Tag Archives: Blog

Individual Individuality

14 Tuesday Jul 2020

Posted by in Uncategorized

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

, , , , , , , ,

They Look Like Many, Yet They Are One

I love words.

This is a good thing because, as both an avid reader and a writer, I spend an inordinate amount of time thinking about words, studying them, breaking them down, and finding that perfect word that says exactly what I want to say.

Finding that perfect word isn’t always easy because the meanings of words change. Language is as fluid as a river and meanings can change over time or be forgotten and a word is now used to mean one thing when it was, at one time, used to mean the opposite.

Take the word “individual”. I have always believed this word to mean and have used it in my writing to mean: single, separate, distinguishable from others, unique. This is how the word is used almost exclusively today. And, the definition is not wrong: my Webster’s New World Dictionary does offer up “existing as a single, separate thing or being” as the second definition of Individual. And yet, I was reading a teaching by J. Preston Eby where he wrote that Individual meant “not divisible”. I had to look that up and, sure enough, the first definition of Individual is indeed “not divisible; not separable”.

Which is the correct usage? Does the fact that the second definition is used the majority of the time render void the first?

Everything in me revolts against sameness. What do I mean by this? The best fictional example I can think of is in “A Wrinkle in Time” by Madeleine L’Engle where she shows her readers the planet of Camazotz (which, if you’re interested, is the name of a bat god from Mayan mythology) The people of Ms. L’engle’s Camazotz are ruled by a single mind and are forced to be exactly alike, down the the perfect bouncing of balls during play time. Anyone deviating from what IT has decided is the norm is harshly re-educated. On this world, the first definition of Individual is paramount in every negative sense of the word.

I see this pressure towards sameness in the real world. Why? I get that there is safety in numbers but, historically, it’s the odd man or woman out who makes the discovery, solves the equation, writes the novel, and composes the masterpiece. The Individual is important. While I do not claim brilliance for myself, I am aware that I am unique. There is no one like me. There has never been anyone like me. There will never be anyone like me. I am an Individual and I hold as precious my sense of being a unique being. This being so, do I then believe the second definition is more important than the first?

No. I believe both definitions are equally important because, while I fiercely guard my own individuality, I am aware that every other human being on the face of this earth is also an Individual: as unique as I am. I think J. Preston Eby says it best:

“We speak of ourselves as individuals. Someone says, “I am an individual.” By that he means that he is separate from everyone else. We think, “I’m not like other people. I’m me. I’m something different. I’m special. I’m unique. I’m an individual.” The English word “individual,” however, comes from the Latin word individuus meaning indivisible or not divisible. It’s not that which is separate — it’s that which cannot be separated! It means that if I am an individual I am not separate from the rest of humanity. I am simply a unique expression of everything humanity is! It’s not separation from; it’s identification with!”

Identification with. Not separate from. An Individual yet part of an Individuum. How are these two seemingly opposite definitions reconciled in me? How do I live with my certainty of my own value without feeling threatened by the equal value of my fellow beings?

One of my favorite scriptures is Isaiah 30:15 specifically, “in quiet and confidence shall be your strength.” I have meditated on these words and, while there are many nuances of meaning, I am convinced that these two attributes are essential to my living in peace with myself and with everyone else. When I know that I am an Individual-in the words of J. Preston Eby “a unique expression of the word, of the spirit, of the mind, of the substance, of the totality of the being of our heavenly Father”-I find quietness and confidence. There is no turmoil in my spirit because I know how my heavenly Father sees me and I don’t have to compete with anyone nor assert my individuality. Seeing myself as He sees me gives me a confidence that can’t be shaken by anyone or anything so I don’t have to regard my fellow humans with suspicion.

I guess that, ultimately, the word I’m looking for isn’t Individual after all. It’s Identity.

Strange gods

03 Friday Jul 2020

Posted by in Poetry, Writing

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

, , , ,

One of my Mom’s paintings

Another post so soon! Thanks to my step-father’s dedication and a range extender, I have reliable internet again and, since I’d finished my poem…

This poem is inspired by Deuteronomy 32:12-13; a small segment of the Song of Moses which is another beautiful example of song/poems in the bible.

Strange gods

The trumpet sounded with the dawn and I set myself to roam

I searched for a meeting place-somewhere I could call home

I wandered far, both day and night, until I saw a golden dome.

Its beacon shone in light and dark and attracted a vast throng

I joined myself to them and learned to sing their lovely song

Yet came the day I found I was getting the words wrong.

Why this song?, I finally asked; “What’s all this repetition for?”

His voice is singing myriad-shouldn’t we all learn something more?

But they called me a blasphemer and they showed me to the door.

I walked until I found a group of people singing in the street

They greeted me, welcomed me, took me with them so I could eat

Once in their home they sat me and soothed my aching feet.

I set about becoming one with their song and with their creed

Yet they said I was not really like them not in word and not in deed

They could teach me to become so but to stay I’d have to bleed.

I like it here, I like your song, I want to stay with you

But you have the best in Jesus-what more can my blood do?

They said I’d seen no light at all and I had to search for someplace new.

I stumbled on until I found someone I thought I knew

She asked me to go with her-promised to show me what was true

We sat down at a table spread before a wondrous view.

The vista was incredible-the mountains had never looked so near

There was not a cloud overhead the air was cool and clear

There is no work for us, she said, but to eat while we wait here.

There was food that I had never seen and I was told to choose a treat

But there was nothing savory-no salt among the sweet

She told me to go elsewhere if I wished plain bread and meat.

I wandered into new lands but found no open door

Finally I collapsed with body, heart, and soul too sore

to rouse myself again-I could not take one step more.

In the darkness there He found me though I’d thought I was alone

He ministered Himself to me, restored me blood and bone

Then He bade me tell Him everything, all I’d seen and how I’d grown.

With faltering lips I shared with Him my lengthy tale of woe

I told Him how I’d sought Him and had found Him even though

His face, at first familiar, had become one strange I did not know.

The fault is mine, I said in close, I must possess a fatal quirk

There was no song I would not sing-no task I thought to shirk

So something must be wrong with me because I could not make this work.

Fear not, Dear Child, I’ve brought you here so finally you can see

My call was not to bondage-My call is to set you free

I’ve called you not unto a place but for you to walk with Me.

How can I know for sure?, I asked. On what do I depend

for certainty I’ve heard aright? That You will call me ‘Friend’?

Fear not, He said a second time, I’m with you to the end.

One more thing-I hesitated-when will this race be won?

I want to understand everything but they say it can’t be done.

Fear not, He said a third time, for you and I are One.

I stand Faithful. I stand True. I alone will lead

I will also walk beside you-I will meet your every need

I will slake your thirst with living water-on rock honey you will feed.

I put my hand in His and He lifted me up from the ground

and onto difficult and winding paths with His voice the only sound

I hear as we walk along and no more strange gods have I found.

Juxtaposition

09 Tuesday Jun 2020

Posted by in Poetry, Uncategorized, Writing

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

, , , , , , ,

Despair

The Waters rage

I am cast adrift

With no buoy to tell me where I might be

Nothing beneath me to anchor me

I see nothing but the tempest

I wait for the eye of the storm

But there is no peace, no calm

I call out but no one hears my voice

This battle is lost-I will sink

For my strength already fails

And no hand is extended toward me

Hope

He is a Man of Suffering

He is Acquainted with Sorrows

He has felt all my pain

All my despair

All my anguish

Before I felt it myself

For I have been His

From the Foundation of the World

He strengthens me

I withstand the storms

For He has pledged Himself to me

And I am never alone

Walking in the Way

25 Monday May 2020

Posted by in My Spiritual Life, Poetry, Writing

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

, , , , , , ,

Crossroads

I stood once at a crossroads with two paths laid before me

There were no signs to mark them or guides that I could see

To help me choose which path to walk and show me which way I should go

But I heard two voices call to me; one was Loud and one was Low.

The Loud voice called me one way and said great things to me

Promising to make me everything I thought I could be.

The Low voice said nothing more but to call me by my name

And I knew that if I chose that path I’d never be the same.

But what I would be I didn’t know and no promises were made

And as I stepped onto the first path I heard the Low voice fade.

The path I chose seemed bright and easy, the going never hard

And yet I often stumbled; I was bruised and sometimes scarred.

I did not turn back from the path that foolishly I’d chosen:

I threw my life away and my body was left broken.

I lay there on the path sobbing ‘midst my pain and shame

And then, oh so softly; I heard a Low voice call my name.

With gentle hands He lifted me and held me safe and sound

Next to His heart He healed me and I was no longer bound

To the Death that I had lived in for now Grace had been imparted

And though I knew He loved me; He set me down where I had started.

I stood at that same crossroads with two paths laid before me

There were no signs to mark them or guides that I could see

To help me choose which path to walk and show me which way I should go

But I heard two voices call to me; one was Loud and one was Low.

I now longed for the Low voice and determined not to fail

I stepped forward onto the path confident I would prevail.

But the Trickster lay in wait for me and seduced me with his lies

And while I thought I was obeying Him; it was the Evil One in guise.

I fell once more to my knees with shame and broken heart

Sure He would not take me back: we could not be more far apart.

That nothing between the two of us would ever be the same

But as my tears slipped down my cheeks; I heard Him call my name.

Once more with utmost gentleness He held me in His hands

Rescued me from whence I’d come and from my enemy’s plans.

He strengthened me, restored me, and though around me His love flowed

I found myself at a familiar place; having again to choose a road.

I stand once more at a crossroads with two paths laid before me

There are no signs to mark them and no guides that I can see

But I know the voices on them that call for me to follow

And I will not be led astray again; for those promises are hollow.

I will strive to hear that gentle voice that will never force nor trick me

But simply calls me further on to glories I can’t yet see.

I trust Him to keep my feet firm and stable as I walk

That He’ll be my provider; my protection and my rock.

I know that I will stumble and at times completely fail

But I trust Him to hold and keep me as I push along this trail.

But I proceed with caution for I never want to hear

Any voice but His; though others sometimes sound sincere.

I have walked the path that leads to destruction and despair

I want not to set foot on it again and so my deepest prayer

Is that He would give me Wisdom on how to hear His voice

To listen clearly and to always make the wisest choice.

I want to continue forward and never be sent back

To that starting place I find myself when I’ve fallen off the track

I want the choice I’ve made to keep me still when I might roam

With my heart and mind fixed on Him as His Love guides me home.

 

Gaining Strength As I Go

01 Friday May 2020

Posted by in Writing

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

, , , , , , , , , , , ,

After a two year hiatus, I am back to blogging!  Before I made Renaissance Woman public again I went through all of my old posts updating, checking links, deleting (a lot of deleting) and I found it apropos that my final blog post in April of 2018 was about making forward progress even if it’s at a turtle’s pace.  Two years later and the theme of that post is still valid.

The last two years have been fraught with difficulty.  My biggest obstacle occurred at the end of 2018: a major surgery I spent what felt like all of 2019 recovering from.  My neighbor described his wife’s last surgery to me and said it is a fight to come back from such a thing.  I agree: it felt like a battle and it became obvious early on it wasn’t one I was going to win in a day.  My first post-surgery walk went no further than the mailbox on the corner of my block which is an embarrassingly short distance.  I’d love to say I made more progress the next day but I didn’t.  My recovery was one of two steps forward, three steps back, and then at last four steps forward.

It took months but I finally walked a full mile.  I even took a trip to the mountains with a friend in July of 2019.  I admit I was grateful for late snow storms that kept hiking to a minimum as I had overestimated my ability.  Still, I’m never one to turn down a chance to be in God’s Creation and I didn’t collapse during our hike at Fish Creek Falls. I call that victory!

Falls Two

I had to learn to be gentle with myself.  I am still learning to be gentle with myself because I have found that six weeks might be enough for incisions to heal but the rest of me is on my own clock.  I can do nothing to alter the speed of this passage of time.  All I can do is surrender and take one day at a time one step at a time.  I still wear the turtle pendant I mentioned in the last post and it has been a tangible reminder to me that any forward movement, even if it is just one step, is better than stagnation.

Stagnation is a terrible thing.  When I think of stagnation in a physical sense, I think of my lymphatic system.  This amazing system running through my body is so important for my health and yet it has no ability to move itself.  What do I mean?  The lymph has no heart to aid it as it moves upward through my body to my subclavian veins and thus relies on the motions of the muscles and joint pumps.  I must move or my lymphatic system is unable to do its job and my immune system suffers.  This pumping of my lymphatic system doesn’t require insanely difficult exercises. (I always think of Tae Bo.  Is that still something exercise lovers do?)  All I have to do is move a little bit throughout my day.

I found this quote:

“Life is never stagnation. It is constant movement, un-rhythmic movement, as we as constant change. Things live by moving and gain strength as they go.” ~ Bruce Lee

I think that’s beautiful.  “Things live by moving and gain strength as they go”.  There isn’t an aspect of my life I can’t apply that to: especially writing.  Writer’s speak of the flow of words and so I write to keep that flow constant.  I will write here on this blog, in my journal, in my notebooks, in my manuscript (manuscripts now-I had to put my series aside to conduct research on a few things and I’ve been working on a stand alone book since April of last year).  I write, I walk, I move to keep stagnation at bay.  I seek merely to gain strength as I go.

River

 

 

 

 

 

 

Celebrating National Poetry Month

30 Thursday Apr 2020

Posted by in Writing

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

, , , , , , , , , ,

The poem below is one of mine I’m posting for National Poetry Month.

It will tie into tomorrow’s blog post.

DSCF0109 (1)

 

Epiphany

Three miles-less will mean defeat

The gravel’s crunch beneath my feet

Each step propels me down the track

Yet I’m aware of all I lack

My body falters-lungs constrict

It fights against all I inflict

I answer all my pain with rage

My heart thuds-panicked-in its cage

I will not fail. I won’t give in.

I won’t be beaten. I will win.

I stop.  I breathe.  Confront the myth-

Of Who am I competing with?

Begin Again.  Take it slow

Let lungs expand inside my chest

It matters not how fast I go

My racing heart returns to rest

My muscles slide beneath my skin

Feel sun and breeze upon my face

There is no race that I must win

I do not fight to keep this pace

A bird takes wing, soars overhead

So much is waiting to be seen

To my right, a flash of red

A single apple midst leaves of green

Now that I do not resist

I see all I would have missed.

 

 

 

Developing My Writing Brain

21 Sunday May 2017

Posted by in Writing

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

, , , , , , , , , ,

Writing Shelf

I would love to be a word genius: stories spilling out of my brain with no need for editing or grammar checks.  That’s not how my writing process goes, unfortunately, so I do a great deal of reading.  Reading is my favorite thing and, among the amazing fiction I read for fun and the history I read for research (and fun), I also read about writing.  Some of the books I read are craft and others are writers writing about writing.  Most I read and put back on my shelf but I just finished a book I thought worthy of mention: Fire Up Your Writing Brain by Susan Reynolds.

This book doesn’t cover craft-not really.  Rather, the book contains tips and tricks derived from neuroscience to take what I already know as a writer and make it work more efficiently.  This is a book I’ll have to study and my favorite part were the quotes included from different writers.

There were three things I read on my first pass through this book that stayed with me:

First, a little blurb about Mark Zuckerberg was included stating he buys multiples of the same shirt in order to minimize how many decisions he makes in a day.  He’s quoted as saying; “There’s a bunch of psychological theory that even making small decisions about what you wear, what you eat for breakfast, etc., can make you tired.” (Fire Up Your Writing Brain, page 162).  The TBI I sustained in my car accident years ago means it’s easy for my brain to get overwhelmed.  Planning my meals, multi-tasking at my job, researching, writing my manuscript, posting to my blogs…it can get difficult for me to keep it all straight.  This quote struck me.  I’ve already been looking for ways to simplify my life and reading this has caused me to make doing so a priority.

Two, no one is perfect and yet I keep expecting my writing to be so.  The section entitled “Your Expectations Are Too High” on page 194 spoke to me.  In it, Ms. Reynolds states “The best advice anyone can give inexperienced writers is to write a first draft as quickly as possible, as good books are not written, but rewritten and rewritten and rewritten.”  This is something I’ve heard many times from many sources but perhaps, this time, I was ready not just to hear it but take it to heart.  I finished a first draft years ago: all 612 pages of it.  It’s been whittling and paring and cutting that mass of research and character background into something more readable that’s been a problem.  I have difficulty not tweaking this, re-writing that, what if this, and would it be better if… What Ms. Reynolds’ book is helped me realize is it’s still too early in my process to expect perfection.  I need to turn off my editing brain for a while. Easier said than done but I’m pushing through.

Three, it’s important to have a writing space.  I’m fortunate to have an office downstairs where all my books are neatly on their shelves, I have a desk, a comfy chair, and a place to put my feet.  While simplifying my life, parts of my office have become a dump site for papers I have to scan before I can shred, blank cards I have yet to fill out and send to friends and family, and other detritus I’m can’t throw away before I look at it.  Writing in this room feels different than writing anywhere else in the house.  Because of my books?  I can’t really say.  However, I need to get the room organized so I can work there without feeling anxious about mess.  This too is now a priority.

I gave this book 5 stars on Goodreads.  The information in it is bound to be more useful than I yet realize.  This is one that definitely goes on my bookshelf; just as soon as I get the shelf dusted and sorted.

Connect with me on Goodreads!

The Good Old Wintertime

11 Saturday Mar 2017

Posted by in Writing

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

, , , , , , , , ,

Snow

It’s still winter according to the calendar but snowy days have been few and far between here in Colorado.  I need some cold days because my cookie recipes are stacking up but I can’t complain too much: cold weather makes me feel old and creaky.  On really cold days I entertain myself by thinking of seeking warmer climes, however; I’d miss winter.

I like snowy days.  Every sound is muffled and the world is quieter, stiller, than usual.  At least, I like them when I’m inside and warm.  I remember one time when I wasn’t much of a fan of cold and winter.

My dad had taken a job as foreman on a ranch and moved us north.  My brother and I were excited to be living on a ranch and were sure we’d each be able to have a horse.  It was the dead of winter and, practically the moment we arrived, the pipes in the house froze.  I don’t remember much of that time other than the bitter cold.  I do remember being put to bed with so many blankets and coats I could barely move.  I woke up on the third morning after our arrival to the sound of my mother packing our boxes and we were gone.  That was the coldest I ever remember being and the shortest I ever lived in one place.

Usually though, I like snow.  I like watching the flakes fall, I like the feeling of isolation.  I used to like hiking in the snow, though I don’t do much of that now.  All other sounds are muffled and the crunch of snow under my boots, the creaking of branches, and the occasional drop of snow to the ground all are inordinately loud.  Even when with other people, hiking in the snow made me feel alone.  I always felt more in touch with my own breath outdoors in the snow-perhaps the act of drawing the cold into my lungs-and even my thoughts seem to move more slowly.

I once tried to capture this feeling in poetry.  I wrote the included poem for my English class while at University and it’s one of my earliest attempts at word painting.  It’s been years but I remember my classmates liked it.  I hope you’ll feel the same.

One With Winter

It was a moment I will always remember

I stepped out of the trees

And a magnificent sight lay before me

A fresh snowfall covered the meadow

Beautiful, unmarred, soft, covered in a thin shell

The light from the moon sparkled like diamonds

All around me was silence-no movement for miles

There was only the fog I created as I breathed.

The coldness of Winter was in the air

It caressed my face, my lips

Winter found a kindred spirit in me

It entered my skin, my blood, my bones

And we were one.

As Winter I felt such peace-such nothingness

I was the ice in the air and the snow expansive before me

Beautiful, still, cold

I let myself sink into the heart of Winter

Until I was becoming lost in the cold

And had to fight my way back to myself

I took care as I walked around the meadow

Reluctant to mar the beauty I had enjoyed.

I returned the next day

To see my snow covered meadow but the snow was no longer there

It had melted-submitted-to the loving warmth of the sun.

 

 

As Long As There Are Mummies

26 Sunday Feb 2017

Posted by in RW Out and About

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

, , , , , , , , , ,

cartouche20170226_22465084-483x640

My Cartouche

I didn’t realize two months have passed since my last post.  I’ve been busy with adjusted hours at work and my manuscript.  I intend to post something interesting but I get busy and blogging is the one thing that falls behind.  Still, I do look up from my keyboard and manuscript from time to time and get myself out of the house.  My last outing was to the Denver Museum of Nature and Science where I caught the Mummies: New Secrets From the Tombs exhibit.  I’m always willing to make a special trip if mummies are involved.

This exhibit, while not extensive, was fascinating.  Egyptian and Peruvian cultures were covered by the exhibit and I tried to take as many interesting photos as I could.  I’ve never photographed an exhibit before and the biggest takeaway for me was…I need practice.  Fortunately, another special exhibit on Vikings is on its way to the museum.  Until then, here are photos from my first attempt at photographing exhibits.

dscf0063

The Carved Inside of an Egyptian Wood Coffin

dscf0064

Canopic Jars

dscf0054

A Rather Interesting Sarcophagus from the Roman Era

dscf0058

A Fabulous Painted Coffin-My Photo Definitely Doesn’t Do It Justice

dscf0051

Pots Made to Resemble Cats

dscf0045

Diorama of a Peruvian Burial Site

 

Not the best photos, I know, but I hope you can tell how amazing the exhibit was.  I did manage to get my name spelled out in heiroglyphs so I now have my own cartouche (the featured image at the top of this post).  An exhibit well worth attending.  I’ll work on my technique in preparation for the next one.

Happy 2017, Everybody!

 

Making Art From Trash

03 Saturday Dec 2016

Posted by in RW Out and About

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

, , , , , , , , , ,

dscf0090

The beginning of November in Colorado was lovely and so, one sunny Saturday, I paid money to look at trash.  Beach trash.  Or, at least, beach plastic.  The Washed Ashore Exhibit is available for viewing at The Denver Zoo and I badly wanted to see it.  If anyone lives in the area or the Exhibit is coming to a location near you, I encourage seeing it for two reasons.

Reason One: The Exhibit is fun and interesting considered as mere works of art.  I don’t have the sort of mind that looks at discarded water bottles, chairs, tires, boots, flip-flops, shotgun shells, pop cans, random toys, and toilet seats and sees animal sculptures.  How all of this trash is turned into sculptures complete with waves, sea plants, and reefs is beyond me and I had great fun seeing how all the different objects came together to create animals like sharks, penguins, and jellyfish.

Reason Two:  I’ve lived in landlocked states most of my life, barring a University stint in Juneau Alaska, but have always loved the ocean.  I had dreams of being a Marine Biologist and, while that didn’t work out, I’ve never stopped caring about the oceans and its creatures.  The plastic soup swirling in ocean gyres, being eaten by the inhabitants of the oceans, and being dumped on the beaches horrifies me.  The Exhibit exists because volunteers pick up marine debris from beaches and the objects are then recycled into art that’s both fun to look at but helps bring awareness to a massive problem.

According to Washedashore.org, over 60 sculptures have been created and 38,000 pounds of marine debris has been processed.  38,000 pounds of garbage.  The number boggles the mind, especially when I realize that 38,000 pounds comprises a tiny part of the estimated 8 million metric tons of plastic waste entering the ocean from land EACH YEAR! (World Economic Forum, January 2016)  Even if that number isn’t accurate, half that would be overwhelming and I’m so grateful to volunteers who partner with organizations like Washed Ashore to do something about it.  Washed Ashore promises small actions make a difference and there are tips for reducing consumption of plastic at every sculpture.

These tips are so easy to incorporate into daily life.  I don’t use single use plastic water bottles if I can help it.  I have stainless steel water bottles with lids that screw tight for hiking and a glass water bottle I use daily while at work.  A bonus to using a glass water bottle is that doing so gets me up out of my office chair as I have to walk half the length of the building to re-fill it.  Good for the environment and my cardiac health.  I’ve found there’s no need to purchase water while on road trips.  No gas station has ever complained about my refilling my water bottle with ice and water from the soda machine and there’s always a basket of fruit where I can purchase a banana or an orange so I don’t feel like I’m taking advantage.  If I have to purchase a bottle of water, I keep a bag in the car to put the plastic in until I can find a recycling center.

My family and I use fabric bags when grocery shopping.  We also watch our shopping habits so we reduce the amount of packaging included with our purchases.  I admit that can sometimes be an inconvenience when I don’t buy a product I need because of packaging-why do I need individual bags of vegetables inside another bag?-but I think the inconvenience is worth it.

The Exhibit is both fun and educational while managing to create beauty from objects that are anything but.  I found it encouraging as well.  I’m not alone in caring about what happens to our oceans and beaches and, together, we can make a difference.

To see the photos I took at the Exhibit, check out my Facebook page.