The flowers have already bloomed, fallen, and formed leaves. And yet, there is still so much beauty to see. The little white flowers, probably shy, peek out from amidst the deep green leaves. Like a haven or an embrace. Then, there are the dogwood trees. They flower in abundance, holding onto their delicate petals like a bold martyr ready to shine until the last.
It always brings a smile to my face to see the little quirks that nature has to show us. The tiniest bird can make the loudest song and the squirrels jump from branch to branch chasing each other like there’s not enough time to find a partner 😉
There are 34 strings on a Dusty String Folk Harp. Each one is different. Starting at the top, the tiny translucent strings ping like the sound of rain falling on a crystal globe. Their tension cuts into my fingers like the fizz off the top of a glass of cherry cola.
My left hand reaches down to the pluck the lowest string. Its voice blooms slowly, growing louder and louder like the heavy beat of a stereo.
Grains of energy pelt the air, one by one as I pluck out a story, note by note, the sound of the universe.
They resonate together in a steady rhythm, certain parts growing to the loud crescendo of a waterfall just to fall soft like an echo of the past.
I reach for a chord, knowing its potential harmony but something doesn’t sound right. The strings twang and grumble against each other. They are too different!
Their wounded prides sting as they complain that the other is to blame for the poor quality of sound that they emit. Neither, however, realize that they are both missing something.
They are out of tune but they cannot hear themselves because they are too concerned with the faults and limitations of the other. The vibrations stop, and my hand hovers in the air. With the flick of my wrist the strings are stretched and pulled: looser and then tighter.
I check them each time I adjust their tension listening to the wails as they resist. Change is hard, and tomorrow I will have to care for the harp again.
If I do not tune the sound of the harp like I do for the song of my own life, the wood begins to warp and the strings, my connections, will snap with a final burst of disparity, falling silent forever.
This week is about standing against racism. Each of us has a song, a quality, a culture, and a physical feature that marks our lives.
Although facing these differences is hard, the sound of understanding that is made from attending the problem or conflict on a daily basis is entirely new, unique, and beautiful.
So stand up for yourself.
Your voice is strong because it is unlike any other. Stand up for others, making sure that their voices are heard too, because they are just as important.
Take time to be silent and at peace, listening to the character of culture forming and un-forming. Look for prejudice, fears, and dissonance and thus, be a diplomat reflecting life, love, and harmony.
From one end of the earth to the other, like a perfect cadence, we begin and will end together.
Happy Easter!! Even if you don’t celebrate this holiday just take some time to appreciate the burgeoning Springtime and remember to smile every once in a while!
Here’s a video I found on Tumblr a while back. It’s so light and fun that I thought it would be a good way to start the week. I’m working on an Easter post for Friday so watch out for that: Van Gogh, Millet, and a Resurrection 😉 Always relates to art!
The weekly schedule of posting has created a flow of ideas. It has been slowly bringing me closer to the present mindfulness of just how full my life really is. I feel a certain gratitude for the richness of living life to the fullest and having the opportunity to do so. I’ve decided to start a new series and let’s be honest it won’t be an every week type of deal. However, the harp is a major influence in my daily life and it should come up often.
Music is one of the most beautiful forms of art we can make. As a resonance of sounds and dynamics even the voice of someone we love can bring us to tears and back into the present and to ourselves. I have adored the harp since I was young and will continue to learn and grow from the lessons it teaches me.
Enjoy Harp Adventures as I make my way from song to song, difficult situations to liberation, and some pretty hilarious moments of me being a total nerd about it all.
Here’s to another addition to 500 Days of Van Gogh! Granted it has been a while since the last post regarding anything about Van Gogh’s work, yet, I can’t continue the art conversation without always raising the suggestion that art includes so much more than pictures and media. It is ingenuity, hope, effort, and faith in the arising.
The earnest process of Van Gogh’s work helps to illuminate the possibilities within all of us to change our lives and the lives of others for the better. The better perhaps being just as complex as creating a work of art.
That being said, I just got my first publication in a journal today!
Alright, while I acknowledge that the path of active publication isn’t my long term goal in life, the visual sensation of seeing your work in a literary presentation is pretty awesome. For some reason, it felt as though being presented with a poem I had created added a new perspective to the creative process of writing.
I’ve had artwork presented in shows and competitions, however the nature of words and their meaning beyond the ink and spacing seems much more personal. I am a quiet character by nature, so the vehicle of writing is a God-send for me to communicate my thoughts and feelings.
Often times, very quiet or sentimental people (official term: introverts) are criticized for not actively seeking out social engagement. I don’t think that this type of preference is a negative attribute. In some manners, the act of being alone to think or regain energy is similar to a type of mental and spiritual growth beneficial to all people.
This is not to say that the exchange of ideas and communication isn’t essential in life either. However, the act of taking time to reflect and formulate individual opinions is also very essential in progressing in a certain project, situation, or in this case, a work of literature.
I offer no deep, personal explanation of this poem as the purpose of the White Sky (blank canvas, sheet of paper, the beginning) is a place to develop and challenge new ideas of your own.
I wish I knew as much as the trees sometimes, or the flowers, or the winds that tossle with them. The privilege of envisioning their joy is as much of a pleasure as it is wishful. I thought I’d share some of the beauty that I see outside my window every day. This weekend the wind was blowing hard. Shaking the trees of their delicate petals, the winds became a dance of colors. Yellow, white, pink, and purples swirled among the treetops creating an atmosphere of life, joyfully falling to the growing grass.
Whoa, what is this? Three posts in one week? Some type of crazy is going on here. Maybe its the imminent sensation of spring, or perhaps the ideas are starting to flow!