Month: March 2019

New Color Project

My obsession with color is a fundamental part of me. I used to operate a blog where I would post a square of color with a poetic name typed on it.

I think now I will do something a little different. I have been downloading free textures online, and tinting them with rich, solid color. Instead of typing a short name on each one, I will write fragments of poems (or full length poems) for each one. Each color with its corresponding poem will be given a post.

At this point I am just really enjoying tinting all these different textures. I do not know how long I will carry on with this project. Regardless of whether it lasts for one week or one year, I think that it will add to my creativity. It will also give me more pleasure in my life. Color stitches my being together.

From the Morning

In the creamy morning light,

fat snow lounges on the mountaintop.

My new day has no confidence.

My shoes wait by the door,

made of bone china

And stained with my used blood.

Secondhand fire bounces

off the receding moon.

Numbers await me,

my house and my mind

Filled with them.

Math cuts me.

The subtraction demanded

of me is too much.

I shove my feet in my shoes.

Outside the morning is frosting

on my world.

I have nothing but

the robbery of my body.

Old Friend

Somewhere in the identified town,

an old friend who does not tire out

lights the lamp.

It’s amazing what forms he takes

when he is alone.

Indivisible shape of personal election

and sweltering affiliation.

Loyalty of nationality,

shown by unlimited birth.

Women and infants like

oil and flame.

Surrounded by the neighbors,

He lives the life he has been given,

cleaning the cleanest of plants.

Study of Daniel

This evening I began an in-depth study of Daniel that I bought from Christian Book.

I am really excited.

Two companies have entire series with individual studies of each book of the Bible, as well as some topical studies. To start off, I have ordered one study on Daniel, one on Revelation, and one about angels.

Rereading the first half of Daniel this evening has been really illuminating. I have been in the New Testament for quite a while. But every chapter of this book is a constant reminder to prevail, to have strength. Of course there’s the story of Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego. Everybody knows the story about the fiery furnace. But there’s so much more than that. Kings were ordering fortune-tellers and sorcerers to death right and left, and Daniel was able to speak up and interpret the King’s dream because God had given him that gift. It had to have been at least mildly nerve-wracking to offer up not only an interpretation of the King’s dream, but to actually recount it to him, especially knowing how many people had put to death for not being able to do that. But Daniel went ahead because he knew that God had granted him that vision.

As a spiritual person I am really compelled by the central role that dreams play in Daniel. The king has important dreams that show him his future, and Daniel has visions about these dreams that he is able to interpret. Essentially, God repeatedly gives people spiritual and literal information through dreams and visions. That is incredibly powerful. People often laugh about the entire subject of interpreting dreams. Freud did the subject no favors in a lot of ways. And of course sometimes dreams have nothing to do with God. However, we should never rule out the possibility that what we have seen in our sleep is a message.

God goes where he pleases and does what he wants. He is limitless. He can speak to us regardless of our state of consciousness. I need to start paying more attention to my dreams. I need to be spiritually receptive when I am awake and when I’m asleep.

Artistic Identity

No matter how busy motherhood gets, I can’t imagine giving up my creative activities. I just read an article by a woman who did exactly that. She was a blogger and photographer, and she did no work for two years while she took care of her children. She said that she needed to be more present with them. She’s not the only one I have heard of who has done that. I have friends who have done that as well.

I admire the self-sacrifice and self-control, but I can’t really imagine doing that myself. Maybe it’s good that I have to stop at one child, as much as I wanted to have more. But if I had 10 kids I have a feeling I would still be squeezing in time to write poems or to paint. That maybe I would be in a situation at that point where I shouldn’t be doing those things, but I would do them anyway.

Poetry is such a part of me that I can’t imagine giving it up. I go through spells where I primarily read poetry rather than write it. When I do that I am often soaking up inspiration and gearing up for a period of intense writing. But to simply not have poetry in my life? I can’t even imagine.

Painting and photography have become primal urges for me. I can’t imagine putting my camera down as some of the mother photographers do. I might sometimes get lazy or too busy to take out my expensive camera, but I’ll at the very least be taking photos on my phone.

Perhaps all of this is selfish or self-absorbed, but I’m not so sure about that. Everyone needs their own identity. Everyone needs something that they love to do and an opportunity to do it. Naturally your husband and children have to take priority, but you can’t draw from an empty well. If you want to give them more, then you have to give yourself something. So many women say they’ve lost their identity in motherhood, and I just can’t relate. When I had my daughter I became even more myself. I still had all the artistic aspects of myself, all the general personality traits like introversion, I still liked the same foods and movies, only I was finally fully tapped into my maternal potential. Having a child didn’t sap my sense of identity. It completed it.

Not that I think I am really at risk of this, but I pray that I never put down the pen or the camera or the brush. These things are apart of me. Without them I think I would fall to pieces.

From One to Another

Small as a pond,

You are bordered by mossy velvet.

You act like me.

Rivers do not

associate with women.

First I was a fish.

Then I was provided with womanhood.

The oars on the canoe

Love one another in Morse code.

I’ll walk under the hollow water.

My understanding of

beauty and all that you can do

flourishes like kelp,

always below the surface.