A story has taken interest in me and won't let me go. I put the first few paragraphs down and know nothing beyond what is written. I hope it's a short story because I'm impatient and also because I'm somewhat uncomfortable with the subject matter. If it's supposed to be a novel then it's going to take a very long time to complete, seeing as how those few paragraphs took me several hours to write. It's interesting though--I always thought those authors that claimed to be surprised and upset when one of their characters died were playing with people. I can see now that a story can have a life of it's own and take you by surprise. I have no idea who I'm writing about or what's going to happen to them. None. It's a strange sensation to have them--images of them--in my mind but not be able to see the conclusion of their story. Makes one wonder.....
All I can do it show up for the work. That's hard with four young children at home all day every day. I'm trying to clean and get errands done, feed them, help them educate themselves and work on my paintings. Not to mention spend some quality time with my husband in the evenings. Yet, there it is---the call to put this to paper. I don't know why. Even if I did, that wouldn't answer the question of how to go about accomplishing this. When you already feel that you have one too many things on your plate (or five!) how do you make room for another project, one that feels impossible to accomplish? Clearly, I need to stop thinking and start writing! That's all that can be done: pen to paper, fingers to keyboard until it's done or the desire to do it passes.
Every once in a while though, I'd love for the Muses to make things easy for me....
Friday, May 24, 2013
Monday, May 6, 2013
But what if....?
A little while back an article was published about a twelve year old Ethiopian girl being protected by lions from seven men who were trying to abduct her and force her into marriage with one of them. Here's the version of the story that I read: http://www.nbcnews.com/id/8305836/ns/world_news-africa/t/ethiopian-girl-reportedly-guarded-lions/#.UYiKgLWTjKA To recap, three lions (sex of lions was not specified) stood guard for roughly half a day over a girl who had been kidnapped and beaten. The lions protected her from the men but dispersed when officials who could help her arrived. An "animal behavior expert" speculated that it was her crying/whimpering that drew the lions near and convinced them not to eat her because, he believed, they mistook her for a baby lion.
First of all, let me say that I was moved to tears by this story for three reasons: my daughter is now ten and the mere idea of something like this happening to her sends me into a panic, the statistic they gave at the end of the article saying that 70% of Ethiopian marriages begin with abductions of this manner broke my heart, and the fact that such strange and exceptional behavior by the lions could be so easily dismissed as a instinctual snafu filled me with dismay.
Lions kill the young of their prey all the time, and those animals cry out too. Even if they were drawn in by the sound of her crying, mistaking it for a baby lion, they most certainly could smell the very human blood that she was covered in and could see with their keen eyes that she was indeed not one of their kind. Yet they stayed for half a day.
We are all leery of shouting, "Miracle!" To do so invites mockery. But what if it was? Would that be so terrible? (My definition of a miracle is an extraordinary event in the physical world that surpasses all known human knowledge or power, which includes the behavior of animals and all of the natural world. It does not have to be attributed to a "supernatural" source, but it demonstrates that there are greater things at work than we can fully understand). There are, in fact, amazing and unexplained things happening all the time that we consistently dismiss as coincidences, magical thinking, and misinterpretations. Wouldn't the world be a much more hopeful place if we could allow these events to exist alongside all the shitty things that we accept without question?
Many years ago I read a true story about another strange animal rescue. A woman had ended up in the ocean stranded and alone after the boat she was on sank. She was treading water and trying to swim but was facing certain death. A large turtle showed up and when it got close to her it turned over on its back so that it was upside down in the water. This is an unnatural way for a turtle to swim. She grabbed onto the underside of the shell and held on for several days. Yes, days. I believe it was three. All that time the turtle stayed belly up, swimming and holding her and not feeding. When they approached land the turtle turned back over and left without looking back. She was saved because a normally solitary creature that generally demonstrates no fondness for humanity and could have, at any time, bitten off all of her fingers and left her for dead decided instead to offer itself up as her life raft.
I know what many people would be asking. What about all those that aren't saved in such ways? What about all of the other little girls being abducted and forced into marriage? Where were their guardians? Why was this one Ethiopian girl out of thousands and thousands spared in such a way? It's not fair, certainly. Not fair at all. But the rareness of such events shouldn't lead us to minimalize them. As a matter of fact, if we gave them our focus we might begin to notice more and more events that defy explanation, more and more that give us hope.
I hope with all of my heart that the girl does recognize this as a miracle. I hope that she remembers every day that giant predators came out of the forest to surround her with protection. They didn't see her as the vulnerable snack that she so easily could have been. They acted as though they believed she had value -- that she was worth saving. I hope that she begins to believe this about herself as well. I hope that her story helps all kinds of other young girls in Ethiopia to believe the same thing about themselves. I hope they rise up together and stand between those that are frightened and hurt and the ones that would harm them, making this the very last generation where marriages begin in abduction. I hope they are filled with the spirit of the lions, with the strength and the pride and the courage of the wild things that are so often more kind and fair than the "tame". But most of all, I hope that we all begin to allow miracles back into our world at large, learning to look for them and celebrate them every day.
First of all, let me say that I was moved to tears by this story for three reasons: my daughter is now ten and the mere idea of something like this happening to her sends me into a panic, the statistic they gave at the end of the article saying that 70% of Ethiopian marriages begin with abductions of this manner broke my heart, and the fact that such strange and exceptional behavior by the lions could be so easily dismissed as a instinctual snafu filled me with dismay.
Lions kill the young of their prey all the time, and those animals cry out too. Even if they were drawn in by the sound of her crying, mistaking it for a baby lion, they most certainly could smell the very human blood that she was covered in and could see with their keen eyes that she was indeed not one of their kind. Yet they stayed for half a day.
We are all leery of shouting, "Miracle!" To do so invites mockery. But what if it was? Would that be so terrible? (My definition of a miracle is an extraordinary event in the physical world that surpasses all known human knowledge or power, which includes the behavior of animals and all of the natural world. It does not have to be attributed to a "supernatural" source, but it demonstrates that there are greater things at work than we can fully understand). There are, in fact, amazing and unexplained things happening all the time that we consistently dismiss as coincidences, magical thinking, and misinterpretations. Wouldn't the world be a much more hopeful place if we could allow these events to exist alongside all the shitty things that we accept without question?
Many years ago I read a true story about another strange animal rescue. A woman had ended up in the ocean stranded and alone after the boat she was on sank. She was treading water and trying to swim but was facing certain death. A large turtle showed up and when it got close to her it turned over on its back so that it was upside down in the water. This is an unnatural way for a turtle to swim. She grabbed onto the underside of the shell and held on for several days. Yes, days. I believe it was three. All that time the turtle stayed belly up, swimming and holding her and not feeding. When they approached land the turtle turned back over and left without looking back. She was saved because a normally solitary creature that generally demonstrates no fondness for humanity and could have, at any time, bitten off all of her fingers and left her for dead decided instead to offer itself up as her life raft.
I know what many people would be asking. What about all those that aren't saved in such ways? What about all of the other little girls being abducted and forced into marriage? Where were their guardians? Why was this one Ethiopian girl out of thousands and thousands spared in such a way? It's not fair, certainly. Not fair at all. But the rareness of such events shouldn't lead us to minimalize them. As a matter of fact, if we gave them our focus we might begin to notice more and more events that defy explanation, more and more that give us hope.
I hope with all of my heart that the girl does recognize this as a miracle. I hope that she remembers every day that giant predators came out of the forest to surround her with protection. They didn't see her as the vulnerable snack that she so easily could have been. They acted as though they believed she had value -- that she was worth saving. I hope that she begins to believe this about herself as well. I hope that her story helps all kinds of other young girls in Ethiopia to believe the same thing about themselves. I hope they rise up together and stand between those that are frightened and hurt and the ones that would harm them, making this the very last generation where marriages begin in abduction. I hope they are filled with the spirit of the lions, with the strength and the pride and the courage of the wild things that are so often more kind and fair than the "tame". But most of all, I hope that we all begin to allow miracles back into our world at large, learning to look for them and celebrate them every day.
Sunday, April 14, 2013
The Inspiration
I thought I would share why I chose the name SoundsofPower for this blog. Normally, I won't be posting a lot of my poetry here but I'll make an exception this time because it is the inspiration behind the name. This poem came to me in the shower, as so many of them do now, nearly complete as if downloaded from another source directly into my brain. Let me know what you think.
Architects
It is not the language you speak.
It is not the words,
or the meaning behind the words.
It is the sounds that have power.
It is the sounds
that heal
as they vibrate deep within
the organ of your throat,
trembling and twisting the air,
shaping it
into stronger, more complex patterns --
sonic structures
that are perfect
yet ever changing.
These
are your songs.
These
are your prayers---
the sacred geometry
that builds the invisible world around us
and then,
the visible.
I am not asking you to wake.
I am asking you to dream
a different dream.
One that begins with raised voices
and ends
with a world
unlike any you've ever
known.
It is time to sing.
-Megan Welti 2013
Architects
It is not the language you speak.
It is not the words,
or the meaning behind the words.
It is the sounds that have power.
It is the sounds
that heal
as they vibrate deep within
the organ of your throat,
trembling and twisting the air,
shaping it
into stronger, more complex patterns --
sonic structures
that are perfect
yet ever changing.
These
are your songs.
These
are your prayers---
the sacred geometry
that builds the invisible world around us
and then,
the visible.
I am not asking you to wake.
I am asking you to dream
a different dream.
One that begins with raised voices
and ends
with a world
unlike any you've ever
known.
It is time to sing.
-Megan Welti 2013
Friday, April 12, 2013
The Beginning
Over a decade ago I began a new journal with this entry:
"Books like this are meant to be filled madly with the mystery, magic and poetry of a person's secret soul. I never seem to be able to adequately fulfill this destiny for a new blank book, and once they are written in they are no longer the perfect vessels - unblemished and waiting eagerly. The imagination can fill the pages so much better than the hand. So I quote poetry and paste pictures and pretend that the book has been lived in for some time. It's almost painful for me at first but then, after a while, I can go to it with sloppy penmanship while drowsy or ornery and the book is mine. Every time I read back on a page it's like looking in on a sleeping child who does not know she is sleeping. I can weep for or laugh at the person I was last week or a month ago because she's there, in black ink smeared slightly from the angle of the left hand writing. And I suppose this is the point. It isn't great literature. It's being a witness to oneself. There is no audience, regardless of who may read this. I am the only audience."
This is my time machine, my method for talking to my future self. Most days I don't feel that I have much to say, but when I look back at what I recorded years ago I'm so thankful for the effort I took to put myself down on paper. Yes, that me can really be annoying! She complains a lot. But I get to see where I've made progress and where I'm still stuck, both of which are extremely helpful insights. Why share this publicly? I don't know....It seems that everything that has ever needed to be said has been said already, many times over. But maybe my voice is the one that will resonate with someone when no other voices out there are able to reach him or her. Maybe there's someone who needs to be reached. We'll see. I feel called to share and all I can do is answer that call, no matter how ridiculous I feel sending my private thoughts into the great void of the Internet.
"Books like this are meant to be filled madly with the mystery, magic and poetry of a person's secret soul. I never seem to be able to adequately fulfill this destiny for a new blank book, and once they are written in they are no longer the perfect vessels - unblemished and waiting eagerly. The imagination can fill the pages so much better than the hand. So I quote poetry and paste pictures and pretend that the book has been lived in for some time. It's almost painful for me at first but then, after a while, I can go to it with sloppy penmanship while drowsy or ornery and the book is mine. Every time I read back on a page it's like looking in on a sleeping child who does not know she is sleeping. I can weep for or laugh at the person I was last week or a month ago because she's there, in black ink smeared slightly from the angle of the left hand writing. And I suppose this is the point. It isn't great literature. It's being a witness to oneself. There is no audience, regardless of who may read this. I am the only audience."
This is my time machine, my method for talking to my future self. Most days I don't feel that I have much to say, but when I look back at what I recorded years ago I'm so thankful for the effort I took to put myself down on paper. Yes, that me can really be annoying! She complains a lot. But I get to see where I've made progress and where I'm still stuck, both of which are extremely helpful insights. Why share this publicly? I don't know....It seems that everything that has ever needed to be said has been said already, many times over. But maybe my voice is the one that will resonate with someone when no other voices out there are able to reach him or her. Maybe there's someone who needs to be reached. We'll see. I feel called to share and all I can do is answer that call, no matter how ridiculous I feel sending my private thoughts into the great void of the Internet.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)