Me Me Me and then the phone rang...

Teenagers are supposed to go through it. “Oh you’re ruining my life; oh, everyone’s after my freedom”…blah blah blah…well, I was in a great mood to write about this up until a few minutes ago when the phone rang informing me that I made it to the live writer auditions Thursday night. I’m stoked. And trying not to stir up too big a fire that it requires dousing.
I will offer a synopsis of what I intended to rant about.
I feel like a teenager with ‘nobody understands’ issues, like a female with attention issues, and a twentysomething with insecurity/misplaced dependency/uncertainty/expectation/PRIDE issues. And it’s frustrating because I’ve gone through the bare minimum as far as these “phases” are concerned (except pride…dammit). My life has been such that I’m fully accepting of the reality I own as child of God…I never disliked my parents (well, after they awakened to Grace and stopped legalistic parenting) and didn’t deal too much with friend or boy crap. Drama’s never been my cup of tea. I’m a coach not a playa. The doctor, not the patient. (Anyone for another metaphor?) Dad made mention tonight that the whole “teenager” thing was invented. Who said 16 yr olds (who had full families by driving age back in the day) had to be angst-ridden and rebellious and selfish? Somebody set that mold. Probably a pop culture icon. I really must research this. It’s very interesting.
Who said anyone needed education? Why do you ever have to be dumb or ignorant? In reality, we were born smart-with the smartest smarts and highest creativity.
Somewhere down the line, seemingly when ‘education’ meant power and upward mobility (in religious circles especially), people decided that literate fools were running nations and somewhere in the self grew a demand to institute internal nations where academic logic and reason could (rationally) rule over all else…even the deepest truths of the heart. The Greeks seemingly exploited heart-knowledge, turning it into a Rubik’s cube of philosophy…which is, supposedly, all about logic.
And then the Romans got a hold of it. And art. (renaissance and enlightenment…) And it became so popular for man to manufacture his own everything…and several of ‘his own’ became cultural trend: the dictation of society’s ebb and flow. And the contrived physical church that embittered the pungency of We, the Educated & Ordained vs. we, who are under your thumbs. Feudalism. I’ve always found that an interesting societal evolution. Why the hell did those peasant allow their lives to be harnessed by some bored, land-owning schmuck who claimed them? Um…death? Oh, wait, but that happened anyways…and then some cat didn’t do her job on that rat-invested ship…But I digress….

So I’m rather peeved that I’m dealing with this self-centered-cater-to-my-needs-nobody really-cares-about-my-troubles (which are SOOOO significant)-self-pity that is setting my thought life in such sludge. Nast. Then I try to stand up for myself: but I’m really not like this usually- I’m a confident chick who listens well and needs no affirmation or future certainties to make me whole. Feelings don’t run my behavior. I’m perfectly loved and accepted by my Father. What of the rest of it? You actually need someone to hug you and tell you you’re worth more than you think? Bah.
But I can’t buy that for long…and I hear admittance is the first step, so here it is, all who’ve dared read this far: I feel like shoe-scum and I’m sucking my thumb about it.
There. I said it.
Now, to bathe myself in Truth so I can live out my reality. Me-land sucks. And the only way out of me land is Over the Reclusive River and through the Wistful Woods. How, you ask? Others Highway. (alliteration didn’t work there…bum) When I think about you, I don’t think about me. And thinking about me is circling the drain.

beauty: struggle or simplicity?

A new buddy of mine (and he should be truly honored to grace my dribblings ;)
shared with me a statement he crafted: “Beauty is in the struggle”

it’s artsy, but two-fold in meaning.

Any struggle implies humanity. Beauty is in creation. Creation comes from the Father. No other.
But I find Beauty in simplicity.
Did you struggle writing the poem that just flowed out of you? No. But when you were done and you read it, and when you came back later and soaked in what you hardly knew you felt or meant at the time, did you rejoice in the beauty of the struggle it was to write? No, because it wasn’t a struggle. It was easy. It was natural, like something inside you never knew you were capable of sprung outward onto the page. It was simple and you felt the natural ebb and flow of molding words around your meanings/feelings just as you feel enlightened surprise as the meanings multiply read after read.
The beauty of that scenario was not the pouring over word choice and phrasing and stanza order. The beauty is in the gift of innate creativity. The beauty is in the simplicity.