~Here's an explanation of Journaling Month~
Monday -
Beginnings are the hardest. Beginnings require not only the creation of something new, but the awakening of old things. Each beginning you or I face is contrasted by the backdrop of a thousand endings, by a thousand lessons and assumptions. We bring everything we have up to the surface for a beginning. Everything must be exposed, and that is what gives a beginning its power. An ending is a fact, a beginning is a possibility.
So here I am, at the beginning of a month, a school year, and this blog project. And I am also at the beginning of a moment, each moment, as are you. That is what I realized today -- that I begin every breath I take. I begin every second I perceive. And for a beginning to be any good it must have countless endings behind it - and even more possibilities. I must spread myself wide for each beginning, for each moment, for each possibility. I must let my exhale lead into my inhale which leads into another exhale.
That is what a beginning truly is. A dazzling, frightening unfurling of a soul to catch the moments. That is what we are all trying to do in life - catch the moments and make them ours.
So, that is what I hope this beginning is - me catching the moment, bringing everything to the inhale.
Let this breath carry you far.
Tuesday -
I've never understood the terms 'good days' and 'bad days.' Each day is a culmination of the very paradoxical essence of life - it is a melting pot of tragedies, and comedies, and histories and some poetry for flavor. Throughout a 'bad day' there are always little miracles, the flowers pushing through the cracked pavement like rebellious little boys reaching out to steal candy from the sun, the friend who makes you laugh and forgot the aches of existence with a simple and momentary smile, or simply the blue complications of the sky watching over you like a guardian angel.
I guess it's all a matter of perception.
Wednesday -
There is a tree growing outside my window. It is so tall, and twisted, with a great jagged scar where a limb has fallen in a hurricane. But in the spring its leaves burst forth, in the fall they burn, in the winter they are no more but the tender collection of melancholy snowflakes transforms it into a thing of electric beauty. The tree's shadow is widespread and complex, like a great painted puzzle splattered on the ground and only God Himself knows where all the pieces fit.
It took me years to realize that this tree, corporal and metaphysical, is me.
It is my soul, entirely outside of myself. It is the thing I have grown in this world, my relationships, my words, my love has watered its great and cracked height. It reaches, leaves outstretched, toward Light and some unthinkable inkling of the dusty, blue-stained Sky, bringing branches and bark and little birds tucked up in nests with it. It is a communal, sacred, and public thing, slow in making, slow in rising, infinite in size.
I love that tree, but it frightens me.
Because what storms will it weather? What damage would it do if it's roots failed and it crashed to the ground, sprawled like dead wings?
It has grown so tall, and yet still it grows, and I cannot understand how.
Yet it is me.
So, that is what I hope this beginning is - me catching the moment, bringing everything to the inhale.
Let this breath carry you far.
Tuesday -
I've never understood the terms 'good days' and 'bad days.' Each day is a culmination of the very paradoxical essence of life - it is a melting pot of tragedies, and comedies, and histories and some poetry for flavor. Throughout a 'bad day' there are always little miracles, the flowers pushing through the cracked pavement like rebellious little boys reaching out to steal candy from the sun, the friend who makes you laugh and forgot the aches of existence with a simple and momentary smile, or simply the blue complications of the sky watching over you like a guardian angel.
I guess it's all a matter of perception.
Wednesday -
There is a tree growing outside my window. It is so tall, and twisted, with a great jagged scar where a limb has fallen in a hurricane. But in the spring its leaves burst forth, in the fall they burn, in the winter they are no more but the tender collection of melancholy snowflakes transforms it into a thing of electric beauty. The tree's shadow is widespread and complex, like a great painted puzzle splattered on the ground and only God Himself knows where all the pieces fit.
It took me years to realize that this tree, corporal and metaphysical, is me.
It is my soul, entirely outside of myself. It is the thing I have grown in this world, my relationships, my words, my love has watered its great and cracked height. It reaches, leaves outstretched, toward Light and some unthinkable inkling of the dusty, blue-stained Sky, bringing branches and bark and little birds tucked up in nests with it. It is a communal, sacred, and public thing, slow in making, slow in rising, infinite in size.
I love that tree, but it frightens me.
Because what storms will it weather? What damage would it do if it's roots failed and it crashed to the ground, sprawled like dead wings?
It has grown so tall, and yet still it grows, and I cannot understand how.
Yet it is me.
Thursday -
Change, and the great whirling, spiraling, inconsistent essence of life. It is what I have placed inside my soul and it is what completes the empty spaces, yet it creates them even as it fills old, tired cracks. It is of knowledge of what I know and what I desire, and it is incompatible with my heart. I have tried to fit it inside but it spills out every time.
Friday -
There are days I know What it is to be human. And there are days I do not.
I walk the line between pain and joy and I find Meaning there - more than I have found in pain, more than I have found in joy. But I know the pain is dominant, for every breath I draw in joy I draw another two in pain. Is that what it means to be alive? In this beautiful, terrifying world, what keeps my heart beating?
The Difference.
Because I know the difference between light and dark, sorrow and happiness, answers and questions, good and evil, knowledge and words, wisdom and emotion. And I have found Meaning there, and I have Understood.
Perhaps that is What it means to be human.
Saturday -
Trials.
They rise, like trees, growing slowly like a forest, but casting mighty shadows. They must be crossed, through twisted branches and snaring beasts and weeds to wrap around weary, weary feet. There is a place in the middle of these forests, these trials, where no light shines except that reflected in your eyes.
Here you will stumble. Here you will fall, with mud splattering you face and your own voice making echoing music with its wails.
Yet here you will find the trees parting, the wall that separated despair and the sky. It is a wall of indecision already solidifying into regret, and fear already building mountains in your heart.
And you will pass through this wall, and you will find your tired eyes blinking tears at the sun, but you will realize that it was always overhead, even when only reflecting off the moon.
You will leave the trials behind, and yet you will not, because they will always be with you. You will never be able to cleanse the scent of those forests from you. They will always be there, but they will be like a perfume, something beautiful and bold.
And what was once so frightening will be like the fading rays of sunlight.
Week 1 - Begin
Here we are, at the end of the first week of Journaling Month. What a ride it has already been! Copying these out from my notebook, I was really able to observe how my thoughts arced over the week. And, coincidentally, I think the main theme of my week was begin. Beginnings are the most frightening, telling part of a story, especially for a writer. Some beginnings are failures - and perhaps, even now, this one is - but that should never stop us. It is our ability to begin that makes us able to move, to create the wonders that populate this world, and those wonders are built on foundations made of failures and mountains that, once climbed, are reduced to rubble.
So, begin. Begin every moment, breath, day, creation, wonder, and let them fall, and fail, and twist and turn and create. And let them end, and give way to new beginnings and new meaning, new joys and new lessons.
We have moments. We have beginnings. We always will. Let them go.
It has been a fantastic week and I will see you next Sunday!
^(OvO)^
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