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Synchronistic forces in the universe have been at work lately. This phrase, “a big life,” keeps showing up. It’s the kind of phrase that I have an idea of, but not from first-hand experience, I think. Well, maybe to some others I have a big life. My friend, Jan, says it means living fully and allowing the experience of the moment to envelope you. This includes joy as well as sorrow, frustration and fear, too. Everything.
I think it means expanding beyond your internal life as much as you can. Internal life always takes you to the past or to the future. I think it means doing all the things you want to do — crossing off items on your big to-do list.
Intestingly, there’s not much out there to be googled on the subject, except (ironically) a blog enty about the lack of google hits on living a big life. There was a blog called, “Live a Big Life,” but it’s gone now except for the internet’s amazing memory. (I clicked on it, so that will help keep it around a while longer.)
I’m watching out my office window where my neighbor is doing some very early spring cleanup: picking up branches, raking winter leaves… he’s dressed in his hunting gear, though. I don’t know if it’s any particular season, though; maybe he just wanted to be camouflaged in his front yard. I’ve been lazy at writing lately, but I’ve been energetic at remodeling. The ugly wallpaper in the basement is gone and I’ve scraped half of the backing paper away. A little more money saved and I’ll have new hardwood floors.
I’ve been working on a poem about Medusa but mostly struggling. I read a book of Robert Bly’s prose poems, “Morning Glory,” which made me think of re-working the poem into a prose format. I’ve never written in that style before, but maybe it’ll break the log-jam I’ve been in with it. I just hate it when I can’t get to the feeling I want with a poem. I just keep dancing near it…
I guess if it was easy everyone would do it.
Ok, it’s still under 20 overnight, but it’s starting to feel like spring to me. No smell of spring yet (which, to me smells like mud), but my reading student agrees with me. And, since he’s older, and an avid camper, I give him a lot of credibility. This winter has been taken up with long days working — at work and remodeling. I have to get most of the interior done before spring; once spring hits I’ll be in the garden re-landscaping.
I found a folder of short stories from college that I’ve been retyping. Is that accurate? I’ve been entering them into files and doing a little editing at the same time. Some of them were actually typed on a typewriter. I know I had an electric typewriter in college. Some of them were printed on a dot matix printer (I think even before what Jan used to call a “Buddy Epson” printer). You can see the teeth from the page joins. Remember that?
Some of the stories are absolute tripe and emblematic of my youth (god, at least I hope they’re that bad because of my naivete.), so I tossed those. I think some have potential and are a good exercise to expand beyond poetry.
I’m proud I threw a lot of stuff away. I finally broke down and trashed my grade cards from college. Yes, we know you got A’s, Pat. Let it go…
I was thinking about the phrase, “in your wildest dreams…” and realized my wildest dreams are pretty damn tame. Something to work on for 2010.
Recently, someone accused me of being deliberately misleading, saying that I couldn’t be trusted. He was calling me a liar. That accusation shocked and hurt me. I spent most of that evening and the next day with my attention bouncing between outrage, the desire for vengeance, then vindication.
What I realized after digging into my feelings was that, although this time (the incident he specifically referenced) I was not lying, I have certainly lied in the past — to many people, about many things. It’s hard to identify to oneself as a liar; most of us self-identify as honest, trustworthy.
Being honest to myself, dropping the ego and admitting my transgressions is very difficult. I can see now what he saw. No overt lie, but acts that were never true to myself.
“Liar, Liar, pants on fire!” – paraphrased William Blake, “The Liar.”
I’ve been a poet for only about a year, so I’m not sure yet if introspection is good — or bad — for the craft. I tend to think it’s bad, since it pulls all of your attention inward and all you end up with a self-indulgent, whining poem.
Today I’ve been thinking about my age and the year it is now (geez! 2010!). I remember many very old people saying things like, “I never thought I’d see that as long as I lived!” They were referring to events like the first man on the moon, Obama being president, etc. I’ve been trying to think of some things that would cause me to say that and I can’t come with any (yet). Maybe I’m just optimistic or read too much fiction.
I don’t think my lifetime has had any really mind-blowing technological jumps (yet). We’re overdue I’m sure. I just don’t want to be the kind of person who can’t see the sliverest of possibilities. There are plenty of things I would love to see, though, that have some measure of improbability:
World peace: no one hungry; no one hating another because of his idea of that other; more flowers; random dancing; group singing; no acne; no tooth decay (we can put the dentists to work as maybe scupltors); even easier travel — maybe teleportation! Oh, yeah, and finally my own jet-pack!
I’ve been trying to think how inertia can be a good thing. I get up and go to work and take care of the cats and do the laundry and shovel the driveway when the snow piles up… but I’m not doing anything that moves ME forward. I started looking for an image to put with this post and found this model of inertia.
Interesting how the delta of those factors all work against each other to keep the object inert. Or, in my case, keeps me out of classes, away from writing, not exploring or traveling…
Fortunately, I am blessed with friends who let me explore my beliefs long enough and deeply enough to find the source of the inertia. The belief I found doesn’t really matter. What matters is that, the moment I found it, the inertia broke.
Part of a poet’s job includes noticing. Noticing that a sign in the fabric store now says, “Brocades and Sari Fabrics.” When did that change? It makes sense, though. The fabrics are beautiful, rich, jewel-toned and perfect for the saris I’ve seen. The saris I’ve seen on women here in the midwest, anyway.
The other morning on the way to work, I noticed a double-rainbow ending just past the building where I work. I pulled over to take a picture, but only one showed up on film.
Today I noticed how long the fog lasted. The view out the seventh floor window looked like being underwater until almost noon.
I noticed the lake gulls feeding in the parking lot.
All of these things will probably end up in a poem(s) and telling more about me than I ever noticed about myself.
Actual Waunakee Trick-or-Treaters
Almost none of the twenty-odd kids who came to my house in the last two hours showed up without an adult. Sure, I expect the very youngest kids to be accompanied. I was visited by a very cute little five-year-old Spidey. His mom waited down at the end of the driveway (nice, mom!) while he trudged up to the house. He remembered to say thank you, too. Most of the kids have good costumes with elaborate wigs and makeup, but their parents are either right there with them, or in the car as they chauffer them from house to house. I am not kidding!
Is my memory of Trick-or-Treat nights in the ’60’s completely an illusion? I remember dozens of groups of kids running as fast as they could from house to house in order to get as much candy as possible. I remember very few adults accompanying us. I remember being admonished, “Watch out for your brother and sisters!” But we all knew the mission and how to achieve a successful treat night: Only go to houses with the porch light on, move fast, watch out for the big boys (some were bulllies). Be nice, don’t push, once you got your candy, move out fast. Cut across the yards! Drag that big pillowcase until it’s full!
I assume it’s fear that’s driven away the kids — well, driven away the parents. I’ve learned to buy only a couple of bags of candy, and only candy I don’t like. I’ve can’t imagine running out, and I know me well enough to know I’ll eat whatever is left over, unless it’s something I don’t like. No mini-Snickers or Tootsie Rolls at Pat’s house!
Supposedly, Halloween is a huge marketing and revenue event. I read that it’s adult parties and elaborate costumes that are driving the holiday now. That’s what I find sad. Not that adults are having fun, but that they co-opted a great childhood experience with their fears and stifling over-protectiveness, then turned around and had a party for themselves.
I have a new cat, Allie, living here now. So, we’re back up to three cats. 
The other two cats are getting along ok with her now, but she’s a true “scaredy cat.” She spends most of her time running away when I get near her. Now that I’m sitting here writing, though, she’s twining under my legs.
She’s a cutie, though, isn’t she?
As you can see by the picture, the new house remodeling is progressing, but I have to live with this oogly floor for a few more months.
Poetiosity 
