Voice of Thought Writing

The-Writer
Born with minds wide open, children’s eyes see
an extraordinary world
filled with limitless possibilities.
But eventually, they will be taught
there are no dragons or witches that fly,
the sun is not nailed or glued to the sky.
You can’t lie on your back and walk on clouds,
the distance between says that’s not allowed.
Science and physics determine these rules
and if you ignore them, it’s harder at school.
So learn to think “normal” like all the rest,
or you might not pass the standardized tests!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
In 1993, I enrolled in a college English class (it was a ‘core’ requirement). For the first few weeks, the professor discussed the proper way to write a good story. She said that, before writing, an author has to outline a plot, create backgrounds and personality traits for various characters, and figure out some sort of conflict between them that needs to be resolved. Her long list of writing rules and constraints were overwhelming me. I sighed as I watched my creativity cringe, shrivel up, and vanish.  There is no way I can write this way!

It got worse. The next time I went to class, the professor said, “Please take out a piece of blank paper. Your first test is going to be an ‘In-Class Essay.’ You will have the length of this class (50 minutes) to write a 3 to 5 page paper about your writing process. This will count as 20 percent of your grade.”

Oh No! I had not developed a writing process that even vaguely resembled what she had been teaching. Doomed! What was I going to write? I looked at the clock. Five minutes had already passed and my paper was still blank. I had no time left to waste. I was going to have to write about how I write (and not about how she wanted me to write). I had no choice.

Now, even though it has been 20 years since then, I did keep a copy of that graded paper as proof that miracles can happen. Because of this rather strange and hastily written essay, the English professor gave me permission to forget everything she was teaching and continue writing outside of the box. Here is what I wrote:
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
English 115
February 18, 1993
In-Class Essay

My writing process is a strangely disorganized organization. When thoughts wander into my mind demanding attention, I listen. At the request of the voice, I write.

Because I am easily distracted, I find writing late at night more productive. No phone calls, no door bells ringing, no people  talking—only  the moonlight running its cool fingers through the trees, stimulating the darkness. It is then that I can hear, most clearly, the Voice of the One Who Lives in the Air.

I met the Voice years ago, in a dream. Although it never mentioned grammatical rules and regulations, it taught me the essence of writing. It said, “Remember you are not the creator. You cannot make what already is. Without resistance, simply and clearly, let it become for others to know.”

These words are the foundation of my writing process. Words contain only traces of the elements that they represent. They are symbols. Life itself is the true writer. With this in mind, I begin writing—carefully looking between the words, behind the words, and beyond the symbols.

I write in short spurts, because (admittedly) I have a rather short attention span. Easily tired, I often find myself wandering into my own thoughts, looking for a convenient place to rest. Sometimes, I can find nowhere to pause, nowhere to stop the process. It is then that I stumble downstairs for a glass of tea. Writing is time-consuming and intense, and some nights I have not patience for it.

I produce my first draft by think-writing. The thoughts think themselves and I write them down so I can see what they are trying to say. The unruly thoughts can go on for many pages before they decide on a central idea. I try to stay out of their way at this point, because I am at their mercy and they are usually out of control. If I try to force the thoughts and intimidate them with narrow lines and spaces, they vanish like smoke.

When the words stop flowing, the next part of the process begins. Finally, it’s my time to create. I study the words from every direction and decide which position is most appropriate for each one. They complain as I drag them from here to there—they know that I really don’t know what I am doing!

Suddenly, out of chaos, a certain order begins to appear. One word enlightens another, and sentences begin to form willingly. Energy between words builds a certain excitement in the writing, and new thoughts begin to gossip between the lines. Once again, I observe the thoughts, waiting for them to finish their conversations. They present me with new ideas, and I reposition them accordingly.

My writing process never ends. It is a searching, a searching for truth. It communicates new dimensions, new perspectives—opening doors that I never knew existed. I am not very concerned with form, because I am focused on content. Re-writing is simply a clarification process, an attempt to uncover the mysteries that dance in the air. Writing is an Un-doing, a re-evaluation of preconceived notions, the secret passageway between the seen and unseen.

Special pens and certain kinds of paper are not necessary for my writing process. I just need the time, the inclination, and the Voice.
~~ms
Writing

Posted in Children, Creative Writing, Photo Essay, Poetry, Stories, Writing | Tagged , , , , , , , | 21 Comments

Love Lives Beyond Death

love-in-a-basket
Love lives beyond death
forever on sweet memories
of your heart melting
slowly into mine.
Getting-serious
Watching over you each day
was my greatest joy.
watch-over-me

Safe-in-my-Arms
Our 5 years together
were so wonderful.
I thought my time with you
would go on  forever……
But I was wrong.
Together
Suddenly, without warning
a horrible thing called—
“hypertrophic cardiomyopathy”
came and took your breath away.
If it were possible,
I would have given my life
to save yours,
but there was no way
to ease your suffering.
On the day that you died,
my heart broke in two.
I felt as if somehow
I had failed to protect you.
Cat-memorial
Once you were gone,
I was alone for the first time.
I was not prepared
to lose my best friend.

Somehow, I walked through sorrow
and found the will to go on.
Now, I’ve grown since you’ve been gone.
You would be proud to see
that I’m handsome and strong.Balinese-cat
But there still remains
a sadness in my blue eyes,
dreaming of what once was mine.
I want you to know
even as the years go by
I will always remember you!      ~ms
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Our cat Anika died suddenly in the summer of 2011, of a heart condition called hypertrophic cardiomyopathy.  It struck suddenly and without warning. She was only 5 years old. Watching our male cat, Keona, trying to understand what was happening—broke my heart. He loved her more than anything in this world.

She was in so much pain, we had to take her into the vet to put her out of her misery. Even the vet was crying, it was so hard to watch the intensity of her pain. When we came back home without her, Keona just looked at us. He didn’t make a sound. He just went and laid down on the couch. I could see the hurt in his eyes. He knew. There was nothing any of us could do to bring her back.

On a positive note, because I had entered them in an online cat contest in 2006, I have a lot of great photos of the two of them together when they were young.  I am glad that I did not wait, thinking that there was always tomorrow.  Now those photos are priceless memories.

Posted in cats, Pets, Photo Essay, photography, Poetry | Tagged , , , , , , , | 84 Comments

Bird Bread Bailout

Back in 2009, when the photo below was taken, the housing market had crashed and different groups were being bailed out by the government for one reason or the other. So when I encountered this flock of birds standing in a parking lot, waiting for cars to drive up and give them a bailout too, I sighed. What happened to the concept of working and searching for your own food?

The birds glared at me because I was obviously not prepared to meet their needs. But luckily, while I was sitting there contemplating the error of my ways, another car pulled into the parking lot. At that point, all of the birds simultaneously turned their focus towards the new arrival (completely forgetting about me).
Bird-Bailout
The occupant of that car knew exactly what he was supposed to do. Perhaps it was a daily routine, because he looked experienced. He stepped out of his car with a plastic bag filled with bread crumbs, pulled a handful out, and threw it at the birds. They didn’t even have to move a feather. When a chunk of bread landed at their feet, they simply gobbled it up, and yelled for more. It was apparent that they expected to be waited on, beak, wing, and webbed foot.

A few minutes later, the man got back into his car and drove away. So the begging birds quickly turned their attention back towards me again, with cold looks that could burn a hole through solid stone. At that point, I decided the safest thing to do was to take one more photo through the car window, and then go back home.
Stressed-out-bird

Posted in birds, food, Humor, Nature, Photo Essay, wildlife | 20 Comments

Endless Sea of Imagination

Seal Rider
A young boy daydreams
as he rides a bronze seal
on ocean waves created
by the endless sea
of his imagination.     ~ms

The Mysterious Seal Rider
Adjacent to Waikiki beach on Kalakaua Avenue, there is a cute statue of a surfer and a monk seal that is “based on a children’s story by Fred Van Dyke honoring Hawaiian values of love and respect for ohana (family) and this ocean.”

As I stood there looking at the statue with my camera in hand, a young boy suddenly jumped in front of me and said— “Lady, could you please take a picture of me riding the seal? Please, can I be in a picture with that seal? Please!”

When I said yes, he quickly ran over to the statue and laid down on the back of the bronze monk seal. As soon as I took his photo, the boy jumped off, said “thank you” with a smile, and disappeared as quickly as he had appeared. Since I did not know who he was (and still do not), he never got to see his photo. Perhaps he was a wandering Menehune?

I didn’t realize until later, when I looked at the image on my computer, that there was magic in that boy’s eyes. His face and his posture show a genuine love and respect for both the seal and the environment around him. A perfect tribute to the children’s book by Mr. Van Dyke.  ocean_4

Posted in Nature, Photo Essay, photography, Poetry, Travel | Tagged , , , , , , , , | 22 Comments

Flowers Blooming Bright

Flower_1In the morning light—
cold dark days of winter gone,
flowers blooming bright.
Flower_2
Colors everywhere
illuminating vision,
People stop and stare.
Flowers_3
Winter lost its fight
melted by the Robin’s song,
spring is in the air!   ~msFlower_6

flower_7

Posted in Haiku, Nature, Photo Essay, photography, Poetry, Spring | Tagged , , | 87 Comments

Sleeping Sink Cat

IF you have a cat~~~
Sink-Cat
Whenever you go
walking in the night—
always remember
to turn on the lights,
because you don’t know
who might be sleeping
under the faucet
curled up in the sink
not expecting water
or something to drink.    ~ms
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I woke up some time after midnight, thirsty.
So I walked into the dark bathroom, picked up a cup, and reached over to turn on the water.
Big surprise!
My hand bumped into something fuzzy furry.
I jumped back, my heart racing.
But when I turned on the light, I saw it was only our Siamese cat (Siri) sleeping happily, right underneath the faucet.
Totally unexpected.
We have had Siri for over a year,  and she had never done this before.
What would have happened if my hand had not brushed across her ear, before I turned on the water? I shudder to think! The cold water on her back would have caused her to jump out of the sink in fear, with claws extended. And I, in the darkness, would have been wrestling with a furry night terror that I could not see. It would have been a howling scene!
New house rules — in the night, lights on before proceeding.
Siri

Posted in Humor, Pets, Photo Essay, photography, Poetry | Tagged , | 67 Comments

Butterfly Apology

Brown-Butterfly-Apology
Yesterday….
We agreed to rendezvous
on these pink flowers,
but I have no GPS
and to my dismay
pink is everywhere.
Directionally challenged,
I’ve been lost for hours
searching through flowers
while you patiently
waited here for me.
So sorry that I’m late.
Please accept my
butterfly apology.    ~ms

Posted in Humor, Nature, Photo Essay, photography, Poetry, Writing | Tagged , , | 29 Comments