Contagious

I’m sure we have all heard the saying, ‘anger is an energy.’

All emotions are.

With anger though the feeling of it being an energy is very immediate. Feeling it can cause us to do stuff, it energises us to action.

A lot of the time this action is not very well thought through. We just ‘do it’, driven by the anger, spur of the moment stuff. Thought comes later.

Being angry is a natural reaction to many things. The thing that angers us may move on, perhaps immediately or perhaps sometimes later, but we carry that anger with us and a quick way to diminish it, to escape from some if not all of it, is to pass it on.

We react angrily and we let some of it go.

Some people can be angry and not behave like this, they can absorb the anger, internalise it and then get it to evaporate through their deeper-nature. These people are scarce. I’m certainly not one of them.

Or rather I’m not most of the time.

As we get older we become more aware of the controls we have on our thoughts and behaviour.

We can take some control through that awareness. In my finer moments I can simply acknowledge things that make me feel angry or other negative emotions, and absorb them to be melted away in the subconscious and applied reasoning of my accumulated wisdom.

Smart eh!?

Sometimes. But not always. OK, it’s rare.

If there is an emotion that I want to spread in the world it certainly isn’t anger. To control my own thoughts and actions to reflect this is the goal. It’s not always the reality. And there are good ways to get angry, like reacting to a threat that can harm us or the ones we love.

Thinking about what energy I do want to be contagious, what I do want to spread in the world, is a tough one.

I’m not a woolly-minded hippy with visions of world-peace and love spreading from one simple act of kindness. But I do believe that every action that increases the happiness in the world also goes some way to reducing all negative emotions.

That’s actually pretty happyish, yeah, you got me there.

But none-the-less, that’s what I think and how I want to act.

At the end of any given year, thoughts turn to the coming year. We think about change. We reflect on the past. We have a focus on change and our part in it.

Wouldn’t it be great if we could all understand each other a bit better? If we could show a desire to increase understanding of difference as a positive thing? Wouldn’t it be great if we could all show less anger?

We all know it would.

We all know it’s a challenge that will sometimes defeat us.

But we all also know that shouldn’t stop us from trying.

Be happy. Make others happy.

Future Past

Heraclitus said, “You cannot step into the same river twice, for other waters are continually flowing on.”

Yeah, he was a smarty pants.

But once upon a time I found a river and got what he meant…

 

Future Past

 

Standing in the river,

Close my eyes in the sunshine,

Feel the water rushing by my legs,

Outstretched arms,

Head held back,

Sun on my face,

It all goes flashing by me,

Washing past me,

Washing the past from me.

 

Upstream coming at me,

Waters clear and cool,

Feel the waters coming down from the mountain,

Oblivious of me,

Nothing holds them back,

They rush on their way,

Sliding past me,

Washing away into the future,

Leaving me behind.

 

Downstream lost to me,

See it sparkling as it dances,

Watch the endless rippling surface,

Onwards towards the sea,

Feeling calm and rested,

Breathing easy,

Nothing stopping, moving on,

Leaving me standing still,

Feeling the river washing me clean.

 

Turn one way, past behind me,

Pushing past me,

Turn the other, look back and see,

The past coming at me,

Runs by and leaves me alone.

Stand still, feel it all, see it all,

Clear and cool,

Water washes me,

Leaves me free to feel it all again.

We Are Teachers

Most of us can think of a favourite Teacher we’ve had.

It might have been at school, at college or Uni. It might have been a mentor at work or a tutor on a course we’ve taken.

We liked them because they were knowledgeable, able to help us learn and were keen about getting us involved.

There were other reasons, maybe one, maybe many, but I suspect the core of why we liked them was that they engaged us and made us feel empowered.

They made us feel like we could do it, we could learn stuff, that it was a pleasure to learn, that we were being enriched.

We came away feeling empowered and enthused.

At the time we may not have thought about it like that. We probably just enjoyed it, felt that we were doing well and enjoyed that feeling.

There is a lot of stuff that goes to give someone credibility. And good teachers always have it.

It’s hard to analyse why they were successful in making us feel good about ourselves and what we were learning. We just felt it. When we look back on the experience, we feel it.

They engaged with us, made us feel empowered, made us feel their enthusiasm and commitment to sharing their knowledge.

Well here’s the thing… We are all teachers to someone.

Sometimes it’s a formal setting, or if not formal then at least a setting where there is an expectation, where we know we have a chance to help others learn.

Sometimes it sneaks up on us, we realise in the moment that we are teaching someone something. And sometimes it comes back to us in a flash of memory, we see what we did, realise that we were acting as a teacher.

Do we enjoy teaching things? Do we have the confidence to do it? The desire?

Can we acknowledge that sometimes we are asked to be a teacher and we need to step-up?

Credibility can only come from our honesty. We cannot decide we are credible for someone else, they decide that for themselves, so if they have decided it, don’t question and over-analyse – step one is done.

What we can do is make sure we are engaging with people who look to us as a teacher, that we think about what they need and want, what we can offer and give. We have to listen and engage.

We have to be enthusiastic.

Most importantly we have to empower people. We have to encourage them, allow them to grow for themselves with what they know and want to learn. We have to be positive, supporting and encouraging. We have to be.

So when there is an opportunity to be the teacher – embrace it!

Be prepared for it and embrace it.

F.U.P.

I wrote this about the Black Dog.

Kind of tumbled out, bit angry but also hopeful.

F.U.P.

I turned around and there it was,

Lurking in the shadows behind me,

Awaiting its chance to suck me dry,

This fucking useless parasite.

 

Only it never does,

It won’t kill the host.

That’s not how it works,

Won’t fulfil its need,

Take enough,

But never too much,

Reap and sow,

Plant the seed.

 

I turned my back and on it came,

From out of the darkness within me,

Been waiting for a chance to watch me die,

This fucking useless parasite.

 

Only I never do,

And it never can,

That’s not how it works,

Don’t feel the need,

Given enough,

At times too much,

Reaped what I sowed,

Planted the seed.

 

I turned a corner and found it there,

Waiting in ambush for me,

A chance for me to immortalise,

This fucking useless parasite.

 

Only I know it now,

It’s not what it seems,

That’s not how it works,

I don’t have a need,

Bled out too much,

Nothing to show,

No place for the seed,

To hide and grow.

 

I turned it over and watched it die,

Helpless in the open,

Destroyed by the light,

This fucking useless parasite.

Brave

Being brave is an age-old topic for discussion and reflection.

What is ‘being brave’?

Lots of definitions right?

As we grow as a species we come to realise it’s not just physical bravery that is to be admired.

Poets are brave.

Writers are brave.

Creative people who share are brave.

They open themselves up to judgement. They share aspects of themselves that reveal their inner thoughts and emotions.

If creating something doesn’t reveal something about the creator, it can still be good, but it will never be great.

But what about revealing a universal truth, doesn’t that make it great.

I guess… I’m a tough crowd…

If it speaks to me of the thoughts and emotions of another person, shows me they are opening up their spirit and their heart, then I’m far more likely to be moved.

And being moved is what creating stuff is all about.

Being brave enough to say, ‘here, look at this, listen to this, *feel* this. This is a bit of me,’ that’s where the courageous go.

I’ve read some poems recently that have moved me, made me think. They have made me see something in another person, helped me view the world through another’s eyes. The language and execution has not always impressed me, sometimes it does but that’s rare. But the courage and insight always do.

When I experience something that entertains me I appreciate it and the energy it took to create it. I’m mostly impressed that someone has hit all the right spots in getting me to smile or think, or both!

But yeah… when something moves me, makes me feel… that I find amazing and brave and all kinds of special.

So to all the creatives out there I’d say this: show us something about yourself. Share a deeper part of you than you might be thinking of sharing. Give us a glimpse of who you are. Help us see things through your thoughts and feelings. You will not always get a positive response, but you should know that there will always be someone who experiences your creation and goes, ‘wow! That moved me.’

Who Is The Narrator?

Who is the narrator?

Are they a character?

Are they a specific viewpoint?

Are we using their senses to get information on the current scene?

Can they see and report beyond that?

Are they telling us things from one character’s perspective but not ‘theirs’?

The narrator is telling the story. They have access to whatever information we need them to have to tell the story in the voice we want.

We can use the story-teller to highlight a character, give us information as that character would see and know it. Give us a glimpse in to that character’s thought-process.

We can hop about, skip from character to character as the scene and story needs it.

We can be the aloof story-teller, relating detail and incidents in a voice separate from the story. We can have all the information, tell what we want in any scene as we see fit to serve the story.

Who is the narrator?

We talk a lot about our ‘voice’ as a writer.

Depending upon the story or the piece, we use the narrator to reflect that don’t we?

I never write in a straight-forward ‘reporting’ style. There is always some character view-point, some stress to the narration, a point of view for the scene.

It depends on the piece.

Do you have a preference?

Is the narrator ultimately just you talking to the reader, telling them the story as if you were cosied up by a fire?

With poetry it seems like a question that never gets asked. And I think it should.

Poetry is telling us things, showing us things, asking questions, offering ideas. Poetry is not just about the words and images. There is more. Who is telling us this ‘more’? Who are we listening to?

The first thing that jars me out of being immersed in a piece is a wonky narrator.

There may be other things, but the first that I notice is the narration going off.

It’s usually the second or third edit of my own stuff where it hits me how bad I am at sticking to the ‘rules’ I like to see observed in other writing.

So that’s my focus on the next few pieces.

Make sure I know who the narrator is. What is their voice, their perspective, how much do they know and can they reveal to make the story better? Focus!

It’s #NaNoWriMo and I’m using it as a kick in the butt to get a novel moving, so maybe focus on the shorter pieces for the writing group… always an excuse!

But I am determined to pay more attention to the narrator.

Maybe in the fourth edit…

A Poem

I’ve started to write some poetry again… this isn’t recent, but reminds me of why I like writing.

W.W.W.

Yellow sunlight on white walls

Pale blue skies with wisps of cloud

Golden beaches washed with silver

Vivid green wild woods warm with shadow

 

Remember them

Remember when

Remember where we were

Remember why we went

Remember them

 

Fields steeped white with snow

Frosted glass breath wiped warm

Ice gleaming watch water streaming

Sparkling waiting world wishing for Spring

 

Remember them

Remember when they were real

Remember where we were

Remember why we went

Remember them as real

 

Washed out wired-in images

Wasted moments without meaning

Without life withered to the touch

Whispered hopes without meaning

 

Remember them

Remember when they were real to you

Remember where we were when we wept

Remember why we wondered why we went

Remember them as things we will never forget

 

Wishing it was real wastes

What we don’t have wastes

Who we are where we want to be

What we are what we see what we feel

Why we wonder whether we will ever remember

Mojo Working

Being creative is a desire, a passion, an urge, something that has to be done.

It relies on an energy that is inside every one of us.

It is expressed in different ways by different people.

Everyone who expresses themselves is drawing on different experiences and perspective.

When we feel good about ourselves and the world around us, we express it.

When we feel bad about ourselves and the world around us, guess what… we express it.

Sometimes I feel drowned by the world around me, put-upon by all the shite in the world, especially the injustices perpetrated by people in power.

My kind friends tell me it’s because I have an empathy with those affected, and this often includes me, so not sure how that works…

My unkind, and some would say ‘honest’ friends, tell me I’m just a wuss that needs to put things in perspective and get on with it.

‘But’, I whine, ‘creativity doesn’t work like that. Not for me.’

It’s hard to say exactly how it does work: analysing it has never worked out for the best.

But I know when it’s not working.

I know when my mojo aint workin’.

Being connected to the world via social-media seems to be a big drain.

There’s no news like bad news for getting ratings, so most of what’s churned out is bad news.

People affected pass it on and warn others, and so it (rightly) spreads.

It would seem there is such a weight of sadness, badness and intent to do harm in the world that we may suffocate under it.

Looking for the good, staying positive, clearing our minds to allow our inner… blah-blah-blah right?

There is good out there (and in there!) and it is easy to find. It just sometimes struggles to be heard over the cacophony of shite in the world.

Anyone who has a creative urge, who produces something and sends it out in to the world, I urge you: do it for good. Use your superpowers for good!

When we are made aware of bad stuff, let’s be aware in the ‘so what are we gonna do about it’ kind of way.

I know it’s tough. I know it’s mostly easier said than done. But it can be done and it must be done.

Be creative.

Get that mojo working.

Share your stuff. Get it out there.

Stay positive. Stay the superhero that you are!

Talk-Talk

What’s that old saying? ‘Talk is cheap.’

Talk is of course essential, well, communication is.

But sometimes words are just words – they have no intent when they are spoken and we can take no meaning from them as they signal no action.

I listen to a lot of pointless, empty words and it makes we wonder how the people speaking them don’t see how the people hearing them know they are hollow.

Talk is essential. Just keep talking.

Action is also essential – do something.

We can talk all we want but ultimately we are defined by our actions.

The horror of LV hit me as hard as all mass-shootings do. I always feel a dread, a malaise settle on me in the aftermath. A depression that people can accept such hollow platitudes from their ‘leaders’. That those leaders can continue to stuff their pockets with money from ‘interested parties’ and simply do nothing.

It makes me feel embarrassed as a human being.

Anyway.

Words…

WORDS

 

Words, words, we use them all.

Just sounds in the emptiness,

floating into open ears, and empty heads.

 

Meaningless noises meant to say

what can’t be told,

used to break up people like silence.

 

Words provoke images, demand recognition,

leave feelings of moments,

lived and thought forgotten.

 

A collection of lines that

are to be used like tools,

fall apart without doing their job.

 

Words, words, we abuse them all.

Just sounds in the emptiness,

floating into open ears, and empty heads.

 

Words of wisdom,

words of wonder,

roll around

my head like thunder.

 

Words like flowers,

fall like rain,

no escape

causing me pain.

 

Words that shine,

deeds will eclipse,

wasted words

fall from my lips.

 

Words can soften,

careless actions,

turn away

fear of rejection.

 

Words of wisdom,

hold me in wonder,

cannot break

the spell I’m under.

 

Words we use

sometimes we say what we

think

words we use

sometimes say what

we mean

words we

use

never say what

we’re feeling.

 

Words sound

useless to say

anything we really

mean

think

what we say

when we say

we never say

what we feel.

 

Words just words

written and spoken

useless little noises

useless little scribbles.

 

Words can kill

the things we

feel

can hurt

the ones we love

can make

us think

we have said

something

when we have

said nothing.

 

Words become

the things we mean,

or they become

meaningless.

 

Words become

the things we fear,

or they become

frightening.

 

Words become

a means to an end,

or they fail,

becoming wasted.

 

Using words,

we betray our feelings,

from deep inside us,

exposing our needs.

 

Using words,

to say what we think,

without someone listening

nothing is said.

 

Words become

useless,

using words,

meaningless

words.