Inventiveness

I want to write words that flow.
Imagery being the milk
contemplation,
the honey.

I like those moments that bust in the spirit and creativity,
discussion
and people you trust.

Excitement that burrows beneath everyone's skin...
crawls back out,
then in again, and out.
Being misunderstood while everyone excercises their gift of interpretation.

My nose has a chilled tip,
my ribcage rattles, shivers,
as the time approaches to test the product of our musing.

The car ride home is silent, and new tricks play by themselves, in my mind.
I'm not so afraid to write, or sing, or run, anymore.
I'm not so afraid of what you will think of me.

I'm quite fond of having an opinion,
and along with that,
I've found the nerve to share it.

Here's a rough draft for everyone to read.

I'll be quiet and serious...

breathing on your ears,
as you comment, and mark my page with red.

So I just hung up the phone, looked at my mother and said: "Probably not a good idea to tell a cute boy that I pitted out my shirt, huh?" My mom shook her head and rolled her eyes, and I defensively told her that HE thought it was pretty funny.

‘I certainly have not the talent which some people possess,’ said Darcy, ‘of conversing easily with those I have never seen before. I cannot catch their tone of conversation, or appear interested in their concerns as I often see done.’

‘My fingers,’ said Elizabeth, ‘do not move over this instrument in the masterly manner which I see so many women’s do. They have not the same force or rapidity, and do not produce the same expression. But then I have always supposed it to be my own fault—because I would not take the trouble of practising. It is not that I do not believe my fingers as capable as any other woman’s of superior execution.’

Darcy smiled and said, ‘You are perfectly right. You have employed your time much better. No one admitted to the privilege of hearing you can think anything wanting. We neither of us perform to strangers.’

Excerpt from Pride & Prejudice by Jane Austen.

Wing-ed-thing-a-mal-ing.

There are some moments in my life, where everything, everything about the money, the awkward social situations, confusion, depression, and cynisism, everything, all of it, is silenced...because for a moment I am distracted enough to stop thinking about it. Drawn away, by the resting hand of God on my neck, and breath that tickles my ear in a whisper. He wants me to listen. He wants my senses to dance with realization of what currently is, rather than what I've made it out to be.

I had at least three such moments within the last six hours.

Typically, my family doesn't exchange gifts until January 7th (Epiphany, look it up on google), but since busyness has corrupted that for us this weekend...we settled for a quiet dinner at home this evening. We had also settled (or so I thought), on using the money we would have spent on each other and the exchanging of gifts, for the starving children of Africa...or more practically, the close to starving artists that we know and love.
Niah and I set the table, Isaiah chased the Higgins around, and our parents disappeared to the upstairs to do who knows what. I called to them, imitating a triangle shaped dinner bell, and they descended with arms full of wrapped presents. I looked at the floor making a face to hold back tears...I didn't get anyone anything. I had planned to write Epiphany letters to everyone, but upon starting my mom's last night, I knew I wouldn't be able to sweat four others out before leaving on Thursday. Lame, lame, lame.

Dinner came to an end...and the excitment I used to have as a kid over approaching a wrapped box, churned in my stomach, then morphed into guilt. But I got a new shirt, a beautiful book, a loofah, an artists mug, tea, and photo albums to organize my photos in (when this is done I'm expected to have no objections to marriage:) referencing a myspace journal entry here. ) When the tissue paper was all torn off, my parents offered their apologies on it "not being more"...I sure blew that by starting to cry.

After composure was regained, and I tried my new shirt on with about every combination I could think of...we headed out to hear Robin play at Lemonjello's. Time moved in laughter, and sweet tonality with this activity. Robin slipped me a copy of her first demo ever (hot off the market today)...and I don't think words or thoughts, could be collected enough to describe my emotions, as I listen to it play tonight through speakers in my living room.

I heard these words make themselves clear to my mind, in a very, quiet way: "Life is good. This year was good. Simplicity, it's truth."

I don't need much more than that...and in realizing this, God has liberated me towards my dreams.