I'm Alive
One short story. It took me by the scruff of the neck and dragged me down to the depths of fear. Under the sea, into the earth’s core, beneath the skins of mountains, into the mouths of live volcanos. Left me there to fend for myself.
And I LOVED IT.
Not only did it open the door to wonder that I’d deliberately closed some years ago, it blew the thing wide open, off its damn hinges!
The adult brain has to work so very hard to hold on to imagination, like trying to grasp a melting ice cube. With so many “I-have-to’s” crowding your mind, you give away the pondering space you had always reserved for imaginings, musings, daydreamings, possibilities. The glow of ideas begin to fade. What-if’s (so exciting when we were young!) are unimportant in the world of men. Artists hang on to it longer than most, but even I only took these things out every so often. What was I going to DO with my art, for a living? That took precedence in my head. And froze me solid. Music stopped touching me, quit bringing vast panoramas of colors and characters and movie sets out of my mind, like it used to. No evocations. The poetry stopped flowing. There were pictures that happened, but too few and too far between. I can clearly recall my younger self listening to certain albums over and over, and over again, just to FEEL the emotions they drew from me. Which in turn inspired my art, my writing, my daydreams, my nightdreams—the entirety of my psychological landscape. Which FORMED ME. I lived the words I wrote, the characters I drew, imagined my way down the street, on the bus, through my days!
When did I start to think that I was formed already, and that it was done? What made me stop doing that?
I quit believing.
Like smoking: cold turkey.
I put up a kind of armor so things couldn’t touch me—bad or good. Doesn’t matter why, just matters THAT I did it. Tried protecting myself from life itself. Maybe I inured myself to some pain, but I just ended up cutting myself off from the blood flow and went numb because of it. And that we cannot have. Oh, no, no, no.
It really began gingerly, with music. I was reminded of some songs I used to adore and hadn’t heard in so very many years. And finding them online brought me back to a mindplace that was stunning…And instantly, I felt the same feelings, the same imaginings, the same queries that I’d had back when I first heard them. Back in time! Like none had passed! Which meant there were STILL tender places within. Holy mother of cream cheese!! Huzzah!!
And then I recently read a story by H.P. Lovecraft, and it shook me to my roots. I felt the tactile repulsiveness of the monster in it, the untold evil in it. I even jumped when I thought I saw movement, a shape out of the corner of my eye. I used to love scary movies for the THRILL of them. Haven’t felt THAT in years!! Being able to be affected, touched by, shoved around by literature and art and films and music and the whole shebang.
THIS is what I used to be!! Halle-fucking-lujah!! The door is open and the wind’s rushing in past me!! Let emotions fly once again!! All kinds of them, all kinds of colors, frenetic like bees escaping a hive that’s on fire! Fly, FLY, my pretties!!!
And I LOVED IT.
Not only did it open the door to wonder that I’d deliberately closed some years ago, it blew the thing wide open, off its damn hinges!
The adult brain has to work so very hard to hold on to imagination, like trying to grasp a melting ice cube. With so many “I-have-to’s” crowding your mind, you give away the pondering space you had always reserved for imaginings, musings, daydreamings, possibilities. The glow of ideas begin to fade. What-if’s (so exciting when we were young!) are unimportant in the world of men. Artists hang on to it longer than most, but even I only took these things out every so often. What was I going to DO with my art, for a living? That took precedence in my head. And froze me solid. Music stopped touching me, quit bringing vast panoramas of colors and characters and movie sets out of my mind, like it used to. No evocations. The poetry stopped flowing. There were pictures that happened, but too few and too far between. I can clearly recall my younger self listening to certain albums over and over, and over again, just to FEEL the emotions they drew from me. Which in turn inspired my art, my writing, my daydreams, my nightdreams—the entirety of my psychological landscape. Which FORMED ME. I lived the words I wrote, the characters I drew, imagined my way down the street, on the bus, through my days!
When did I start to think that I was formed already, and that it was done? What made me stop doing that?
I quit believing.
Like smoking: cold turkey.
I put up a kind of armor so things couldn’t touch me—bad or good. Doesn’t matter why, just matters THAT I did it. Tried protecting myself from life itself. Maybe I inured myself to some pain, but I just ended up cutting myself off from the blood flow and went numb because of it. And that we cannot have. Oh, no, no, no.
It really began gingerly, with music. I was reminded of some songs I used to adore and hadn’t heard in so very many years. And finding them online brought me back to a mindplace that was stunning…And instantly, I felt the same feelings, the same imaginings, the same queries that I’d had back when I first heard them. Back in time! Like none had passed! Which meant there were STILL tender places within. Holy mother of cream cheese!! Huzzah!!
And then I recently read a story by H.P. Lovecraft, and it shook me to my roots. I felt the tactile repulsiveness of the monster in it, the untold evil in it. I even jumped when I thought I saw movement, a shape out of the corner of my eye. I used to love scary movies for the THRILL of them. Haven’t felt THAT in years!! Being able to be affected, touched by, shoved around by literature and art and films and music and the whole shebang.
THIS is what I used to be!! Halle-fucking-lujah!! The door is open and the wind’s rushing in past me!! Let emotions fly once again!! All kinds of them, all kinds of colors, frenetic like bees escaping a hive that’s on fire! Fly, FLY, my pretties!!!
Comments
Way to go, Gina! There is wonder in the world. One just has to listen closely enough to hear it.
And Beautifully put. Keep Believing.
Dreaming and experiencing is waaay better than just "living". :-)
Have you seen what I am up to?
http://www.artistasbrand.com/
You can see what I have been blogging about too!
Peace
Greg
You are soooo right, Jen!! We are not automatons!! (:
Greg, thank you!! I have! I want to come to one of your workshops--just have to check which CA ones work with my schedule. What a fabulous thing!! YAY!!