Values of Modern Society?

The title of this post is a small part of a writing prompt in one of the study courses I am taking. The entire question is about comparing and contrasting a set of virtues with the values of the society in which I live...which, of course, means I have to decide what I think the values of said modern society are, savvy?

At first, this was a bit daunting as I have never been very good at inferences on the abstract and more subtle levels of things. I am blunt and straight-forward, and determining the values of my society is not very concrete. There is a wide array, a tapestry if you will, of groups and subgroups of society, each adhering to their own views and marching to their own set of value-drums. It dawned on me then that just as these groups all got to choose their values, I, too, get to choose which ones end up my list. And there is the first value: choice. 

As a society, regardless of what it is we choose to do, to believe, to eat, to think, to feel, to speak, or even to NOT do, we all value our inherent right to make those choices for ourselves. We the people have deemed from the beginning that all men and women had the right to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness---in any way we choose. Our Founding Fathers left everything they were brought up to hold dear for our continued right to choose, and the freedom to continue to do so is one of the main ways in which we honor them. By choice.

Research also shows that of the percentage of students who graduate high school, those who attend college are statistically more likely to be deemed as successful in life. According to the Bureau of Labor Statistics, "of the 3.2 million youth age 16 to 24 who graduated from high school between January and October 2012, about 2.1 million (66.2 percent) were enrolled in college in October" (Labor). As a whole, our younger generations are embracing this fact, because the second value that we honor and respect is intelligence.

Intelligence is often equated with logic, understanding, mental acuteness, and even wisdom. One of my favorite definitions sums it up nicely: "the ability to learn or understand things or to deal with new or difficult situations" (Merriam-Webster). On a scientific note, one word equated with intelligence is "adaptability," meaning that the animals who were intelligent enough to adapt to change where the ones capable of living in difficult and new surroundings as their environments evolved. Survival of the fittest. As a society, we value our intelligence, framing plaques and diplomas that scream of our intellectual accolades in prominent places for all to see. If we as individuals in our choice-driven society wish to evolve with our ever-growing and ever-changing world, we must feed our intelligence and help it to grow.

As I sit here writing these thoughts with a light fall breeze upon my brow from the open window, the smell of warm tea and incense dancing around me, and these words flowing like water toward a stream from my mind to my fingertips, I am graced with the third value I choose to place upon my list. In our intelligence, we require creativity. We require elegance in design. We require upgrades and cleaner lines. We applaud simplicity and symmetry in design. We hold dear the arts that tap into our emotions, those soaring or dulcet tones that turn our ears toward them as though Ogmios himself had wound our ears with delectable chains of honey-sweet words, because we, as a people, value beauty. 

It is said that beauty lies in the eye of the beholder. This is simply understood when coupled with a value of choice. We choose what faces, sounds, words, places, books, ideas, and on and on we find beautiful, because it is beauty that softens the intelligence we seek and makes us whole. Find your beauty, dear reader. Choose what it is that you find beautiful. Learn all you can about it. Be whole. Lather, rinse, repeat.

Finally, I do believe there is a fourth value, materialism, but I choose not to write about that.

Bureau of Labor Statistics. "College Enrollment and Work Activity of 2012 High School Graduates." Web. 17 April 2013. Retrieved 10/01/2013 from http://www.bls.gov/news.release/hsgec.nr0.htm

Merriam-Webster. "Intelligence." Web. Retrieved 10/01/2013 from http://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/intelligence

On Writing...

Writing is. It exists, and it breathes, and it is a part of everything around us. Like the air that flows around the earth, writing is the soft current of emotions, hopes, dreams, histories and aspirations into which we all must delve on a regular basis to feed our ever-changing and evolving psyches.

This blog is about writing. Not just written words, but every form that writing can and will take if you learn to write as you breathe. To write, you must exhale all that is within you and let everything go, carrying with it the hurt, happiness, heartache and joy that you have been hoarding--and trust that you will be filled anew when you inhale. Writing with passion and intensity comes from that place in between the breaths, in between the exhale and the inhale full of the raw potential all writers seek in the creation of every piece of work that has been given life and borne unto the world.

Writing is. Let it be for you.
M

The Conachlann

The Medieval Irish form of poetry known as the Conachlann is a simple bardic form of chain verse. The last word of one line starts as the first word of the next line, though it may not be the very last and very first words (to account for grammar and the like). It is a fun exercise for folks in need of a writing prompt!

A Song for the Waters

The waves are crashing,
Crashing upon the rocks and stone
Stone floors embedded in the deep
Deep waters flowing, dark and mysterious
Dark and mysterious, her eyes, the sea.
The Sea, she entices me,
Entices me and thrills me
Thrills me and fills me with ecstasy—
The ecstasy of buoyed hope
Of Hope and of freedom
Of Freedom and of joy.
The joy of her smiling face.
Her face as bright as the sun.
Oh, Sun, oh, shining orb of light,
Orb of light that plays with the mists
The mists that dance,
That dance upon the waters.
The Waters, they thrill me,
They thrill me and fill me,
They fill me with freedom,
With freedom and joy.

On Recognition.

There are those who say that recognition should not be the focal point of an endeavor. There are those who say that recognition should never be expected nor desired. There are even those who say that recognition takes away from the work one has done. And then there is me.

Recognition is a “thank you.” It means, “We appreciate all that you have done for us, all that you have accomplished, because it was meaningful to us.” Recognition is a gift.

I agree that recognition is not the point of an endeavor, but there are circumstances under which it should be expected. I agree that recognition should not be the focal point, even in hindsight, of any of our accomplishments. But, I disagree wholly and entirely that recognition will ever diminish a finished product, particularly if that piece is the result of talent and hard work.

Today, I was recognized for some of the accomplishments I have made in my studies of the bardic arts. Was this my goal all along? Of course not. My goal was to become a better and more useful Bard and enhance what talent I have. Does it matter that this is a standard-issue for others who complete this path of study, the “expected” certificate of completion? Absolutely not. Does it make the work less meaningful? Not at all. I learned more than I can recount in my years of study thus far.

Do you know what matters? I got these certificates in the mail today that give the Ranks and Dates Achieved for ADF Journeyman Bard and ADF Master Bard, and the first thing I wanted to do after I beheld and basked in their glow was begin to write. I look at these and am reminded of the months and months I spent writing and rewriting and singing and playing guitar, and it encourages me in a very real and very tangible way to spend more months writing and singing and sharing with all of you.

It’s a circle. We creators create and share. The appreciation we receive for the work we have done motivates us to create and share more. Recognition is just a part of the circle of creativity.

Thank you to everyone who has ever supported or encouraged me. It has made this road-less-traveled a far better journey.

A Lesson from my Dad

I feel most creative when I am alone. I oftentimes don’t feel like I have the freedom to express myself fully in every creative way I desire when I am in the presence of someone else, even indirectly. I love to be alone and just let it flow: words, music, prayer. These are the most intimate treasures inside of me, and if I keep them to myself, I cannot be hurt through their dissection. If you take a song I have written and break it down, you will find the center of my heart beneath all the layers of creativity. The most courageous thing I have ever done is to take the risk and share what I have written with others, for therein lies the hub of my vulnerability. Inside of my creativity, my most powerful work is religiously inspired.

Nothing fuels me more than my spiritual path, but playing music is the main way in which I can fully let go and be free. Music is pure and emotive. Music opens you and breaks through your walls. Music penetrates even the deepest hurt and provides healing. Music can touch you when you shut down and can release your emotions when you bury them. When I become the musician, the whole world passes away, all the insecurities and filters and censorship, all the hurt, the pain and the sadness is gone and only I am left; just me. This is a trait I learned from my Daddy.

My father was not a musician, but no man loved music more and no one better illustrated the power of music more than he. Pink Floyd, Fleetwood Mac, Steve Miller. These were the bands that helped us find common ground; as much as we loved one another, we never had much in common. My dad was a drug-induced schizophrenic/manic depressive, and one of his more frequent cycles was anger–not just typical anger, but break-stuff, shoot-holes-through-the-doors anger. I would watch him explode as he lost control of his emotions and then witness the beauty of the music that soothed the beast inside of him. He would turn the lights off and turn the music up until all of his anger or hurt or sadness was gone, and only he was left with the sweet sounds in his head to block out the voices. It was then that we would be able to talk and I would see my real dad. Such was the power of music in our lives.

In light of the short-but-sweet performance I gave this weekend at Dublin Irish Festival and the lovely compliments I received, humbling compliments about how my music was able to touch people, I offer thanks to my father for showing me long ago the power of music and encouraging me to make this manifest in my life. May he be at peace surrounded by the song of the universe.

If I really listened to my inner voice...

If I really listened to my inner voice, I would write without fear. I would tell grandiose tales of adventures and love, poems and songs of beauty and emotion.

If I really listened to my inner voice, I would surrender to my needs and desires, surrender to the erotic tales and horrific nightmares. I would find words that would draw the images from my mind in yours so that you may see the world as I see it.

If I really, truly listened to my inner voice, I would be free.

Alas, I am trapped.

My inner voice is trapped behind fear, the fear of rejection, the fear of inferiority, the fear of judgment.

My inner voice grows smaller with each stroke of the pen, each strum of the guitar, each beat of the drum. Smaller, quieter, barely there at all.

Why does she disappear, the still, small voice in my head? To where does she go when the resounding of the inane critic in my head is berating all that I thought I could be? To whom does she call when I cannot hear her, when she is alone behind the wall of my insecurities?

My inner voice is sacred. I hide her away. If I really listened to her, she would tell me that all she wants is to feel the wind in her hair, the sun on her face, and the pen in her hand. She wants to breathe. She wants to sing. She wants to write. She wants to be free. Just like me.

Non-fiction Writing

As a writer, I write a lot of “fiction,” pieces inspired by the world around me that are full of imagery and imagination. But as  a student of the Old Ways, I am often led to read and write scholarly essays on a variety of topics. I am finding that these projects have made me a better fiction writer. 

Writing non-fiction has gotten a bad rep as a “boring” pass-time, and while I agree that writing non-fiction can be the equivalent of an artist drawing an apple on a table for the thirtieth time, it is a useful endeavor. When the subject matter is not interesting*, the writer must rely upon skill to engage readers. It is here that we most often  explore and expand the horizons of our writing styles, vary our sentence structures, and find new, descriptive ways  to speak of old and often mundane things. Inspiration cannot be allowed to deviate our work from the factual subject matter as it does with more expository writing, but it may be used in more subtle ways to explore the connections between the lines of our research. Non-fiction writing also teaches us how to make our points clear and concise: something many writers desperately need to learn.

One of the happy advantages of non-fiction writing prompts, those essay questions we all used to groan at when we were in school, is that these are useful tools when the Writer’s Block has fallen atop our work. Sometimes, like drawing an apple on a table, writing about something mundane is just what we need to get the imagination flowing and break through the dams keeping us from creating. In short, when you can’t figure out what to write, start writing about something you know. Even if that something is just a recap of your day. The imagination will take over once it awakens from the noise of your pen.
Write. About anything and everything. View the world through your pen. You never know what you will discover.

*interesting being a matter of subjective opinion.