These days seem to blur when the Writer does not write home to the Mother. It’s been a week since my last shared post and the Writing Child has gone almost mute from the slow leak of poetry and beauty from the tit. The Antagonistic Teenager wants to argue from the fact that life is presenting her with so many distractions. Welcome to my psyche and inner world!
I have been exploring wordpress blogs and finding myself curious about what others are interested in reading and writing about. While replying on another blog this week, I realized that my comment to the creator was too direct, too personal and kin’da off. As in. “delete the comment”.
After I sent it, I realized that I was mis-stepping on the anonymous feet of this unidentified person of unknown gender across the cyberspace to what appears to be New York City.
Given that I too am struggling to embrace the social media platform to create a life online, how much self disclosure is warranted to create community…much less, true and valid communication between us in this New Flat World?
This blog is a platform to share creativity through ideas, books, beauty and inspiration….its not Catfish TV! I realized in making that faux pas how human it is to want to know something about the person whom you are “speaking to”. On a book cover, I WANT to see the photo of the author. I want to know a little back story/ biographical context because these provide a connection and level of resonance that could not be afforded by the creative work alone.
Agree/Disagree? there are schools of comparative literary criticism and camps devoted to either position… thankfully.
For me, the life of the mind can be cerebral but its children are embodied in me…. in the corpse body. In declaring our thoughts in digital print or ink print, do we want to own what has come through us to speak from depths and in ranges recognized by the Soul?
Which brings me to my next question of whether reading much lends itself to expecting the world to reflect this art. If one’s language of choice is the literate language of the printed word, how normal would inner thoughts be to you? Deep thoughts and inner processes are the very mediums of stories.
When I was a little girl I wondered why people in my life didn’t speak like the characters in the books I was reading from the library. The vernacular conversation rang tinny and disappointed me constantly whenever I wanted to speak “literary”. At some point I may have thought it was because my parents didn’t know how to master the English language. That was not the case. My parents never mastered fluency in this second language but their references to Korean idioms, proverbs and poetics have found a place in my inner ear of memories.
My father who is now in his mid seventies will speak in formal English when addressing me in mixed company of blended and extended families. His grasp of the words are fundamental and stiff like the starch that is put onto collars at the cleaners. When hearing the formality of his sentences, I see in the mind’s eye the volumes of paperback grammar textbooks he has in his bedroom. They are worn translucent from his fingerprints turning over its pages. My father studies from them after all these years in the United States. His sense of inadequacies is palpable.
I am not the only little girl who thought people in art were more real than people in life. For me, its not enough to see the boundaries of art versus life. I want there to be more fusion of art into Life and life into Art, which brings me back to the writing on this blog.
I realize that it is myself who has been slow to make… , ok, like, no adjustments to the social world with its necessary small talk and tolerance of very real people who may not read books, can’t read, can’t read English, or won’t read what’s not on a screen much less think about ideas in profound or interesting measures with every possibility in between.
When I sat down to write tonight, I thought maybe I was going to peel away some layers about a work scenario, blah, blah, blah! Naah…instead
Write until you see the Wise Woman, I told myself. I received her message tonight when I wrote that I have not changed to belong to the people of this world. I have privileged the life of the mind above and beyond the relationships with my fellow human beings. Ugh! Wowwzzaa.
Such is the paradox and complexity written in our humanity because we all want and need to belong and we are struggling to discover and maintain it.
A Tribe some call it.
finding your tribe
It makes it sound like there is a multitude of people out THERE who understands you,
accepts you and claims you as one of their own.
May Peace be upon us
as we go this way…