The Inside, Upside Down and Backward Blog (3)

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“How does the creative impulse die in us? The English teacher who wrote fiercely on the margin of your theme with blue pencil: “Trite, rewrite,” helped to kill it. Critics kill it, your family. Families are great murderers of the creative impulse, particularly husbands. Older brothers sneer at younger brothers and kill it. There is that American pastime known as “kidding”, – with the result that everyone is ashamed and hang-dog about showing the slightest enthusiasm or passion or sincere feeling about anything.

You have noticed how teachers, critics, parents and other know-it-alls, when they see you have written something, become at once long-nosed and finicking and go through it gingerly sniffing out the flaws. Aha! a misspelled word! as though Shakespeare could spell! As though spelling, grammar and what you learn in a book about rhetoric has anything to do with freedom and the imagination!

So often I come across articles written by critics of the very highest brow, and by other prominent writers, deploring the attempts of ordinary people to write. The critics rap us savagely on the head with their thimbles, for our nerve. No one but a virtuoso should be allowed to do it.

But this is one of the results: that all people who try to write become anxious, timid, contracted, become perfectionists, so terribly afraid that they may put something down that is not as good as Shakespeare.

And so no wonder you don’t write and put it off month after month, decade after decade. For when you write, if it is to be any good at all, you must feel free, – free and not anxious.

Yes, I hate orthodox criticism. The usual small niggling, fussy-mussy criticism, which thinks it can improve people by telling them where they are wrong, and results only in putting them in straightjackets of hesitancy and self-consciousness, and weazening all vision and bravery.

I hate it not so much on my own account, for I have learned at last not to let it balk me. But I hate it because of the potentially shining, gentle, gifted people of all ages, that it snuffs out every year. It is a murderer of talent. And because the most modest and sensitive people are the most talented, having the most imagination and sympathy, these are the very first ones to get killed off. It is the brutal egoists that survive.”
– Brenda Ueland

Today’s post began as a hunt for a video on Quantum Jumping, moved on to Dreaming and Dream Walkers, and ended up at restriction, oppression, creativity, and expression!  Wow, what a glorious morning ride.  I cannot wait to see what comes up in the next moment to which I attend!

The Inside, Upside Down and Backward Blog (2)

Gooooooood Morningggggggg!!

Wow, looking at that peppiness I’ve got to wonder what loud fiend wrote it, my eyes are still partly pasted shut and the second cup of black tea with cinnamon stick is brewing.  Don’t listen to it, we are still mostly asleep.  Part of the brain is hopping and skipping along unfettered by the sleeping rest.  It looks a lot like a girl giggling and trouncing through waist high weeds and flowers, disturbed thistles floating by, glinting on the sun.  She turns and smiles knowingly and knowing nothing, body tangled in long wispy auburn hair.  Her skirt is hiked up above her knees so that she can look down and run freely while watching for mice.  The rest of us would like to be back in the bed sleeping.

Have you noticed the rampant obsession with the word and concept of freedom that has once again repopulated itself like so many insurgents?  If I were more awake, I’d go back and edit and remove the word freely.  Would it be naive to think that if I simply began a campaign to remove the word FREE, and all parts of said word, that the world would be a better place?  I bet we humans would find another thing to replace it!

“There is a language older by far and deeper than words. It is the language of bodies, of body on body, wind on snow, rain on trees, wave on stone. It is the language of dream, gesture, symbol, memory. We have forgotten this language. We do not even remember that it exists.

In order for us to maintain our way of living, we must, in a broad sense, tell lies to each other, and especially to ourselves. It is not necessary that the lies be particularly believable. The lies act as barriers to truth. These barriers to truth are necessary because without them many deplorable acts would become impossibilities. Truth must at all costs be avoided. When we do allow self-evident truths to percolate past our defenses and into our consciousness, they are treated like so many hand grenades rolling across the dance floor of an improbably macabre party. We try to stay out of harm’s way, afraid they will go off, shatter our delusions, and leave us exposed to what we have done to the world and to ourselves, exposed as the hollow people we have become.”
–Derrick Jensen

I found this while slurping tea.  The word truth is like the word free.  The first part of it is that little girl running happily along.  The hook.  What follows the feeling and idea of girl is made to appear as if it were dependent upon, and in union with the other.  This is false.  It is a wonder to me that one does not see others also noticing enough to write about it in a worthy manner.

Come sit with me and think.  Enjoy the sound of summer thunderstorms and rain cascading from the eaves of the porch.  You can hear the small stream rushing along to greet the rain in blessed dancing of union and the stones sighing in relief at the sight.

Until Next Time,
Elisa

The Inside, Upside Down and Backward Blog

Here I am.  Procrastinated, or as I like to call it, thinking.  Thinking is NOT the same as Pondering.  I wanted to type just then that Pondering is NOT the same as producing.  That would not be true.  All right, for some the idea of producing means a tangible goal achieved which would mean that Pondering is then NOT the same as producing.  Seeee!?!!? How am I to write Inside Out, Upside Down, and Backward when I cannot get past the first three sentences?!?!?!

I require Tea for this!!!
(So will you, I promise.)

Ok, I am back having cleaned the screen with vinegar.  Who would have thunkenuggetted that one could not see the screen all bright and cheery for the goo?  No, I suggest that we do NOT look down at the condition of my keyboard.

Now.  A lovely blogger called Centria just happens to do a lot of the things I do or I think or vice versa.  She’s fun, and I like how she thinks, and how she does not.  I like how people take her seriously when she isn’t, and doesn’t when she is.  I have not yet noticed that others get out a can of whoop-ass at her when she says a thing they cannot grasp or another thing that wafts past the mind a bit too close to home.  I often wonder if there is some gift of what I guess I’d call diplomacy that of course I’m comparing sometimes to see if I lack.  And then, I smile and I know that we move and draw the readers that want what we have.

Sometimes I think about what I think I am going to write and I will wake up and find that She has written it.  I try to be cognizant of this.  This morning I decided to ask her about an idea in a letter.  The letter did and does still feel awkward.

So, back to the beginning.  I love being outside.  I stopped writing about being outside, courtesy.  Remote viewing and sharing isn’t anyone’s fault, it simply is, and can require grace.  It has been bugging me for days now, particularly in my sleep about how much time I spend INSIDE.  And how since NOT writing about being Outside, that I’d somehow shoved OUTSIDE aside…a present no longer mine to cherish.  This is such a funny idea, as my insides are my outside.  Without it, I am upside down and backward.

Now, since this morning I woke with that jittery unsure go go feeling, I asked for focus.  I wasn’t specific enough!  I have been focused on my sore toe all darn day.  WOW!! Does it hurt.  Wow, has it driven away the ability to focus on what I wanted to have my attention.  I would say that I found a distraction for fear of writing crap.  However, I am not that stupid to have a sick toe to do it, not on purpose anyway!

(Yes! Please blow kisses to my toe….)

Apparently I have GREAT FOCUS!

shaking my head and turning all about…

Have a great afternoon

Elisa

P.S.  Oh! This is what inspired me to begin, though I only read half of it, and finished reading after I published the blog.  It was hilarious so, here it is:
Eighty-three problems “There is a story of a man who came to see the Buddha because he had heard that the Buddha was a great teacher. He had some problems in his life, and he thought the Buddha might be able to help him straighten them out.

The Buddha listened patiently to the man as he laid out all his difficulties and worries, and then waited for the Buddha to say the words that would put everything right for him.

The Buddha said, “I can’t help you.”

“What do you mean?” said the man.

“Everybody’s got problems,” said the Buddha. “In fact, we’ve all got eighty-three problems, each one of us. Eighty-three problems, and there’s nothing you can do about it. If you work really hard on one of them, maybe you can fix it – but if you do, another one will pop right into its place.”

The man was furious. “I thought you were a great teacher! I thought you could help me!”

The Buddha said, “Well, maybe it will help you with the eighty-fourth problem.”

“The eighty-fourth problem?” said the man. “What’s the eighty-fourth problem?”

The Buddha said, “You want to not have any problems.”
– Steve Hagen
Buddhism Plain and Simple