Wondering

Years ago, when I was in high school, an English teacher introduced me to a famous writer, who was at that time one of my "idols."

"Watch this girl!" my professor warned. "She's going to be somebody."

Even though the words were spoken with an combination of obvious pride, unabashed sarcasm, and the unspoken admonishment against letting the words go to my head, it was the highest compliment I had ever received--primarily because I so completely admired the "giver," who was a renowned poet in her own right. Over the years, I have treasured it close to my heart, secretly vowing to fully earn that praise, to "make my mentor proud".

Over the years, I have heard similar words. I have been complimented, encouraged, praised, and even dubbed "the best writer ever" by what has to be the harshest critic ever. Still, I often find myself wondering why that isn't enough. Time and time again, I have found myself facing an individual who easily boasts that he or she is the greatest writer of all time, bar none. As a developmental editor, I have marveled at the confidence displayed by those who have had no more talent than a five-year-old drawing indecipherable doodles on construction, paper, been astounded by the humility of others who have rivaled the greats, and completely baffled by works which--without any apparent style or form whatsoever--somehow manage to so completely capture the unique tones and timbres of the writer's voice that they draw in the reader as no other could. Still, the longer I write, the more I surround myself with truly exceptional writing, the more convinced I am that no greater glory exists than composing something of true literary value, regardless of its notoriety among men or its acceptance by the so-called experts of the time.

Could any praise, any approbation, any amount of affirmation or success rival the simple knowledge that one has, in a lifetime, completed that one piece he or she was born to write?

And does any artist, any writer ever recognize that defining moment if and when she reaches it?

"Questions, No Answers"....YET!

Since March, it seems, every word I have written has been dipped in poison!

What is it about heart aches and heart breaks that bring out the worst in people?

For hours now, I have found myself pondering that very question. Why was it, I ask, not enough to have slowly regained a significant portion of my health? Why have I not, I went on to question, taken more time to dwell on the positives of life rather than the negatives? Is it not enough to have three healthy children, wonderful memories, and a wealth of rather rich and varied experiences for which many would give a right arm (or at least a left foot)?

For weeks now, I have been "fumigatin'" over a number of issues: the inevitable disappointments of life. Anger over the demise of what I thought to be a lifelong friendship, resentment over the changing attitudes born of the change in socioeconomic status (from semi-successful editor to gravely ill "nobody"), frustration over the added stresses my children have been forced to endure, and a complete lack of enthusiasm for everything which once lent beauty and purpose to life have all but eroded the luster of vitality from my usually bright outlook on life.

And why?

Because I survived what was thought to be certain death?

Because the return to the Land of the Living was not the triumphant reentry I had imagined?

Because I got my lil ol' heart broken?

Because a friendship I never could have anticipated, never in my fondest imaginings could have conceived, ended in disillusionment?

Because my children are healthy and happy, just not rolling in the dough I was so sure I had kneaded for them?

Because love "done let me down"?

All these things should be reason to pick up the pen and cover paper with enough doodles and curlicues to fill several volumes.

So why haven't they been?











So many questions!

And not a single answer...

YET.

Comtemplating

"Perspective" can be a bewildering and frustrating concept.

The moment one is all but certain she has reached a firm and specific decision about someone or something, the focus shifts--thus changing the perspective--rendering everything she thought she had seen or hear, felt or decided, sensed or reasoned...

Insignificant.

Confusing?

My point exactly!

Nevertheless, as my world tilts and spins on its ever-jerking axis--and I find myself struggling to function in a time outside of time, in an environment in which nothing is as I before assumed it to be--I am learning so much that I did not before know...

And am not sure I want to know now.

Arrogance

One of the accusations I most treasure is this one: "You are arrogant!"

Why?

Because usually, it means one has spoken sense.

All my life, I have admired The Greats. Why? Because they did not fancy themselves special in any way. They did not focus on the future acclaim they would (but had not yet) earned. For the most part, those writers, thinkers, philosophers, and artists who most completely changed the scope and depth of reality as we know it...did so out of the simple need to record all that echoed in and around them. And it is they I hope to in some way emulate.

Anyone can write or paint. Anyone can act, sing, dance, construct and design. Many will make a great deal of money from it for no other reason than that they are willing to do whatever it takes, whatever is asked of them in order to attain notoriety or commercial success. Perhaps that is enough for them. Maybe that should be enough for anyone.

Yet, I want more.

For myself and those who have true talent, I hunger for more.

In every discipline, in every area of life, there are those who have some fire burning within them--something far beyond themselves--which demands to be stoked, often whether they like it or not. For some, it is as simple as the drive to build sleek, functional structures that, although not flamboyant, will stand the ages. For others, the need to create from cloth and patterns the shapes and forms which will define an era can and will never be sated. I suppose, for many of us out there, we were born with some tiny, snarling demon inside determined to be set free. And those who do not have it do not understand its demands.

That, strangely enough, has never bothered me.

I would rather be the woman who never reaches that moment in life in which she feels worthy to call herself a writer than those who add to the thousands of worthless volumes which clutter the libraries.

Maybe I will never be A Writer.

Yes, my written words fill the pages of many a thesis and dissertation by academic powerhouses who lacked the love for or even the interest in the written word necessary to bring their ideas to life. And, maybe that should mean something to me. Perhaps it would mean a great deal to others.

But in my mind.

I will not be a writer until I have penned that which no one else could have conceived or written. Do I have it in me to achieve the goal? I would like to think so. One would like to think that her own insistent demon exists for that very purpose. Further, I would like to believe that had I not been somehow gifted with the capacity to reach that objective, the little devil never would have been entrusted to me in the first place. The truth of the matter is, even if I do somehow manage to take all that I am, all that I have learned, all that I am capable of being and somehow weave from those elements the one great work of a lifetime, I would probably not recognize it for what it truly was, even if it jumped up and bit me on the butt.

For me, it is just enough to know that the mere possibility exists, just as it has for others before me, for others who will live long after I am forgotten, and even a few magnificent souls who have wondered onto my pathway just long enough for me to play a small part in helping them accomplish what I have not--possibly will not.

If that constitutes arrogance,

"'Play on Macbreath'"!

Keep writing ya"ll!

Ultimately

Ultimately
The future--
Not the past--
Fades to black
Until all
That can be distinguished
Are the faintly-moving
Shadows
Of that
Which in a life
Was meant
To be.

Disillusioned

What was it first I saw
In those clear blue waters
Of your hastily clothed
Vulnerability?
Perhaps the wayfarer in me,
Seeking the refreshment of an unpolluted soul,
Gazed into the verbal liquidity
Which served, at that time, as your eyes
And imagined concatenation.
So intoxicating:
Those smoothly rippling lies.
Oh, how they pleased, tingled...
Deceived both mind and tongue
As the cool dancing circles burst
Into the sweet, smoky flavor of remembered trust!
How completely thirsts for acceptance,
Roaming Loneliness's desert,
Directionless...in search of friendship.
I drank and thought I saw
Mirrored in that instant
Before I gulped you in
My own bewildered face
Staring up at me in wonder.
Now in the aftermath, my spirit recovering
From the bitter toxins of delusion,
My mind escaping a dense fog,
The heaviness of comprehension
Settles in around me,
And I see no beauty,
Taste no lingering ambrosial joy
But am left with dizzying self- recrimination,
My heart and mind spinning
Into the dark, sucking abyss
Of quicksand:
Disillusionment.
Thy name was Sunshine.



*All materials (including photographs, original written works, printed commentaries, etc.) herein contained are (unless expressly noted to the contrary) the property of Chanctetinyea J.J. Ouellette (and/or "Chance & Opportunity"). As such, they are not to be to any degree or in any form copied, reprinted, by any means duplicated and/or privately used or distributed without her express permission. All rights reserved.

Open Journal: On Human Nature...and Human Beings

Human beings truly discourage me...

What is it about human nature that compels men and women to gravitate--in their thoughts, attitudes, and actions--towards the worst in one another? Many would grasp hold of the obvious answer: control. To believe that the hunger for some sense of control over one's destiny, of the power to orchestrate, even manipulate, the lives of is, however, far to convenient, as is the tendency to attribute human failings to helplessness or fear.

No, I fervently believe human beings celebrate the worst of themselves for no other reason than it is, at least at present, easier and less time-consuming than nurturing the best they might have to offer. Let's face it: if reaching and maintaining the pinnacle of personal excellence were the current societal norm, if to be found lacking in compassion, kindness, generosity, patience, integrity, and love guaranteed the instant stigma of "social taboo," how many of us would run to the local therapist, psychoanalyst, psychiatrist, or counselor confident that our lists of excuses, justifications, and qualifications would invariably be rewarded with a "Get Out of Being Human Free" card?

Sometimes, as a am taking my morning walk, contemplating the seamless continuity of the past, present, and future inherent in all existence, I find myself profoundly saddened by the juxtaposition of what we as human creatures were meant to be...and what we allow ourselves to be. Such vast potential for living and loving, for learning and gaining wisdom lies lost upon the ever growing mound of injustice and discontent comprised of the detritus of the daily acts of selfishness committed in the name of survival! Just what would it take to detoxify human nature? To cleanse it of the addiction to easy lies as opposed to hard truths, the habit of clinging to all the reasons it is acceptable to be less than we should rather than fueling ourselves to step out, to reach out, stimulated by the images of the best we each--and all--might be? And when will we stop hiding behind the delusion that the past, present, and future endure as separate--almost disconnected--entities rather than a continuity of collective and individual actuality-- circles upon circles of ever-expanding reality (building upon one another as do the rippling patterns of disturbance upon before-stilled waters), of cause and effect, of action turning onto itself to become equal and opposite reaction--which, defined by the choices we make, either limit or expand into limitlessness all that is brightest, boldest, most brilliant and most beautiful in not only human behavior...

But Human Beings?