Riding the Summer Wave

I am now 74 years old, It is hard to know how to surf the wild waves of this summer. I don’t really surf. I am speaking metaphysically.
Today I feel very nostalgic for all the years that have ebbed away. Writing rejections and reduced acting gigs remind me achievement is not everything. Or anything. One plants one’s feet in the chaos and takes off!

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Tidal Pools

The beauty of water is that it is an element we need, but one in which we cannot live. We stand ankle deep in tidal pools , feeling safe, or swimming in oceans where creatures beyond our comprehension dwell. In Barbados years ago I went down in a small submarine to view a world I could never inhabit for more than those few minutes. A world unconcerned with my own. Fishes of translucent colors, plants with reaching hands, and slithery snakelike beings. It took my breath away for only a moment before I understood how limited we land bound creatures are.

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Rubber Truth

I always say I never write about myself when I pass something along as fiction. Of course all our writing comes out of what we observe and learn and feel of life. Therefore I am stretching the truth like a piece of rubber to try to shape it differently, but it is still a truth of something that has brushed past me in the night.
Virginia Woolf (who is quoted and mis-quoted muchly) said women must get out in the world to experience it. Our small lves would not cut it against the men who could move freely. I think of Shakespeare who wrote about every manner of gender and place and degree of emotion. He taught me we can take the rubber ball of the globe we live on and compress it or expand it with the right strength of thought and words to express the thought.
In politics a rubbery truth takes us away from knowledge, but a fiction writer can move us towards such knowledge.

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Stripping Away the Cliches

I am uninterested in syrupy expressions .  I do  not want to compose cheap cards to the world about the benefits of love and country when so much of the earth is in pain.

We are afraid of raw words.  Many times they have been turned on us. And sometimes, to our own shame, we have turned them back on others.  Those of us who were bullied when younger especially remember the razor blade of pain not only words, but also actions caused.

Cliches keep the bonfires going, shutting out the darkness around where we might stand and see the glittering night which both loses us and finds us again in new constellations.

 

 

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One Picture/A Thousand Words

People in wheelchairs being pulled and lifted out of the hallways of the Capitol —our house as well as the men with offices there!–is truly disturbing. The health bill which trashes the most vulnerable is being protested at great risk by those vulnerable.
People with hearts understand the anger and need for resistance that brought citizens to such a place.
Shame on the people who dragged them away!
This used to be a country that proclaimed compassion.

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Father’s Day

My father was an angry sad man. He tried not to be, but he was bitter that his life did not go the way he wished. He said he loved us, but we always irritated him with our laughter and noisy presence when little. He was also a lawyer. Many people benefited from his vision of law as something defined by Clarence Darrow. He fought injustices, but he also fought my mother. I hope this Father’s Day to find some peace when I think about him. I hope there was a time he found peace when he thought about me.

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Sounds in the Dark

We live near a place where many people suffered and died. Sometimes in the night there are sighs that come to wake me or even screams. Many would say I was hearing ghosts or just losing my real hearing. What reaches across Time to us?
I could blame it on the Wind which is a trickster, often sounding like other events. Or my half-dream stage.
Place and circumstance help make us aware of what used to share the stage. If all the World’s a Stage, is all the Universe a larger one?

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