Wednesday Words of Inspiration

This journal cover says it all. I was strolling through Barnes & Noble this evening when I saw it. I smiled and told myself to come back and buy it. So many times we can only think of what we're experiencing in the here and now, and find it very difficult to imagine a resolution. I've been there myself. Seeing these words added another stick to a small fire that's been smoldering in my mind for a few months now. You see, I'm seriously considering applying to grad school again. I've experienced the disappointment of rejection before because of my undergraduate academic record. A record that does not reflect my strong work ethic; my creativity; my way with words; my ambition; my inquisitiveness; and all that I've accomplished in the nearly 10 years since receiving my degree. What I want is a chance to free myself from the oppression, stigma, and shame of a low GPA. I know the odds are stacked against me but I want to receive affirmation that in this country, there is a such thing as a second chance for someone like me, particularly a second chance handed down by the powers that be in academia. I never lost my desire to achieve it. Wish me well. If I don't mention it again, it's either because I changed my mind, or I reached for the moon, but fell short and landed amongst the stars. But such is life. Some doors remain locked to force us to turn the knob of a door that is open and ready for us. My life will be wonderful with or without validation from a graduate program. But I really want it. And I will get it. One day.

To all you caterpillars out there clinging to your branches; wondering why things are the way they are; wondering if you'll ever get the opportunity to sprout wings and fly; just close your eyes and imagine it. For it may be your destiny. And you may be close to discovering it.

All the best, folks,


Jennifer

And I Love Her

Dear Inspiration,

It's me again. I miss you terribly, I mean it. Please come back to me. I feel so good when I'm with you, it's been so long since you've blessed me with your presence. I'm sorry that I've allowed you to slip away again, will you please forgive me and return to my soul?

Dear Jennifer,

I'm tired of going through this with you. You summons me; I appear; then you allow everything else in your life to take precedence over what I provide. How many times have I given you the perfect ending? Delivered the right arrangement of words? Yet what have you done with it? Nothing. I'm not sure if you deserve another chance. Do you know how many writers anticipate my arrival and reward me by expeditiously jotting down what I conjure in their minds? You ma'am have a lot to learn. But that's why I'm here. I see that you struggle and I don't want to give up on you (you're my favorite of them all). I return time and time again, each time hoping that you finally use me to make your literary dreams come true. But remember, though you're my favorite, I'm still not monogamous. I spread my ideas around (yes, even that particular one you hold so dear), and if you don't use it, someone else will.
Moving on, I know how much you enjoy listening to Ahmad Jamal. I found this little gem to help you travel to that special place that seduces your creativity. Now get to work, don't make me regret this.



Dear Inspiration,

Thank you for not giving up on me. I'll see to it that your efforts are not in vain. Thanks for the musical elixir, "Swahililand" is the truth. Off to create magic.

"I sit alone in my four cornered room staring at candles"

I'm back after an extending break from my blog. I've been busy in my offline life, which is very surprising for me. But that's not the only reason I've been MIA. I started a new post over a week ago, and it's still in a draft state. As I've written before, when I attempt to write in an "uninspired" state of mind, the process only proves to be a frustrating exercise in futility. I'm planning to publish that post one day. It's about a confusing sign I encountered recently in a creepy parking garage. It's pretty funny actually, and reminiscent of the posts that landed me a "Best Humor Blog" nomination.

So now you may be wondering If you published this one, something has inspired you, right?

You know me so well. I was listening to my favorites on YouTube this evening when I noticed a video under Related Videos that I hadn't seen in a long time. "My Mind Is Playin Tricks On Me" by the Geto Boyz came out when I was in the 8th grade. My post title "I sit alone in my four cornered room staring at candles" is the song's introductory line. Like many songs, movies, and books that I ran across back then, I really didn't get what Scarface, Willie D, and Bushwick Bill were rapping about. It was just a cool sounding sound, with a cheesy video that I liked. But now that I'm older, songs like this that speak on the human condition draw me in and beg me to analyze their lyrics.

There is more than one interpretation of the song's meaning. As a writer, the lines that stands out to me deal with the ability to sit alone while thoughts take over your entire body, rendering it motionless, sometimes for hours; and the ones describing the effects of having visions. What I take from this song is a confirmation of my belief that people who are able to experience this and dare to entertain it, open their minds to receive raw emotions and feelings that can then be transferred to a form for others to receive.

I've often wondered about the inspiration behind the literary, musical, and theatrical works that are hailed as the greatest ever produced. If you'll notice, these works touch us deeply and affect our spirit; some are very haunting in their replication of what we have felt or have heard of others experiencing. And interestingly, the creators have led remarkably different lives from what they've produced. Never set foot in the environments of which they speak.

So how are they able to share things they've never experienced?

This may sound incredibly weird, but I believe these creations are possible through special portals that exist in the minds of creative people.The portals attract special signals in the universe. Again, this is my belief, I have no findings to back up anything. But it simply must exist. The wonder of Stevie Wonder comes to mind. I feel that his blindness has allowed him to see a beauty in the world that those of us with sight are not privy. He has those portals. Concentrated and powerful input enters his spirit, where his special ability allows him to put it into a form that communicates to the rest of us. And boy has it affected us.

I sit alone in my four cornered room staring at candles.

The Mystery Man

I was walking past the various vendor booths at this year's Afro-Punk Festival in Brooklyn, eyeing the trinkets, jewelry, clothing, vegetarian food items, and body oils and lotions, when I happened on an initially frightening object.

This man----->

This head is an art piece that appears to be composed of aluminum cans, plastic containers, and other miscellaneous items you would find on any busy city street. This picture does not do the head's size any justice. If you look closely, you can see that the height of the head reaches the hood of the car it's propped up against. I saw a woman who appeared to be tending to it, but I don't know if she was the artist or someone equally as struck by its appearance as I was. There was nothing like it around, it stood alone near a table of trinkets.

I'm writing this blog post on "The Mystery Man" because of his facial expression. In it I see sorrow, pain, deep thought, and, if I may be so morbid, human decomposition. I stood before it a few moments, wanting to touch it, but out of respect for its status as "artwork," and because I was a little unnerved, I didn't. I took a picture and walked away.

But I didn't forget him. On the ride back to DC, I imagined what I would write if I were shown his picture in a creative writing class and instructed to "tell me about him." What would I feel inspired to write? Honestly, I couldn't come up with anything.

But as I'm writing this post, "he" just spoke to me. Wanna know who he is?

His name is Jeremiah. He's what's known as a "gymadan." Gymadans are cursed because of actions in a past life and are born in spirit form only. They have to earn a physical body one part at a time by answering complex riddles posed by The Creator. The Creator poses a riddle only once a year. If a gymadan answers wrong, he or she has to wait two years for a retest. Sadly, Jeremiah has earned only his head in the twenty years of his life--his problem is that he overthinks his responses and can't "see the forest for the trees" for lack of a better analogy. In contrast, a gymadan who answers the riddles correctly typically earns a full body in six years.

Jeremiah's chance is coming up again and he's desperate to earn his neck, and, if The Creator takes pity of his plight, a torso. There is rumor that The Creator will ask Jeremiah a very tough one this time: Why does a caged bird sing?

If so, Jeremiah will answer, "because it can do nothing else, for it is caged."