HERE IS MY RECOMMENDATION TO ANYONE WHO HASN'T STARTED THE LIFELONG ACCUMULATION OF THINGS
Newport, Rhode Island
May 1, 2010
All photos by Sandra Hammel
To enlarge ~ Click on the photo
May 21, 2010
Five minutes from my house is the Newport National Golf Course
with walking paths.
All photos by Sandra Hammel
My son asked me yesterday how I came to start blogging and what my first post was.
This is all it was:
I am not good at throwing things out. I carried the architect drawing board downstairs from the attic, only to get downstairs and see the potential to use it for the possibility of using it to paint on. The easel doesn't suit me to paint. But, nevermind that I haven't painted for a few years now.
But, I did bring some things down to donate to the Salvation Army. And they are still there.
I have dreaded doing this for so-o long. But here is how I look at it....I can start. But, I won't be able to be impulsive about doing it and stay up until it is done as is my typical behavior. So, I will do it little by little. I hope I stay with it frequently and consistently. I, also, have to keep up my piano and singing practicing on an almost daily basis. And I want to start my writing. Again. And that is a huge project, with a lot of organizing and sorting through so much writing over a lifetime. Then there is the video making. You get the idea.
I want to create.
And I have put those impulses to create off for my whole life for the most part.
But, I actually get excited knowing I am going to do these things. And then I do them. I am trying to discipline myself not to stay up so late, so that I don't waste all morning sleeping in to make up for the lost sleep in the night.
I am waiting for…
R e a s s u r a n c e
The coffee to be ready
The stakes to be lower
M o r e t i m e
An obvious scapegoat
The two-minute warning
T o m o r r ow
Jacks or better
The stakes to be higher
A clearly written set of instructions
AN END TO POVERTY, INJUSTICE, CRUELTY,
DECEIT, INCOMPETENCE, PESTILENCE,
CRIME AND OFFENSIVE SUGGESTIONS
This meeting to be over
You to go first
David B Campbell (Adapted)
So, if the Universe is listening - send me some signals that this is the thing for me to do.
I wrote in my journal May 10, 2010: I'm not going to die with all the creativity still inside.
It is a cry of hoping I am not going to die with the creativity still inside of me, as much as a declarative sentence.
As I sort through my stuff, I come across treasures. One I came across today was moving, even to me. A letter I had written years ago and sent to my mother.
As I was choosing books to donate, I came across The Element Guide of Low Self-Esteem by Elaine Sheehan. I don't know why, but I leafed through it and at the end I found this:
Then, I pulled Goethe's Faust - Part One off my bookshelves, translated by Carlyle Ferren MacIntyre.
And I began to read in the back of the book: Appendix II, Prologue at the Theater (A Manager, A Dramatic Poet and A Jester)
I couldn't find the text online anywhere. It so moved me. I have typed a portion with bits here that moved me the most of what I read while sitting briefly in the rocking chair, pausing from the mundane to the sublime.
You two who have stood by me so often in need and trouble, tell me what you hope for in Germany from our undertaking. I wish very much to please the crowd, especially because it lives and lets live. The posts and boards are erected and everyone looks for a big time. They're seated already, with raised eyebrows, patiently waiting to be astonished. I know how to soothe the people's spirit, but I've never been so embarrassed; it's true they've never been used to the best, but they've read a great deal. How shall we arrange it that everything will be fresh and new and pleasant, even though instructive: For really I like to see the crowd rushing toward our show, and wave after wave forcing itself through the narrow gate of grace, in bright day; already before four o'clock they're pushing toward the box office, breaking their necks for a ticket, as if, in a famine, they wanted bread from the baker. It's only the poet who works this miracle on such various people. My friend, do it today!
Oh, don't talk to me of that motley crowd, for a glimpse of them scares off my inspiration. Hide from me that surging multitude which sucks us against our will into the whirlpool. No, lead me to a quiet heavenly corner where pure joy blossoms for the poet, where love and friendship, by the hand of God, create and foster blessings for the hear. Ah, what has sprung forth from us there, what the lips stammered timidly, now failing or maybe succeeding then swallowed by the power of the mad moment. Often, only after it has lasted for years does it look like a perfect creation. What dazzles is born of the moment, the real thing is never lost to posterity.
The portion here is rich, but for now I am leaving it out for time's limited for me. The discussion is whether to give the public what they want or what the Poet deems important.
Go on, and look for another slave! Is the poet to laugh off foolishly for your sake the highest right which nature has given him - that of being a man? How does he stir all heart? And transcend every element? Isn't it because of the harmony which springs from his heart and which draws the world back into itself? When nature, indifferently twisting, feeds the thread's endless length to the spindle; when the discordant crowd of creatures jangles annoyingly - who then shall divide the everflowing monotonous series and give them life so that they move in rhythm? Who calls the isolated to the common consecration where it chimes in glorious agreement? Who lets the storm rage in the passions? The evening sunset glow in thoughtful minds? Who pours out the fairest flowers of spring on the path of the beloved? Who twines the meaningless green leaves to wreaths of honor for all deserts? Who assures Olympus? Unites the gods? The strength of man revealed in the poet.
Then give me those times again when I was still developing; when a fountain of crowding songs gushed forth, fresh and uninterrupted; when mist veiled the world from me and the bud still promised a miracle as I picked the thousand flowers that richly filled the valleys. I had nothing, but still it was enough, the yearning for truth and the delight in illusion. Give me back those untamed impulses, the deep and painful happiness, the strength of hatred, the power of love - give me back my youth!
My friend, you may need youth when enemies press you in conflict, when the prettiest girls passionately embrace you, when far away the crown of the swift race beckons from the difficult goal, when after the violent whirling dance you drink away the night. But to play the harp with grace and spirit, to wander along gaily toward a self-set goal - that is the duty of older men, and we reverence you no less on that account. Age does not, as man says, make us childish, but it finds us truly child-like still.
We've talked enough, now let me see results; while you're exchanging compliments something useful could be done. What's the good of taking about being in the mood? It never comes to a man who dilly-dallies. If poetry is your job make it obey you You know what we need - strong stuff - so brew some at once! What you don't do today - won't be done tomorrow, and not a day should be wasted. Be resolute and grasp what is possible. Then you don't dare let it go and keep on working because you must. You know that on a German stage everyone tries what he wants to; therefore, don't spare either stage-sets or mechanical effects. Use the big and the little lights of the skies, be spendthrift of the stars; there's plenty of water, fire, rock-backdrops, animals, and birds. So on this narrow stage show the circle of creation, and travel with reasonable speed from Heaven through the world to Hell.
classical tv goethe-Faust--part-1-of-2
German language - no subtitles
Wall of Doubt
Moving through my wall of doubt to a brighter side
Moving through the wall of doubt
It feels like light raining down around me
Cuddling me, all my spirit guides huddling around me
telling me I am loved the way I already am,
loved just as I am.
Lifted is the duty to feel sad.
Why you wanted to hold me hostage in your sadness is a mystery
A mystery I don't need to understand,
'Cause I'm already through the wall of sadness.
'Cause I'm already on the other side of pain
I'm standing in the light and broken no more
Feeling whole in the light.
Come join me
Standing in the light.
Written by Sandra Hammel May 18, 2010, Tuesday, 2:45 a.m.
Uploaded by crimpart002
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Geoffrey Oryema - Land of Anaka