A Mystery..... Solved!

When I wasn't reading this week...  I painted letters for my daughter's bedroom, hung curtains, and much, much, more!

My little book reading confessional, this is.  Yoda speak, I know.  Divulgences, I sow. 

My little spiel this week is about creative madness, and moreover, the fact that I didn't finish reading a book.  I'm only on page twenty-five of the one I chose.  My love for this book was reciprocated, however, when I came across the following quote:

"We owe most of our great inventions and most of the achievements of genius to idleness--either enforced or voluntary." - Agatha Christie

The creative madness I've been dealing with over this last week came to a head, and the head finally had to drink in some kind of catharsis, or it was quite literally going to blow.  I've got so many, many, many balls in the air juggling right now, and they all feel so incomplete, malnourished, premature, etc., etc., etc.  I've gotten to know this feeling over the years, even if it is quite...disquieting.  I've learned how to comfort it, nurture it, sit with it, play companion to it until it relaxes and allows creativity to flourish into the being I'm yearning for.  This book, The 12 Secrets of Highly Creative Women: A Portable Mentor, is reminding me to take the time to do so.  Even though I haven't finished the book, I've gone back to it several times to become awash again in one blissful realization in the opening pages.  This realization is that the tension I'm experiencing while working on many of my projects can be called "creative tension."  Additionally, if I can just learn to sit at home in the roller-coaster feeling of it...  the castles I'm constructing at home will be brought to manifestation.  My hands will find their way in the creative act.  Inspiration will settle upon my brow.  The muses will sing to me.

Funny enough, there's a section in one of my research textbooks which sings a similar melody to the tune of this book on creativity.  The author there takes a sidebar moment to urge the undertaking of many different creative endeavors at once, so that focusing on one doesn't become too overwhelming, stale, draining, etc.  What may seem idle, or called idle in the mentioned quote from Highly Creative Women, is an illusion.  In this modern world obsessed with instant gratification, fast-serving technology, and capitalistic venturing forth, it's easy enough for me to feel frustrated that I'm not seeing the fruitful outcome of my endeavors.  It makes me feel as if I'm not working.  And that's just wrong.

Highly Creative Women sets me right again.  I'm so relieved that I've had it as my companion this week.  The author/researcher for this book took her compilation of forty-five interviews with successful, creative women and turned it into manna this week for me.  It will serve as such for many, many months to come.  There are two featured women I'm especially grateful to hear from within these pages: Sarah Ban Breathnach and Clarissa Pinkola Estés. 

Sarah Ban Breathnach is the author which brought that beautiful pink book of daily inspiration to women, encouraging the embrace of: gratitude, simplicity, order, harmony, beauty, and joy.  She did this in her book Simple Abundance.  I still read my copy my mother bought me years ago.

Clarissa Pinkola Estés is another one of those authors every woman should read up on and my copy of her Women Who Run With the Wolves is enshrined on my sacred shelf of books.  She brings a singing voice to the soul of female, conducting such a meaningful melody for each pace a woman takes in the journey of her life.

I've got some great companions with me in this book right now in my time of creative tension.  The voices are comforting.  And although I haven't finished reading it, all my creative efforts are applauded.  Regardless of the fact that the outcomes of my creative endeavors haven't arrived yet, the voices in this book speak to me their knowing of my efforts.  Loved, I am.  Blessed, I am.  Finish this book, I will.  More enriched upon completion of it, I will be.

When I wasn't reading...  in between cooking up all the batches of projects in the works, I found another creative project...  This is the "before" picture of the little bistro I'm going to find inspiration to come to the point where there's an "after" picture.

An Exquisitely Rare Reading Experience... (article, adverb, adjective, adjective, noun = probable disapproval from characters of the book)

This is one of those unmatched reading experiences that don't come along real often.  First of all, the author was given to me in recommendation from a person whom I'd carry an unpublished manuscript around for, even if it had been rejected a hundred times, simply because it came from her.  Secondly, I shared it with a person whom I'd grown close to, shared some of my main interests with, and we enjoyed a conversation over it.  What was even better in that instance was that it had been on her reading shelf as well for a special reason (a soul she loved had loved it), and she just hadn't gotten to it yet.  Oh joy, a colloquium of beloved souls occurred over a beloved book, and I was blessedly a part of it!

Except that was the first book by the author Carlos Ruiz Zafon.  That happened a few months ago.  I gobbled up every word in that book and cursed myself for consuming it so ravenously when I got to the end.  The name of that book was The Shadow of the Wind.  Today I finished his second book, The Angel's Game. 

The colluquy that takes place among the characters in Zafon's books are of the kind I'd dream of calling into my life.  I'm talking about characters who love books, literature, and writing in a way that makes me salivate to meet them in real life.  They weave literary references into witty conversation and I'm envious I'm not in the same room.  The sarcasm and intellectual banter occurring between the characters is so precise, I imagine they can hear my laughter (and the rest of the reading audience) right after their epochal tête-à-tête.

Not only that, the author has created them in a landscape which mirrors their literature loving souls.  There is the Cemetery of Forgotten Books, and I probably shouldn't even talk about it. 

However, I am going to share a secret from this book.  It's sacred knowledge.  It shouldn't be handled lightly.  In fact, I'm a little worried that I'm sharing it.  I'm going to be bold and do it though, because I think sacred knowledge like this...should be shared: "Every book, every volume you see, has a soul.  The soul of the person who wrote it and the soul of those who read it and lived and dreamed with it.  Every time a book changes hands, every time someone runs his eyes down its pages, its spirit grows and strengthens (Angel's Game, 519)."

If you are anything like the kind of person that I am, you might be tempted to think that after being inducted into such a world, after coming to the ecstatic realization that such a place exists, that it is some kind of paradise.  Membership in such a society?  Being part of such an erudition would surely bring one to the end of all searches.  Utopia is here.  Ha!

The beloved characters of this book do not have it easy.  The theatric scale of sorrow, loss, upheaval, betrayal, etc., etc., etc., is played out in gargantuan proportion.  No soul is spared.  There is much weeping to be done. 

Upon the completion of this book today, a quote I recently came across, through another booklover, played itself over and over in my head.  Maybe it is the lesson of this book, of all books, and that main one that readers are able to remember about life upon completion of them:  "Never give in. Never give in. Never, never, never, never--in nothing, great or small, large or petty--never give in, except to convictions of honor and good sense.  Never yield to force.  Never yield to the apparently overwhelming might of the enemy." - Winston Churchill

I was so honored to see this occur within the lives of those incredible characters, despite so much plight.  I'm so glad that my soul could touch the soul of this book.  And yeah, I loved even most, the coming together of souls over an exquisite read.

Waxing Nostalgic....Scratch That....I want some Indecorous, Lecherous, Humorously Coarse Letterwork

Last summer I was deeply inspired by a piece of work that helped me get through rough times.  As I settle myself, despite feelings of disorientation about rooting down in unfamiliar surroundings, I found comfort in recalling its message.

I'm going to ante up.  Last week was so beautiful with the hiking, the Hesse, and the Oooooommmmming - especially with all the tumultuous upheaval of moving, I had planned to do a repeat this week.  My brain needed it.  Moving and settling (and everything else thrown into the mix) are Big Business!  Just because I was "Oomming" last week doesn't mean I am Deepak Chopra, Wayne Dyer, or Anthony Robbins!  I wanted to talk about a book that would have a calming effect on me.  I wanted to talk about a book that had possibly been a life-saver and could do its magic again, simply by talking about it. 

Cosmic providence again stepped in.  This time it was in the shape of a blessedly BADD connection I've formed over the last year.  She urged me to write about the book that I was already talking about this week.  So I'm not cheating here, even though I wanted to talk about a vastly different, magical book.  I'm going to talk about the book that I really read this week.  And I feel so clean now doing it, even if I got some dirty laughs.

Besides, I needed it.  The base humor worked a charm.  The faucet for laughter here at the end of these kinds of sentences wasn't as dried up as my hot water tap.  Here I stand having immense fun at the opportunity to type s-l-o-w-ly words like: lascivious, licentious, lewd, and salacious.  The remarkable thing about it is... I feel honest!  At least I am telling it like it is.  Here is the book I really found comfort in reading this week (what I won't go into detail about is the 500 page book I am in the middle of and wow...).

I got some cheap laughter out of reading the little tidbits of this book.  I'm laughing even more now while I confess to succumbing to pleasure in these pages which may be described as lascivious, licentious, lewd, and salacious in demeanor (even if demeanor shouldn't keep company with those kinds of words).  The punchline is... it's really quite a clever little book.  I'm speaking of Anguished English by Richard Lederer.  For some bawdy reason I've carried it with me through the states of.. moving.  I think I bought it when I was a teacher and thought it would be a witty tool in expressing to students the value of personal editing.  I promise I utilized the more innocent tidbits from it.  This week I've been in my bedroom cackling over it. 

All that talk about it, and I simply must share some of it.  The basis of the book is mockery, mockery of phrases, headlines, statements, quotes that made it to print - but didn't carry the intended meaning.  Lesson of the book is: be careful what you udder.

From the chapter "Two-Headed Headlines:"  

• CHILD'S STOOL GREAT FOR USE IN GARDEN
• IDAHO GROUP ORGANIZES TO HELP SERVICE WIDOWS
• IS THERE A RING OF DEBRIS AROUND URANUS?

Believe me I could go on the rest of the night sharing this stuff.  But I am laughing very loudly now, and I don't want to wake my son.

The point is, if there must be one, is that I found comfort in a book this week.  Finally, even though these little tidbits of letterprint are hilarious, they were really printed without that intended purpose.  I'll try to keep this last lesson in mind as I go back to a little bit more of the reading. 

Divine intervention thankfully has presented itself again and I am now pondering an exchange of the words cosmic providence for comic providence.

A Tale of Two Journeys......Ommmmmmmm

Once upon a time, a woman set out on a journey away from all that she had ever known.  It ended up turning into many journeys.  In the last two weeks, there have been two major journeys.  One has included a seventeen-foot U-Haul truck she drove through four states with a cat named Spazz (and was reminded how much hair the feline sheds) and her tweenage daughter.  The other journey included a read through Hermann Hesse's Siddhartha. 

Here's yet another reminder that cosmic forces are at play.  I just happened to pick up this book around the time I was getting ready to do another move.  It had been on my reading shelf for a few months.  I like to think thematically, so perhaps it was subconscious.  Perhaps it was cosmic.  I prefer to think in this instance...that it was cosmic.

One of the first topics about this book that sticks out in my mind is the last manifestation Siddhartha takes in his many journeys: as a ferryman commuting people across a river.  His words on how the river speaks to the two ferrymen as a source for universal knowledge is beloved to me.  What is most beautiful is the description of the word "om" as related to the river.  For some reason I've read a lot about Eastern spirituality in the last two years, but I've never come across a description like Hesse gives in this book. 

Some people treat events, memories, moments like bookmarks in their lives... a point which signals the beginning or end to some new chapter.  Books are often like that for me.  I can often tell you the book I was reading at a particular moment in my life, or recall a time in my life by what I was reading then.  It will forever be an indelible imprint upon my soul that I finished my return journey back to Colorado and this book at the same time.  Even more distinct in my mind will be the precious occurrence of relishing the last pages on my first hike back in this beautifully colorful state.  What the river has been for Siddhartha, the hiking trail has been for me.  There was an intersection between our two souls, and it was cosmic.

What I am most grateful for in Hesse's work is how much Siddhartha embraces his own path.  He embraces his path each step of the way, regardless of convention, of "coulda-shoulda-woulda's," of familial ties, or the comfortable luxury of wealth.  The conversation that we hear him having with himself over this is liberating, empowering.  Overall, it brings a sweet, blissful, resonant harmony to the eardrum of the soul.  Every leg of his journey has brought him closer to his own empowerment, his own awakening.  Comparisons do not stand.

What tickles me is one comment made throughout the book.  It is probably one of the main underlying premises of the piece.  It is the premise that enlightenment cannot be taught and wisdom cannot be imparted through instruction.  On the one hand you can see this premise in action by looking at Siddhartha himself; he found empowerment through living, not by following.  The other hand is, well, this book.  I believe a person could find enlightenment by dancing their eyes within these pages.  A debate could take place here.  But I feel too peaceful now upon reading this book to start one.

If there were any debate in me at all after reading this book, it might be from leftover fuel ignited from reading Well-Behaved Women Seldom Make History.  Well, I'll stop.  I take that back.  I'd never want to blame a book for my feelings.  However, there was a point in which the courtesan, Kamala, departs from her life with Siddhartha's son to find the Buddha.  She does not make it.  Here is the one woman seeking enlightenment, and she dies from a particular wound.  I think I will stop fussing here and recall my joy in reading Elizabeth Gilbert's Eat Pray Love, and return to the water that was half-full in my soul upon reading this book...

Anyhow, another precious nugget in this book is the discussion of love after enlightenment.  Loving others after truly being able to see their natures, even if they are not enlightened themselves, is descriptively measured out with celestial aplomb.  Here is Mother Theresa.  Here is Thich Nhat Hanh.  Here is Gandhi.  Here is Jesus.  Here is Hafiz.  Here is the manifestation of spirit telling humans there is a source within us capable of rendering us harmless to any other, and fills us up so full.

Oh yeah, and enlightenment with a kiss?  Nice.

Lastly, I will end at the preface.  There is a commentary within these pages about how Hesse grew up within a missionary's family and he spent some time in India.  Somewhere also there is a point made that one remarkable thing about his work is that with it he's become a reverse missionary.  He brought to the West, the East.  He was the ferryman.  I love him for this.  I think he heard the river quite well.  I hope I can hear the wind as well as he can hear the water.  Om.