write more often when I feel elated. When I am drunk with life.

A good friend once commented on my blog and said I am sometimes too melodramatic. I hate that word (I think I hate it). I swallow what I see as criticism. Then I look in the mirror and ask myself: really? are you melodramatic? yes. In my writing I often am. Why should I not accept that. Perhaps that friend doesn’t mean to be critical. Perhaps he does. By the time this word reaches my heart, my brain MUST tell it that it is MY choice alone to be hurt by it. Or not. So I choose not to. I choose to call myself melodramatic. Sometimes. Not always.

And then, wait: I LOVE melodramatic films. MANY people love melodramatic films. And books. And blogs. And songs. So it’s perhaps not so bad to be melodramatic. Enough.

I have very little time to write. I am in the middle of getting ready for work. Why I have decided to write in my blog, now, I don’t know yet. Perhaps to make up for the lack of creativity this morning at 6am. Lately my habit has been this:

5:30am: wake up. ON THE DOT! without an alarm. No matter what time I go to bed.

Make coffee

Turn on the computer. Check emails. Respond to emails.

Get a cup of coffee. Lie on the couch. Read. Right now I am reading “Bird by Bird” by Anne Lamott

Get up. Sit at my desk. Write. One page. Two pages. More if I am inspired. Decide if I like what I write. Decide to type it and give it a title. Decide if it will be posted on my blog or remain in a file.

And the morning goes on and on this way. Back and forth. The emotions run up and down the hill. Occasionally they fly high…at other times they jump off the cliff. At other times they sit, quietly, and pout.

And so that is it. Simple. Short. Nothing. Everything. That is it: life.

and just because…in the spirit of melodrama…la reine du melodrame:

Edith Piaf “Non, Je ne regrette rien” (I regret nothing)

Lyrics in French (below in English):

Paroles: Michel Vaucaire. Musique: Charles Dumont 1961
© Eddie Barclay / SEMI

Non! Rien de rien
Non! Je ne regrette rien
Ni le bien qu’on m’a fait
Ni le mal tout ça m’est bien égal!

Non! Rien de rien
Non! Je ne regrette rien
C’est payé, balayé, oublié
Je me fous du passé!

Avec mes souvenirs
J’ai allumé le feu
Mes chagrins, mes plaisirs
Je n’ai plus besoin d’eux!

Balayées les amours
Et tous leurs trémolos
Balayés pour toujours
Je repars à zéro

Non! Rien de rien
Non! Je ne regrette rien
Ni le bien, qu’on m’a fait
Ni le mal, tout ça m’est bien égal!

Non! Rien de rien
Non! Je ne regrette rien
Car ma vie, car mes joies
Aujourd’hui, ça commence avec toi!

Partial translation:

No, nothing at all, I regret nothing at all
Not the good, nor the bad. It is all the same.
No, nothing at all, I have no regrets about anything.
It is paid, wiped away, forgotten.
I am not concerned with the past, with my memories.
I set fire to my pains and pleasures,
I don’t need them anymore.
I have wiped away my loves, and my troubles.
Swept them all away.
I am starting again from zero.

No, nothing at all, I have no regrets
Because from today, my life, my happiness, everything,
Starts with you!

Glen Hansard and Marketa Irglova win the Oscars for “Falling Slowly” February 25, 2008

Not only was I thrilled to watch them perform the song at the Oscars, I was jumping up and down like a little girl when they were announced as the winners. Whoa! So happy for them! I have been (almost) obsessively listening to that album, and especially THAT song, for the past two weeks, sending the song to friends…I actually meant to post the song on my blog, but yeah, would’ve been nice to say: told ya so!

Anyway, the highlight for me was also Marketa Irglova’s acceptance speech. Jon Stewart did something great! Because she was not able to say anything at first, he brought her back out after the break to give her acceptance speech. To me it looked like it was completely spontaneous on his part, but is anything ever spontaneous with the Oscars? Anyway, her short speech came from the heart and spoke about dreaming and believing in making art. Truly inspirational. Here it is:

and then here is a video of the song itself:

An overheard conversation… February 19, 2008

The other day I was privy to a conversation between a middle aged man and an older woman who could have been his mother, his aunt or perhaps just a friend. I had gone to the Ferry Building in the morning after a pleasant and long walk along the Embarcadero. My routine was to get coffee and a muffin at Peet’s and then find a spot at one of the large wooden tables in the common area. In the mornings during the week, the tables have an average of one or two people sitting there reading the paper, staring at their laptop, having a conversation while waiting for the ferry to Larkspur or Sausalito. I chose an empty table, facing the large windows. I took out my book and began to read. I sipped my latte and ate small bites of my low fat carrot raspberry muffin.

“…don’t worry. It’ll all work itself out somehow. We’ve been here so many times before. You know that. And then too you thought it was hopeless. And you found a way out.”

Now please imagine a cartoon character, a small dog with big round eyes, a good sized bone between his teeth, ears hanging low. Life is good. He is oblivious to his surroundings. He’s a cute little dog chewing on his bone. Suddenly something startles him and his ears prop. That’s me. I’m an adorable little cartoon character and as I am listening to this conversation, my ears begin to stretch. They extend all the way to the other table and position themselves inches above their heads like an oversized lamp. I am ready.

Her: what do you have to lose? You obviously want to go on this trip, so stop thinking about it and GO!
Him: Carol, you know me. He doesn’t want to me to go. He’s afraid of what could happen. He’s afraid of losing me.
Carol: it’s the same thing every time. And has he lost you yet?
Him: no, but I can feel a change. And he knows this. He tells me all the time.
Carol: Tim, I don’t know what else to tell you. You obviously chose to talk to me about this because you knew what I would say to you. So I will say what you want to hear. Life places opportunities in your path. Most people ignore them or only chose the ones that fit their expectations. You’re uncomfortable with the ones thrown in front of you and yet you want them. You ask for them. And when they’re there, staring you in the face, you wanna run from them.
Tim: and yet I don’t.
Carol: exactly!

By this time my body is shaking. How often had I wished to overhear an intimate conversation such as this one…. I want to participate and join her in convincing this young man, Tim, to go on this trip. I wanted to know more. I wanted to know where this trip was going, who was preventing him, why…so many questions. I wanted to then tell her my story so she could give me the answers I already knew. I envied Tim.

Carol: Tim, I have known you over 15 years now and you have always ended up doing what you wanted to. But you’ve always been burdened with this guilt, with this sense of obligation towards other. And every time. Every time I have told you the same thing. Stop worrying about how others will feel. Paul is a good guy. He’s dedicated to you. But Paul is not like you. He is a rock with his feet planted solidly in the ground. He has fewer expectations than you do. He’s content with the comfortable world you two have created together. And you know, there’s nothing wrong with that. But you, Tim, you are a bird. You like to leave your cage and fly. And you always return. You need to see the world. You need to walk into a room full of people you don’t know and get to know each of them. Enter their lives for a moment or longer and eventually fly back to your cage. Because your cage is comfortable. It is warm, it is safe, it is light and its door is always open. It is your home and Paul is there waiting for you.
Tim: but I break Paul’s heart every time I fly away. And honestly Carol, sometimes I’m not sure if I will return. And then I feel the guilt. And I stay in the cage a bit longer until the dust settles and Paul is feeling strong again. Shit. I feel like such an asshole.
Carol: I know you do. And yet you still do it. You still go out and fly because you have no choice. And you come to me because you know that I will always give you the final push you need.

I looked over at them. Tim was probably in his mid thirties. I was taken aback by how handsome he was. He didn’t look typically gay. His wavy brown hair almost reached his shoulders. He wore glasses. He wore a brown corduroy blazer and a black scarf. He could have been European. I cursed the fact that he was gay. He was physically my type. A man who looked intellectual, artistic, gentle and obviously free-spirited. I was not looking for a man, I had my own rock at home, but that never stopped me from noticing beauty when it was in front of me. I too have a story. But today I am not here to tell you my story.
I would guess that Carol was close to seventy. I wasn’t sure. She could have just as well been 80 or 60. She was one of those people. Ageless. Her wrinkles showed her age, but everything else, her clothing, her demeanor, but most of all the way she spoke told me that this woman could relate to anyone of any age. This made her age not matter. She had grey hair pulled back loosely, lying softly on her shoulders. She wore a simple black sweater with a dark red shawl. I looked at her wrinkles. I followed her hands as she spoke to him. They gave every indication of an old woman’s hands. Long, thin, loose skin with brown patches. I wanted to photograph them. If I couldn’t hear her words, I would still know what she was saying. Her hands were notes on sheets of music. They were heavy paint on the canvas of a long and meaningful life. And now she was a mentor to this soul that she knew too well. When she looked at him it was as though she were looking in a mirror. The story was different. The desire was the same. That desire to live. That desire to look at a tree and cry. That desire to listen to a song and fly. That desire to connect with everything that was alive. She knew him because she knew herself. She had no fear that she may influence him away from Paul. It was so easy to be the voice of Tim’s love of life. And there were no rules she was breaking. Paul understood it. He knew it. He was just too afraid to be left alone. He too wanted and needed every inch of Tim’s essence. He knew he would always let his bird fly. He would always be there when Tim returned. And he would always be heartbroken.

Carol: Tim. Look at me. Please. Listen to me.

She takes his hands in hers until they disappear. Their faces are inches from each other. He looks down. She lifts his eyes with hers and smiles.

Carol: Tim. The question is not if or when you should go on this trip. You have already left. You are already in flight to your new destination. All you need to do now is allow your physical body to follow suit. You have no choice. I know it. You know it. Paul knows it.

Tim: Yes. I know it.

Tears begin to flow down his cheeks like a miniature waterfall. I want to look away but I can’t. Suddenly I feel something wet on my hand. A drop. No, it is not raining inside the Ferry Building.

I close my book. I put it in my green bag. I get up. I walk away.

when the fog rolls in… February 13, 2008

Damn!  What eye opening frustration when the muse has left the room!  Countless creative artists of every sort suffer through periods of dryness and emptiness.  Those heart wrenching moments, days, sometimes even weeks when divine color, words and notes abandon you.  Just like that.  Swept by the winds of time.  You run after them, hoping to grasp the tail end of their gifts while naively basking in the warmth of the clear blue sky of creativity.  Where the river seems to flow endlessly, where the trickle of water plays a song of love for you, where you close your eyes and smile…you forget, you are fearless.  And then, behind you, over the hills, the fog begins to roll in.  You don’t notice it until it is too late.  By the time you open your eyes and grasp what is happening, it is too late for you to gather your things and run.  It sneaks up on you from behind like a first class pickpocket.  At first you think you are smarter and can trick it with your wit and speed.  You think you can fight the fog.  And then you begin to struggle.  You flex your muscles while an invisible weight pulls you south.  You tell yourself that it will pass in an instant.  After all, how can a beautiful warm and sunny day turn so grey so fast?
Every muscle in your body goes limp and you can no longer move.  It is gone.  All swept away by the fog.  And you lie there, motionless, in awe.  Empty.  Dry.  And nothing appears.  You can’t hear your heartbeat.  You can’t dance.  You can’t paint.  You can’t write.  You can’t sing.

You just lie there.  You close your eyes again.  And you wait.  Just like that.

Lynda Barry: Two Questions February 13, 2008

Found this in the back of my book: The Story and its Writer (An Introduction to Short Fiction)…

amazing…

Reasons to be hopeful… February 7, 2008

Here is Barack Obama’s Super Tuesday Speech…man! this guy can inspire!

Who endorses Barack Obama? February 5, 2008

Here are “just a few” of the people who endorse Barack Obama.  We will know soon enough if that has helped him…

Caroline Kennedy:

Senator Ted Kennedy:

Maria Shriver (Governor Schwarzenegger’s wife ~ first lady of California ~ a Kennedy):

Senator John Kerry:

Celebrities who support Obama:

and finally, words by Obama…

Change? Change! Change… February 3, 2008

Today I went to Glide Memorial Church with a few of my students. I wanted them to experience the uniqueness of that place. A student from Spain told me that this was the first time ever that she was looking forward to going to church. A student from Korea told me that even though many Koreans are very active church-goers he and his family never have been. I could sense why…he then commented that he felt Glide was different and made everyone feel welcome and accepted. Yeah, that is why I also like Glide. Even though I rarely go there, I find it to be an amazing place of openness, love, acceptance and it is proactive in all things human.

Pastor Donald Guest was the “speaker” today and I have heard him a few times before. He is a powerful human being who is not afraid to get mad and push some sensitive buttons. Among many strong points he made and stories he told today he said this: Change IS coming. Because if our choice this year is between two members of the minority and a traditional white guy…then change is definitely happening!

That is right. We don’t know who will be the democratic candidate. We don’t know who will run against “old world tradition” (probably Mc Cain), but whoever it is, there is change in the air. Let’s hope we can keep up the momentum. Cause I am sure the rest of the world agrees with many of us in this country: enough is enough!

Took this short video with my little digital camera…just to get a taste of Glide’s energy…

And then I found this video on Youtube: