Still Sundays

September 23, 2012.

Why I am not a “life coach”. Dr. Elvin Semrad on relationships. This notion of intimacy. Writing and this public digital shelf. 

Myth: there is perpetual stillness and quietude on a farm in a small town in the middle of nowhere.  Truth: The earth has its moments too. The owls blink to the rhythm of the stars.

Words sometimes feel like a moth to a flame. If the moth starts burning who is the flame?

I couldn’t tell today was a Sunday. The days have all become one but I remain cognizant that they have not all converged into one big Sunday.

If Sun had a sound would the decibel be measured by its sheer brightness? We would go deaf and blind simultaneously. Light demands distance.

Writers write for themselves. Another myth I too am guilty of perpetuating. Then why share here?

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If it has been written it was meant to be shared regardless of one’s conscious intentions. Someday.by someone.somewhere. Even if that someone is you, an objective meta-listener.  This is why emails are the new journal entries: written soliloquies. Or even if one is unattached to the listener as via social media, someone somewhere just might pay attention. Or maybe lots of someone.

The written word by its very nature requests an audience even if one buries the words in earth. Earth is the Grand Listener. Careful!

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When I first began writing I was eight years old. It was like walking for me. If you are a healthy child eventually you will walk with the help of props. It doesn’t mean you are training for the marathon. The notion of becoming a writer didn’t enter my head. My father discouraged it to the extent of cautioning that professional writing seldom pays bills and very few of those people are genuinely happy. Although becoming a runner was planted in my head thanks to my father so that’s not the best analogy here. And I did run until my knees and hips had had enough. Running didn’t take me deep enough after awhile. There was a hiatus of some years and my physical health reflected it until I discovered yoga. There is no end to the depth when going within.

This website was started in 2009 because my mother thought whatever I share because of how I choose to engage with life should be shared with more people. Some days I feel like I entered a pageant I would have otherwise mocked.

I can’t even fathom the depths some writers must have had to go to produce something beyond just a personal story to share. Or maybe it was indeed having their own unique story by actually living life that set the foundation to really create and offer us a memorabilia of our human condition.

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My very subjective assertion, however misguided, without any proper academic research, is that the desire to share dulls if one has a really attentive life partner with whom sharing it all suffices. That divine connection perpetually fills and pours, the two share an infinite well.

Most people are not lucky enough (for whatever reasons and choices) or not willing to work hard enough to have that connection with their significant other or siblings or parents. Or maybe they do and their ego or work depends on more, more, more. For some that personal audience cannot be enough even if they have it due to the nature of what they are sharing, for example, alternative news and information about human rights or a political revolution, and I respect that desire for more for its different nature.  It seldom applies to the majority in the “blogosphere”.

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Last weekend we watched The Words, a movie that didn’t catch much mainstream attention. This original screenplay was really well done and the story was very engaging.  I really enjoyed every minute of it and not because it was about writing and writers.

When I left the movie theater I felt a deep sense of generic sorrow. This was partly induced by the themes in the movie but mostly an unrelated reflection on my part. There is nothing more burdensome than being naturally creative yet not have a compelling story that must be told. This doesn’t have to apply to writing but can to anything else too. It’s kind of like being born with certain physical features so everyone suggests you should become a model. Then the model is disappointed to learn there are many beautiful models and only a handful can be famous. But the worst bit of it is if you never wanted to be one. The pressure from the world: what then is the point of your attractive traits that you didn’t choose?! And may all divine powers unite to help you if you know how to use your brain and not your cleavage and are not led by your ego on top of how you look.

But after a certain age it doesn’t matter anymore. Youth is symbolic of potential. Some make peace with this and others either create veneers to give the ambiance that they still have potential or actually continue to strive being someone they will never be.

I have lived the following words long before I came across them in the quote below, but beginning in 2009 this saying by Howard Thurman became a litmus test before all decisions: “Don’t ask what the world needs. Ask yourself what makes you come alive, because the world needs people who have come alive.”

Writing makes me come alive and so I continue to write. This doesn’t mean I am writing fiction or even the kind of fiction or essays I want to be writing. This knowledge that what I write because of who I am and how I live is read and even shared by a few, has begun to deter me from going deeper to write fiction, because by writing and sharing here I indeed feel as if I have written something when I haven’t actually added much to my intended projects.

I am currently exploring how I want to manage this space that I have created which has morphed into something I had never intended.

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One time this artist wrote me an email suggesting how to write Still Sundays’ essays so it is less draining. I laughed out loud. What kind of an artist thinks this way? Can an “artist” even think this way? The point was “how to keep this space alive” without really contributing any real value for myself or anyone. Most who do that are afraid to be forgotten. I know to whom I am matter and I have no desire to keep running a website just to have a website. I know this individual was being compassionate but what is offered here is not the full picture of who I am and how I am. Moreover, if people actually created they would realize how much time it takes and how it is exhausting even if you didn’t share it with anyone but your dog.

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I read the following in one of the books that has collected thoughts of Dr. Elvin Semrad around my parents’ home:

It all sounds paradoxical, but when you take the cool, calm, collected view of it, normality is really a very creative state.

We are so adamant that anti-normal is more creative that most of what we are producing is not creative whatsoever. It takes real work to break bad habits or same old attention seeking behaviors and that work demands real creativity. Imagine what you could create if you were happy within?!

Also the following by same:

One can get in the habit of not thinking as a defense, of not perceiving and not considering what are his perceptions and feelings about life, in order to avoid what is painful.

Reality changes so little for anybody. If reality is to be changed, it takes an awful lot f work. Even cooping people up in hospitals or in jails doesn’t change very much the essence of their basic nature. Radial steps have to be taken before change can occur.

This is why I am not a “life coach.” I cannot afford to commit long term and it is an intense long commitment that is required to truly help someone change. Besides, most people don’t want to change. They just want to be heard. And most people assume being heard alone constitutes as friendship. I can’t participate in someone’s personal journey in that manner. This is precisely why I cannot charge someone who may learn from my very personal development. How can I? It doesn’t add up. I know of many people who have sought my opinion and taken it for advice and then evolved their blogs, writing, personal relationships, approach to social media etc. I am glad I have not been acknowledged by most because I am also a tough critic—kind but honest—and most don’t want to really grow, they just want to look like they did. How long can one keep that up or keep up with such an individual? Now that would be draining.

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In a town nearby my parents’ farmhouse there is a community center where adults ages 50 and older meet to play bingo, crochet and to practice country line dancing. I participated in one class and I had a lot of fun. I was awestruck by this one couple in their mid-70s. They were deeply in love and it showed. I couldn’t help asking how long they had been married. To my surprise they had only been dating for 6 weeks! The woman had been a widow since 1990 and the man lost his wife a year ago and they met in line dancing six weeks ago.

I thought about the latest Meryl Streep movie that is out, about a couple trying to rekindle “passion” and “romance.” More of the same. We have become obsessed with one form of intimacy, sex. Indeed it is a very important part of a couple’s connecting but it is not the only part and more importantly how one connects changes with age. Our society continues to focus on the hormones of a 20 year old body. Unfortunately sex is a substitute for all that is missing and in the pursuit to fulfill personal voids therapy is suggested to have a good sex life. Intimacy in the form of sex ought to extend other types of connecting but the pursuit of it in turn becomes a burden and yet another thing that is missing.

Romance is a way of being not a way of buying or doing for another.

Romance begins with oneself.

I would like to see a movie about a couple who have lived and loved and lost and decided to begin again at the age of 75 by pursuing an interest like line dancing because it makes them feel alive which makes them feel happy. How can intimacy in all its forms not follow for such a couple?

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