Jim's Blog

Her Anger

"Insufferable," she proclaimed, storming forward towards anywhere.  Anywhere but here, she thought.  The rush of heat that had overwhelmed her head and the back of her neck now throttled down her arms and she clinched her fists.  She wanted to hit the walls as she walked, sometimes she hated being a woman, especially now, when she wanted to act out violently so someone could visibly tell how she really felt.  Through the rage she saw flashes of how the night would go, instead of seeking revenge she would be alone and crying, she hated this as well.

Fumbling for the keys to her car, she couldn't help think what she had thought a million times before.  That people only want from her, and how she was always willing to give part of her, hoping that someday someone would take the gift of her and cherish it, and give it back to her.  In her rage she affirmed that this was impossible.  The feelings of rage started to give way to its partner, hopelessness.  Melancholy, her most trusted friend, made an entrance, knowing that it would be a long night .

Though she knew it was an exercise in futility, she turned on the radio, hoping to find a song to instantly clear her head.  A momentary pipe dream that the perfect song would inspire her to turn up the radio, turn down the windows, and raise her hands in groovious victory complete with smiles and laughs out loud.  But as she feared, song after song only brought her back to that which she for the moment hated.

The night would be long.

Silly Comfort Songs

'When I look to the East at the sunrise,  have to smile at the dawn of the day.  I will rest my head on the shoulder, of the One who chases all my fears away."

I am consistently amazed at how frequently I refer to a silly song i have written to provide comfort and support and even inspiration at different times in my life.  Maybe it is the simplicity or the hidden complexity of the words that encourages me to bring my soul close and sing.  Perhaps it is the rolling melodies that i often use in time with very simple harmonies.  Perhaps it is the curious characters or objects that i like to place in my songs and their interplay with one another.

I used to take myself to songs written by other people when i needed comfort.  Songs like "Praise the Lord" by the Imperials or "I Will Cast All My Cares Upon You", a kids song that i learned when i was subbing for the music teacher next door.  Songs like these lay in waiting, ready to help me, but i don't go there as often as I did.  Phrases like "when you're up against a struggle that shatters all your  dreams" and  "anytime I don't know what to do" pull me close and do perhaps what I wrote in the silly song at the beginning of this writing, rest my head on the shoulder.

Music therapy perhaps?  I think it is.

Jim as Cake

The inward silence of the soul at peace, leaving the war of the external for others to fight, lets me  break away for moments stolen.  I write bold and free, daring to act as though all will listen and most will heed.  The richness of life which floats to the top, knowing that goodness and mercy are nipping at my heels, decorates this cake formed in the likeness of life itself.

Though the hidden ingredients are complex on a micro level, the combinations and reactions that have made this cake which is me, are simple and efficient.  The form however, reads differently as one walks around the floor that holds the table that displays this cake which is me.  Different forms and patterns, different textures and densities meet one at every new turn to view. 

The icing sits beside.  There are quickly jotted instructions on a pad.  Handwriting is difficult to decipher but with time and perhaps prodding, what is written can be read.  One is told to use the icing as they will, to reproduce that which is pleasing or acceptable to them.

A glance back at the cake which is me reveals the efforts of others to ice me into what is their appropriate.  The masses seem to need me to be sweet and succinct and chos e the smoothest uniform and common sides of me to work their work.  Others choose other sides and take a more creative approach, blending colors spectacular, but pleasant.

A walk around the table, next to part of me that have not been iced yet, reveals areas where very few have wanted to see.  The patterns they leave are unique and personal.  They have edge but flow and appear to be very introspective but deliberate.