Category Archives: Art

Writing from the collective consciousness

I am at the Canadian Authors Association CanWrite! conference in Orillia, ON, surrounded by writers from every genre. We talk about the joys and trials of writerhood and our varied creative processes. Most of us share guardedly, wary of how others might judge the quirky things we do to get to the heart of our writing. This morning, a poet friend bravely shared the sketch book she uses every morning.

poetry-to-inspire

“I am spreading good news.” Jean Kay

First thing in the morning, before she eats or showers or does anything else, she sits down with her sketch book. She writes the date at the top of the left-hand page and then on the top of the right-side page, she writes, “I am . . .” and completes the phrase with how she’s feeling. From a box of coloured crayons, she randomly selects three colours and draws a picture, a symbol, a pattern, or anything that flows from the colours and the phrase. And then (this is the part that boggles) she returns to the left-hand page and writes a poem, from start to finish. Boom, just like that. No stroke-outs or re-considerations. No pondering or hovering of the hand. Just a poem on the page.

She never knows what’s going to happen when she picks up the sketch pad or the colours. She never knows what the poem is going to be when she starts to print the words. She just “tunes in,” lets go and writes.

Marvelous.

She receives daily emails from inspirational sources, and in this poetry sample, she writes about how often the topic of her poem and the topic of the emails coincide. (She reads the emails after she writes the poems.)

She calls it “collective consciousness.”

Tuned In
©2015 Jean Kay poetrytoinspire.com

After writing my morning poem
I read ‘Daily Word’ & ‘Science of Mind’
And very often the messages
Are of a similar kind

I call that collective consciousness
Some will say it’s coincidence
But whatever power is at work here
The messages are intense

Those articles were written months ago
But thousands are reading today
And I’m on a similar wavelength
To receive what is coming my way

I don’t preconceive morning poetry
I just write what comes into my mind
And yet often a word I seldom use
Will be in ‘Daily Word’ and/or ‘Science of Mind’

It makes me feel the path I’m on
Is the right one for me
I’m on track & tuned in
And living my eternity.

 

My 500th post: What better time for Calvin and Hobbes?

ch910416

Calvin and Hobbes Comic Strip, April 16, 1991 on GoComics.com

I’m celebrating 500 posts with a little of Bill Watterson’s genius. This is one of my favourites.

Carpe Diem. Make the most of your precious few footsteps. 

Happy New Year

Two sides of one

I prescheduled my post today. I am out of town watching my son ski in an alpine racing event. I thought it a good opportunity to share with you another Dennis Manning poem. This one appeals to my appreciation for science and story, the material and the divine.

______________________________________________________

Two sides of One

© 2015 Dennis Manning

Sun and moon,
Midnight, noon.
When we’re with one,
The other’s soon.

Light and dark,
Divide apart,
Eternal end,
Eternal start.

Come and go,
Decay and grow.
Life and death
Forever flow.

Light and dark.
Moon and sun.
Life and death,
Two sides of One

triumph-and-disaster

I’m not complaining: Rudy Francisco

I have a bit of a headache this morning—a rare event for me. But I’m not complaining.

My house is overdue for a good scrub, and I really don’t like cleaning. But I’m not complaining.

Yesterday I had to pick my son up early from his school alpine ski team practice. The timing of the pick-up put us in rush-hour traffic. We snailed from one end of the city of Ottawa to the other at the paint-drying-watching speed of 20 kilometers per hour. But I’m not complaining.

Rudy Francisco set me straight. His poetry slam performance gives all of us first-world, privileged, spoiled folks a timely tongue lashing. I won’t complain because my inconveniences are not even tragedies. I don’t even need the tip of my tongue to accommodate them.

He fired me up for my day. I hope he does the same for you. Few, if any, of us will crumble at the corner of tragedy and silence today.

 

A good time of year to dance: Hafiz

At this time of year, many people for many different reasons contemplate God or the God-ness in our world. These two poems by Hafiz, as translated by Daniel Ladinsky in The Gift: Poems by Hafiz the Great Sufi Masterreminded my that, more than anything, for whatever reason, this time of year is good for dancing. And better dancing than fussing about details or interpretations.

The God Who Only Knows Four Words

Every

Child

Has known God.

Not the God of names,

Not the God of don’ts,

Not the God who ever does

Anything weird,

But the God who only knows four words

And keeps repeating them, saying:

“Come dance with Me.”

Come

Dance.

_________

What Should We Do About That Moon?

A wine bottle fell from a wagon
And broke open in a field.

That night one hundred beetles and all their cousins
Gathered

And did some serious binge drinking.

They even found some seed husks nearby
And began to play them like drums and whirl.
This made God very happy.

Then the “night candle” rose into the sky
And one drunk creature, laying down his instrument,
Said to his friend—for no apparent
Reason,

“What should we do about that moon?”

Seems to Hafiz
Most everyone has laid aside the music

Tackling such profoundly useless
Questions.

________

Arlene, dancing like nobody is watching.

Arlene, dancing.

The art on our walls: Memories of my father

Fifteen years ago on this date at about this time in the morning, I received a phone call. My mother told me my father had dropped dead of a heart attack.

I reeled upon hearing the shocking news. I sat on the family room couch in a daze.

I was home with my five-year-old daughter and two-year-old son. My daughter quickly figured out that all was not well. I pulled her close and told her the news. Without saying a word, she left the room.

A short time later she returned and handed me this picture. “Now you’ll always remember what your father looked like,” she said.

dad

I framed the soul-laden picture and hung it on the wall in my office. It is one of the many pieces of art on our walls that holds great meaning and tells a story.

Is the art on your walls soul-laden?

 

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