Sunday, September 9, 2012

Pure Joy...When I Grow Up

One of my favorite lines, one that fits me personally is from a Michael Franks song: "In the Yellow House," the opening line: "No one knows the joy, when you create, by definition, something out of nothing..." What one does not comprehend, until you contemplate your life from another vantage point, is the unique shape and form of it. Aspects of your character, likes and dislikes, and the individual parts that fit and do not; they are all part of a whole.

I'm still growing. Each day is an opportunity to shape and reshape my life to be what I and God desire it to be. There are many expressions and points by which I connect with this world, but the longer I live, the more I realize I don't fit into the 'average American' mold. I labor at software testing, I'm a parent and husband, but there is a vital part of me that remains formless and nearly untapped.

"No one knows the joy, when you create, by definition, something out of nothing..." Another world exists in the moments I spend with a paintbrush in hand, in front of a canvas. When I sit with pencil poised above paper, I'm at my highest joy and it does not require chemical stimulation or have terrible 'after-effects.' When I grow up, I want this aspect of living to fill my days and the joy to be known to all. My Pure Joy...when I create...

Sunday, September 2, 2012

A Moment...

A snippet from Portrait of the Artist Gaining insight
The following is an excerpt from a poem written a few years ago, called "A Moment..." For the most part, we live our best lives, in the moment. God's peace rest on you, this moment:

A pleasant dream
With a cozy ending
Followed by a gentle stirring
As you awake to a sunny day
You stretch
Full of energy from your mind’s movie
But as your feet touch the floor
The haunting of the same old grind
The car that won’t start
And the….
Plus the…
Send that dream down the drain
Taking with it the joy you felt

A moment
Passes in a minute
Some are lost
‘Cause we are looking in the wrong place
Get called up to remind us
Caution us
Warm our hearts
Or stop our tracks
And somehow
They are lost
Brushed away like pesky flies
When we choose to focus on
The here and now
The “never will be”
And the lost happenstance