I found the following YouTube this past week and have watched it a few times over.
To life and all its ordinary miracles.
November 11, 2010
November 7, 2010
Forests
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Blogging. What an odd activity. At least it seems that way to me; yet, I indulge.
There was a time I thought I would never have a *weblog* ~ a *we blog* ~ an *I blog.*
I don't know the history of blogging, so I just searched it and found an article in Wikipedia: History of blogging. From there I ended up at Wikipedia's article entitled Online diary.
From there I ended up at a site entitled "the online diary history project," which states:
Fascinating.
I've so often asked myself, "Why? Why do I blog?"
I've yet to come up with a definitive answer.
When I stated to an ex-therapist of mine that I write for myself, he pointed out that isn't completely true. And rightly so, because I blog; that is I choose to make certain pieces public. Some of these pieces are very personal. Other pieces never make it to the public blogosphere.
All that said, I still mainly write for myself...even when I blog. Yes, it is a selfish act; I confess. It is for me first.
I think what most humans tend toward is for "me first." That is, we choose things because of self interest or self desire. Even if that desire is to help others; it is still a desire of the self.
A tree grows. If it is deep in a forest, it may never be seen by public eyes - at least as an individual tree. Yet it continues to grow and is always 'public.'
The tree weathers. It grows. The tree suffers. It grows. The tree provides shade. It grows. The tree provides a home. It grows. The tree's bark may bear scars of onslaughts from its environment. It grows. If the tree is deciduous, it's leaves will change colors each year, and it will bring forth new leaves each year. It grows.
The tree is always on display. Always. Yet only those who seek the forest will ever see that individual tree. Even then, that tree may not be noticed. Yet it is still there, in the open, on display.
Isn't that kind of like a blog these days. How many blogs are out here? Millions? Hmm...time for a net search. Be right back.
O.K. I'm a limited researcher, and in my brief perusal after my search, I found this post on the Blog Herald. The article and comments pose some of the same thoughts I had; especially what makes a blog meaningful? And, I'd add, how much does that really matter?
I think of visual art. What makes it meaningful? Who is to say? The old phrase "beauty is in the eye of the beholder" comes to mind. "Usefulness" and "meaningful" are in the eye of the moment, in the soul of the artist, and in the heart's interpretation of the partaker.
There are millions of blogs. There are billions of trees. There are billions of people.
Why do I blog? I think the answer is probably multifaceted. One facet, currently, and perhaps the main facet, is to give voice and (dare I add) to find my voice...whatever that exactly means at any given moment.
Perhaps that is a good enough reason.
And perhaps the reason isn't all that important, but rather the need or maybe the desire.
Reasons. Needs. Desires. All are part of being human, along with a million(?) other attributes.
Why do I like the color purple? Why do I like chocolate?
***************************
Blogging. What an odd activity. At least it seems that way to me; yet, I indulge.
There was a time I thought I would never have a *weblog* ~ a *we blog* ~ an *I blog.*
I don't know the history of blogging, so I just searched it and found an article in Wikipedia: History of blogging. From there I ended up at Wikipedia's article entitled Online diary.
From there I ended up at a site entitled "the online diary history project," which states:
We asked people who began keeping online journals before January 1998 to reflect on how and why they began journaling, and how they felt journals and the journaling community had changed over the years. Here they tell the story of the first years of online journals in their own words. The entries are arranged according to when the contributor first started keeping an online journal.
Fascinating.
I've so often asked myself, "Why? Why do I blog?"
I've yet to come up with a definitive answer.
When I stated to an ex-therapist of mine that I write for myself, he pointed out that isn't completely true. And rightly so, because I blog; that is I choose to make certain pieces public. Some of these pieces are very personal. Other pieces never make it to the public blogosphere.
All that said, I still mainly write for myself...even when I blog. Yes, it is a selfish act; I confess. It is for me first.
I think what most humans tend toward is for "me first." That is, we choose things because of self interest or self desire. Even if that desire is to help others; it is still a desire of the self.
A tree grows. If it is deep in a forest, it may never be seen by public eyes - at least as an individual tree. Yet it continues to grow and is always 'public.'
The tree weathers. It grows. The tree suffers. It grows. The tree provides shade. It grows. The tree provides a home. It grows. The tree's bark may bear scars of onslaughts from its environment. It grows. If the tree is deciduous, it's leaves will change colors each year, and it will bring forth new leaves each year. It grows.
The tree is always on display. Always. Yet only those who seek the forest will ever see that individual tree. Even then, that tree may not be noticed. Yet it is still there, in the open, on display.
Isn't that kind of like a blog these days. How many blogs are out here? Millions? Hmm...time for a net search. Be right back.
O.K. I'm a limited researcher, and in my brief perusal after my search, I found this post on the Blog Herald. The article and comments pose some of the same thoughts I had; especially what makes a blog meaningful? And, I'd add, how much does that really matter?
I think of visual art. What makes it meaningful? Who is to say? The old phrase "beauty is in the eye of the beholder" comes to mind. "Usefulness" and "meaningful" are in the eye of the moment, in the soul of the artist, and in the heart's interpretation of the partaker.
There are millions of blogs. There are billions of trees. There are billions of people.
Why do I blog? I think the answer is probably multifaceted. One facet, currently, and perhaps the main facet, is to give voice and (dare I add) to find my voice...whatever that exactly means at any given moment.
Perhaps that is a good enough reason.
And perhaps the reason isn't all that important, but rather the need or maybe the desire.
Reasons. Needs. Desires. All are part of being human, along with a million(?) other attributes.
Why do I like the color purple? Why do I like chocolate?
***************************
November 4, 2010
Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep
I should be asleep now, but I'm not. As I laid my head on the pillow and stretched my body upon the mattress, relaxation 'ahhed' through my sinews.
It feels good to lie on my back and stretch.
Yet, I felt an urge to write, even to blog. So here I am.
I attended the phone memoir workshop tonight as I do on other Wednesday nights. The piece I penned tonight will not make it to public eyes, at least not now.
This afternoon prior to the workshop I was thinking about writing, as often I do. These days I write pieces in the workshops that I never post on my blogs. I like that. I am writing for me more than for others.
It is a difficult boundary sometimes when I write something that I plan to blog, to not write for others. I think it is somewhat impossible almost, at least for me. That is, impossible to not 'hold back' in pieces that I know I am going to publish on my blog.
I thought of Emily Dickinson today. She wrote for Emily and apparently for a few friends. I've never studied her life or her writings. I've only heard and read tidbits of information hither and yon. Funny that I was thinking of her this morning and then Dr. McColloch brought her up this afternoon when I met with him. I hadn't revealed to him that I'd just been thinking about that same poet.
I've heard that Robert Frost said something like true publishing is when a writer reads their own work to others. That is what we do in the memoir workshops.
I have compared the memoir workshops to a drum circle; we each drum our rhythm singularly but not alone.
I want to not premeditate too much in regard to what I write in the workshops.
Today, as I thought of that desire, the one about not premeditating before I write, I thought of The Way and what it teaches regarding how interpretation of tongues and the manifestation of prophecy are to be conducted.
One unique thing (at least to my knowledge) about The Way and many of the splinter groups that have originated from Way teachings, is in regard to their teachings about I Corinthians 12 and the so-called gifts of the spirit. The Way teaches they are not gifts, but rather manifestations. Two of those are the manifestations of interpretation of tongues and of prophecy. In The Way we were taught when you speak in tongues aloud in a believer's meeting, you immediately give the interpretation. Don't allow your thoughts to get in the way. Same with the manifestation of prophecy. There is to be no prethought as to what the believer will say in the interpretation or prophecy. A believer just speaks forth the first word that comes to him and lets the other words then flow.
I like when I am able to write with flow. One thing that helps me is to not write for others, to write first for me. Writing for me can include details that I recall from events. Often, the details help me remember more details.
Every one who is a loyal Way follower speaks in tongues, and most interpret and bring forth words of prophecy. The words do flow, but all must be proper and decent and in order and in line with the true doctrine.
Intriguing how a doctrine regarding non-premeditation can end up so pre-determined.
It feels good to lie on my back and stretch.
Yet, I felt an urge to write, even to blog. So here I am.
I attended the phone memoir workshop tonight as I do on other Wednesday nights. The piece I penned tonight will not make it to public eyes, at least not now.
This afternoon prior to the workshop I was thinking about writing, as often I do. These days I write pieces in the workshops that I never post on my blogs. I like that. I am writing for me more than for others.
It is a difficult boundary sometimes when I write something that I plan to blog, to not write for others. I think it is somewhat impossible almost, at least for me. That is, impossible to not 'hold back' in pieces that I know I am going to publish on my blog.
I thought of Emily Dickinson today. She wrote for Emily and apparently for a few friends. I've never studied her life or her writings. I've only heard and read tidbits of information hither and yon. Funny that I was thinking of her this morning and then Dr. McColloch brought her up this afternoon when I met with him. I hadn't revealed to him that I'd just been thinking about that same poet.
I've heard that Robert Frost said something like true publishing is when a writer reads their own work to others. That is what we do in the memoir workshops.
I have compared the memoir workshops to a drum circle; we each drum our rhythm singularly but not alone.
I want to not premeditate too much in regard to what I write in the workshops.
Today, as I thought of that desire, the one about not premeditating before I write, I thought of The Way and what it teaches regarding how interpretation of tongues and the manifestation of prophecy are to be conducted.
One unique thing (at least to my knowledge) about The Way and many of the splinter groups that have originated from Way teachings, is in regard to their teachings about I Corinthians 12 and the so-called gifts of the spirit. The Way teaches they are not gifts, but rather manifestations. Two of those are the manifestations of interpretation of tongues and of prophecy. In The Way we were taught when you speak in tongues aloud in a believer's meeting, you immediately give the interpretation. Don't allow your thoughts to get in the way. Same with the manifestation of prophecy. There is to be no prethought as to what the believer will say in the interpretation or prophecy. A believer just speaks forth the first word that comes to him and lets the other words then flow.
I like when I am able to write with flow. One thing that helps me is to not write for others, to write first for me. Writing for me can include details that I recall from events. Often, the details help me remember more details.
Every one who is a loyal Way follower speaks in tongues, and most interpret and bring forth words of prophecy. The words do flow, but all must be proper and decent and in order and in line with the true doctrine.
Intriguing how a doctrine regarding non-premeditation can end up so pre-determined.