these are the movies i've glutted on thus far: the governess, (which is raunchy and intriguing--always a good combination); finding neverland. an absolutely fabulous movie. very much the artist's perspective; sisterhood of the traveling pants (so-so); eternal sunshine of the spotless mind (i love it); il postino (a fine film which i'm still trying to articulate why i am so iffy about it. i guess it was the premise of the whole thing. not what i expected); and another whose title escapes me.
i'm like a drunk lying in the gutter (or will be by tomorrow am). delectable phrases dripping from my chin. i'll pick myself up and stagger over to rehab. which will begin at church. my tiny chapel. i'll not read a word, but my mind will wander through the liturgy. cutting in and out of those known and unknown phrases.
Christ have mercy (a favorite).
therefore let us keep the feast.the ringing of the bells at the fraction (my heart beats with those bells when it happens. it's still stunning if i let myself be truly there) i'll not read the hymnal, but my heart will waft upon the songs sung by the congregation. perhaps they'll sing a few tunes i know. perhaps not. i've not heard most of the songs they sing. undoubtedly our new choir master will play the organ like a rockstar and treat us to mendelssohn or bach. it will be worth going to church. it is always worth going, but when you get a prelude and postlude that rocks. ah, how can you miss it? (putting up with the people stuff in between becomes even tolerable).
either way, i'll leave and wander home. not to get on the computer like i normally do, or park myself in my cozy chair to read for a few hours. but to find something to do. so i'll go for a walk instead. not to the park, but to my corner chair in the library where i'll sit and look at my trees, barren now.
the walk home will do me good. pass some time. i'll meander through streets and under trees. looking up through the branches, which is considerably less intriguing now.
then home. still no diversions there, so i'll clean. possibly cook. i do that on occasion. (though i found an excellent way of getting out of cooking. i say to my husband,
i'm making some hamburger concoction tonight.he finds alternate plans, can you blame him? and i rejoice. rejoice. and again i say rejoice). the thought occured to me, if i can only write as good as i read. how much more so what i eat? which is a very round about way of getting the eat your daily 5 lesson. but i'm not the most straight and narrow gal. i get there eventually, but usually after macheteing my way through the underbrush of experience.
i spend a good bit of time during deprivations cleaning. one can't wander the streets after dark, and those are generally the times i clean in depth. perhaps my fridge, the unpacked boxes held over from the move that i've not gotten to yet. i'll do lots of ironing. lots of thinking. lots of watching. and board games.
my daughter looks forward to a deprivation because i'm a distracted mother. the deprivation grounds me again. tethers me more securely to home and family. fastens me to terra firma. i'll take two engaged days to play monopoly with her, because honestly, what else is there to do? (that's the fact of the matter kids). i've all ready cleaned her room though, so i'm kind of limiting my options, but i've still some projects ahead that will occupy my mind if needed. especially late at night when my beloved and girl are asleep. those are the dark hours. the serious moments. when all these images will course through my brain unceasing. and i will tremble and shake, staring down fear of them. fear of silence. fear of being.
the fear is the hardest part of a deprivation. we are a distracted people. i am a woefully distracted person. i live in my head, romp with my muses, revel in the glory of words far too much.
i wept at seeing finding neverland because it portrays this dilemma so clearly. even at the expense, often, of everything dear, there is something we artists were put here to do and must be about it. (i've taught my daughter what i can about inspiration, perhaps mostly by modeling than anything else. but the other day she passed me with this determination and said,
i'm inspired to paint, i've got to go.and paint she did. two or three pictures. she doesn't want to take classes and is teaching herself, but hey, i've taught myself most everything so she comes by it honestly.) we can live locked up in our worlds which seem so real. so vital. but they are our creations. they are our novels or poems or stories. they are not real. yet to capture them, we must spend time there, with them. and with those who inspire us to greatness.
"the Muse enhancing" relationship as matthew fox refers to it, in creativity, is one of vital importance. a promethean relation. a firebearer, i'm calling them. if you want this fire, you must approach, risk being burned, and lay hold of it.
but i must away, the hour is late, and i've some words to devour. write thee in a week at the outside.
1 comment:
Silence. Time. These are the multipliers of the muse.
Blessings,
Marvin
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