Wasteland

Where my interior landscape was once a lush river valley full of forests and well watered orchards, it now more closely resembles a barren wasteland. I need a break in order to restore it. You can only draw something out of yourself if there is something in there to draw from and lately I have been feeling like a dry well with little to give. Samantha gave a succinct definition for what I intend to do in the next little while:

Cybernation: n. a withdrawl from the internet for a period of time; most often signaled by a lack of blogging or commenting on message boards, also lack of email correspondence; length of cybernation varies, depending on the cause of cybernating, ranging from days to months (seldom years); is generally cyclical and temporary in nature v. to cybernate, cybernating

I intend to spend the next little while concentrating on the homeschool, reading theology, literature, and interesting biographies, exploring art, and just kicking back. I need some downtime with as little pressure as possible and this is just one area that is going to be cut. In this way I hope to rejuvenate my inner person. Some good hormone supplements would also help. :oP

Ciao for now, people.

Getting It

One of the pleasures of getting older is the fact that I "get it" more and more. There just isn't enough life experience in youth to be able to understand art, poetry, or even history very well unless someone spells it out for them, or they are the ones creating the art or poetry.

My kids can listen to a particular piece of music or hear a poem read and have no clue as to what is being said. However, when I listen to or read it I am able to fill in the necessary information needed to make sense of it. Poetry is a rich mine of meaning, compacting and distilling life's experiences into few words, artfully arranged.

Likewise, I find that I am better able to understand why things happened the way they did in history once I know something of the personalities involved. A better acquaintance with human nature and its vagaries helps one to understand the vacillating nature of Queen Elizabeth I's foreign policy and her dealings with Mary, Queen of Scots. I also have a better understanding of Henry VIII's attitudes and methods and how they changed the face of England.

Getting older is better than I imagined it would be.

Ghosts

The title of tonight's blog post comes from an art exhibit I saw today by artist Perry Rath. I never thought of myself as a person who responded well to modern conceptual art, but after viewing some of his exhibits and reading some of the descriptions that he put with them, I found myself overcome with what he was saying, and also the thoughts that they caused to rise within me.

One of his pieces which struck me particularly hard was called, "You Learn to Love the Place Somebody Leaves Behind for You." It reminded me of a poem I once read and learned when I was about 17. I can't recall the name of the poem, but I do recall it was written by poet, Stephen Spender, and it lamented the death of one who had passed on and who now lingered as only a memory caught in the dresses that hung in the closet.

So many ghosts accompany me. I look at a picture of myself as a youngster and realize that the person I was then is no longer the person that exists today. I am who I am now in this time, and the girl I was no longer exists except as a memory. What I shall become has not yet materialized and yet tantalizing glimpses of the future me alternately taunt and beckon me at times.

I have discovered the disconnect that can happen when children grow up and leave home. I have moved from the extreme intimacy of carrying another person inside of me, to gradual stages of separation until I find myself thinking of them only as they contact me or as something reminds me of them, or I happen to see them, or speak to them on the phone. I never knew this could happen until it did. When will I wipe the last remaining fingerprint from a childish hand from a window or wall?

I wonder... Am I a ghost to my parents when I am not there?

Our lives are so ephemeral. We are as the grass which is here today and gone tomorrow, and the place it existed doesn't know it any more. And yet, there is a tensile strength to these ghosts of memory that has the power to rock our composure.

The anniversary of my maternal grandmother's passing will be here in a month. For so many years Grammy existed on the fringes of my mind as someone who was just there. Distance and circumstances intervened to keep us apart. But any time I went home, I could see her and talk to her. She isn't there any more and tonight as I stood in the art gallery, I was hit afresh with that knowledge. A portion of my living history is now gone beyond recall and yet she lives on in my mother, in me, and in my children through the genetic history that was part of her legacy. So ephemeral and yet so strong.

I didn't know I could miss her so much.

You are Inspiration Soup!! You live to Inspire
those around you with your green beany, white
chunky, red soupy goodness. Many have come and
lit candles in your honor. You've inspired
them to become better people. Thank you,
Inspiration Soup... thank you.


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