Writing Their Hearts

A man once told me that the best writing came when a person is at their lowest point. I began to ponder this man's words. Why is it that in our lowest point comes out the best of writing, many times, our masterpieces! As a bit of a writer myself, I would have to agree with the man's statement because I can see that some of my favorite pieces came from the darkest, saddest, most hurtful or disappointing times in my life. In a strange way, I sometimes look forward to those low moments because there are rarely any other times that I can write better. One needs fuel for the fire, as a writer needs a subject to write about. A poem that can grasp the reader into it, is a poem that has brings the writer's feelings in. In the midst of a tragedy a writer can wield their pen and write what they are going through. It is in tragedy that the heart is most felt. When the heart bleeds its spreads through the body and can be seen, felt and heard. It is a open vessel available to be read. And through the openness of the heart, the writer can be closer to the feelings that drive him, that give him something to write about. He can truly write out his heart. This is special because the reader can relate and know the burden that is laid upon the heart of the writer. In a way, it is encouragement to both the reader and the writer. The writer writes with purpose for people to listen to him, and they do, while the reader reads and sees that they are not the only one going through issues in life. Writing is a type of let, that allows the writer to get all that is in him out, to make room for the good things worth keeping.

Looking Through the Eyes of Art

Recently, I had the opportunity to go out on a overnight art trip with some friends. We went to the San Joaquin Gorge to spend the day and next morning painting nature and life in a real and abstract way. I found a comfortable spot next a to a friend on the bridge that crossed over the gorge. From here I sat and painted all that was around me and in me. It was funny to see that when I was doing some abstract work, what came out on the canvas was a clear description of what I was truly feeling in life at the moment. It was a clash of colors that made faint objects and a mixture of all that I had poured out all over. At that same time, I happened to start a deeper conversation about life, and came to the realization that what I was painting was exactly what I was feeling. Though consciously I had no idea what I was creating, my hands seemed to be telling my mind what was going on in my life. It was a interesting to me to see it when I finished, it was as if I was looking inside me and finally understand what was going on. But, moving on to what I initially wanted to write, whatever it was that I attempted to paint or draw I looked at with different eyes. The first time I saw everything I thought to myself, "Wow, this looks really nice!" Nothing to deep was going on when I looked at the rocks along the side of the water. But it was as I sat down and began to draw that I saw beauty. When I looked again at the same rocks, I noticed their beauty and uniqueness that was not there before. I looked and found beauty shining just at the light of the sun was shining down on everything. After that painting was done I moved on to the next one, but found it difficult to find something to draw. Because now with this different view I had about what was around me, everything looked beautiful and I had an odd feeling to paint it all! Maybe it was because I now was looking for the beauty and glamor amongst nature and not waiting for it to show itself to me. Then as I walked back later that night to my camp sight, everything seemed to have a luminous glow about it. Perhaps it was the sunset that made all the flowers, grass and trees have stronger color to them, or maybe it was that now that my eyes were open to the true beauty that was in every object around me. I began to think about where I could now see this new beauty. And as I mentioned earlier, I had a deep discussion with a friend about life, I thought what if I would look at life the way I am looking at all that is around me now. I look and I am finding a way the five blue flowers look beautiful among the hundreds of white flowers surrounding them, while still finding the beauty in the white flowers. I had earlier passed by this small field of flowers and continued walking thinking, "Oh, this is pretty." But now I stood and gazed at the these flowers, mesmerized by how everything flowed together so gracefully. Connecting this to my idea of finding beauty in life, I realized that I should not wait for beauty of life to show itself to me, but go looking for it and take time to enjoy it. I thought about this for a moment and saw that beauty is everywhere in my life too, even when there are things that seem to be a bit out of place as the five blue flowers did among the white flowers. I remember when I was younger, my mother used to tell me when I was unable to find something in the house that I need to go looking for it because it will not come to me. I now understand, and search for beauty in everyday life. With that, I can enjoy the beauty set before me that no one else may ever come to realize. Only if I look for it can I truly see where it is.

Haircuts...

Just the other day, I happen to walk by a barber shop. As I stood at the door mesmerized by the constant swirling of the blue, white and red striped cone next to the door, I began thinking about what getting a haircut really is. I imagined myself walking through the door into the shop, and taking a seat in waiting area looking at magazines of men with hair that is perfectly styled and fashioned in a way that my hair could never be in. (one reason why this may be is because I have curly hair and 1 out of 3 of the books they have in the store actually contain a picture of a man with curly hair, and when I finally see the picture, it looks like they added 2 larges tubs of gel onto his head to keep the frizzyness down. But generally speaking...) So as I sit waiting...still...I finally choose which style I want my hair to be done in. and after another 10 or 20 minutes waiting a seat opens up. I walk to the barber, put on their skit that goes around my neck and the paper neck choker, just to realize that I left the magazine on the table where I was sitting down. I get up to grab the magazine and realize that I do not remember what page the picture was on. So, I again walk to the barber and get in my seat in which he ask again, what style I would like my hair to be done in. Clueless I say, just cut an inch and a half off. Then the barber spins me in circles for a while until he is happy and then messes with my chair as if I am some child in a high chair waiting for dinner. After being hosed down with a spray bottle, a few snips here and there with the scissors, the barber spins me around a couple more times and faces me towards the mirror to evaluate my new look. Secretly, I'm thinking I look horrible! But, I do not want to spend another hour in the uncomfortable seat so I say it looks fine and get up to pay the cashier. After paying I walk over to the barber and give him tip, I guess for the great job he did, and then proceed out the door and on with my walk. As I continue my walk I look at the windows next to me gazing at my new stylistic look and wonder what I just did? I just payed someone to take something away from me! then tipped him? My hair is a living organism and he just killed it and through it on the floor. And for some reason I decided to pay him for the work he did. To make matters worse I did not even like the way he did it! I could have saved the $17 plus tip and cut my own hair and made it look just as bad. At this point I wake up from the day dream I was in, and look into the window of the barber shop and see i have all my hair still there. Walking away I begin to think of how weird haircuts really are...