grrrrrr...

what are we really talking about?

lately, i've observed myself asking the same question, over and over and over again, like a curious kindergartner, building her bourgeoning vocabulary from the ground up:

"what does that mean?"

or, "how are you defining _________"?

for most every word we choose and use, there are a litany of "official" definitions
ascribed to it, and then an infinite variety of nuances, associations, concepts and assumptions overlaid atop it's academic meaning which are then infused by our own personal filters and projections.

shared definitions are actually extraordinarily rare.

the disparity is a beautiful opportunity for us to dialogue our way towards deeper understanding, and shared intimacy, as long as we're bold enough to acknowledge our ignorance (as in, "i don't know what that means"), and present and curious enough to dive into the rabbit hole of inquiry, and to follow its sometimes bumpy and winding path to the inevitable sparkle of truth that eagerly awaits our discovery.

clarity

I've been observing the scent of confusion wafting through my daily grind. Where to focus my attention and my energies? There's the script, the book, the graphic novel, the web project, the art show(s), the documentary, the illustration gig, the panty line, the blog, the animated short that's been clawing to get out - every which way some dazzling, dizzying, wonderful creation clawing to be birthed into material reality.

And then I slowed down enough to hone in on the culprit:

every which way

I use these words daily, in a kicky, quirky sort of throw-away hyperbolic frenzy of enthusiastic space-filling.

every which way?

anchoring in confusion with careless words tossed unconsciously forth because they sound pretty while modifying their speaker (me) into deeper and murkier states of which way shall I go? confusion.

lesson learned.

i am clear, focused, easy, effective, effortless direction now.

words matter. every one of 'em.

fine art interlude

without words

while lying lower still...

hyperbole

I inhabit a community colored by hyperbole. Every day is the best day ever, and a casual, though authentically curious How are you, elicits a giddy and gurgling "totally amazing" or "incredibly awesome every which way" or some other effusively positive, yet entirely inconceivable outpouring of chocolate-frosted nothing.

The emotion infusing the sentiment is delightful. I'm all for saying yes, breathing gratitude, and vibrating high and dazzling more and more and always and allways. Still, from a linguistic angle, referring specifically to the art of communication, hyperbole does little to actually translate one's experience. The descriptives lend a vague sense of joy, garnished with a dash of oomph, but (AND) they fall short in expressing any sort of qualitative experience such that the listener (or reader, as the case may be) actually understands and hence, connects with, the other person's state of heart, mind, body or spirit. In fact, my experience on both the doling out and receiving of hyperbole, is that it's an efficient way to keep the other at bay, to avoid connection, to stave off intimacy. To invite connection, to foster and to nurture true intimacy requires us to connect to our feeling state, to the reality of our experience in the moment, and to share it with the other, regardless of how shadowy, mundane or twisted we fear that reality may be.

So, how am i, you ask?

I am sleepy, centered, satisfied, slightly sore of neck and dry of cheek (unwanted afternoon sun) and wanting to be touched while inviting this longing to take its leave, knowing that the empty space that takes its place is infinitely more satisfying in its truth and in its breadth.

Which is my semi-spiritual, slightly heady way of saying frisky; I am frisky.

Sigh.

sad happens

story-free sad.

sigh.

lucky, lucky me.