Happy Halloween!

By SlimVirgin (Own work) [CC-BY-SA-3.0
(http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0)],
via Wikimedia Commons


Ghost Writer

You will feel me but not see me
no name or credit there
but the words that I whisper
will hover in your ear
like tingling on your spine
or a brush against your feet
“there must be someone here” — you’ll say
but never guess it’s me.

A Dash of Introspection

I've been concentrating a lot on creative work recently, and have been discovering some wonderful literary communities in the process of submitting to journals and magazines.

It was a pleasure to contribute to the latest issue of the Rain, Party, & Disaster Society, a comfy little niche on the internet where I feel quite at home.

 This poem was the first piece of creative writing I had done in months. The writing of it was cathartic and necessary, a reaction to a crazy and difficult time and a catalyst to the healing that came afterwards. It felt particularly delicate and precious to send off into the unknown, which is why I'm so grateful to the wonderful editors at RPD for giving it such a warm welcome. To my surprise and horror (just kidding...I mean joy!) I was even asked to write a feature for their Artist Spotlight on the blog.

Ego boost aside, sitting down and writing about why you write, what it means to you, putting those things into words, it's an arduous but worthwhile task. Actually, it feels a little bit like those acceptance speeches you give in the mirror for your fake grammy-- you know you do... one part ego, a dash of humility, a quarter cup of healthy introspection. But seriously, I learned a lot about myself and about how I approach art, and I'm basking in the creative momentum for as long as it lasts.

It made me think, why wait to be asked? Why not sit down and write it out now? We certainly don't wait to be nominated for a grammy (oscar, pulitzer, whatever your flavor) ...so what would your "Spotlight" say? What makes you create, what makes your heart pound, what fills you up?

Don't forget to thank the editor!

Split Personality

I grew up learning how to hide. I grew up hearing stories about how members of the Unification Church, the faith I was born into and raised in, were kidnapped by their families and forced to undergo abusive deprogramming tactics. I heard about how members were put in jail for prosthelytizing their faith. On a personal level, my family was asked to leave our neighborhood Christian church because we "weren't really Christians". The word "cult", would cut me open if I heard it on tv or in passing conversation, leaving me feeling exposed and ashamed.

These stories were worn like a badge of honor by most of the people who told them. As if these kinds of experiences were proof that you were doing something good. God's messengers are always misunderstood.

But as a child, I didn't want to be a prophet. I wanted to have friends. I wanted to belong. Since I grew up in a town with no other "church families" around, there was no place for that "church self" to belong in school or in my community. So I tucked that part of myself away, and only let it come out every other Sunday when we would drive an hour and a half to church, or once a year at summer camp. But that left me with the burden of then tucking away my "school" personality. They were both me. Neither was me. So in trying to "belong" I denied myself and others, the chance to really and truly know me. I don't blame myself. I simply think I learned to cope with a complex situation the best way I knew how at the time.

Now, as an adult, as a mom, I still struggle with this idea of identity and the theme of duality that seems to manifest in different ways, but with the same old feelings. There was a point in my early adult hood when things came to a tipping point, where I could no longer stand to live like a secret agent, and worked hard to stitch myself back together. I feel that same pressure now, mostly revolving around my creative life. Like things are filling up, getting ready to spill over. I think it will be a relief. But as it was before, I know it also comes with growing pains.

On we go. Wherever I go, there I am, and other such platitudes.

"Be yourself" seems like good advice, but if "yourself" is constantly changing, growing, hopefully learning, we may have to take a pause every once in awhile to figure out who exactly, that is.

How to Say Goodbye

It started to seem like death was swirling all around me. In just the past few months my Aunt, Grandmother, and a classmate from high school all passed away. The one year anniversary of a friends death hit right in the middle of all that in April, and the rawness of the grief took me a bit by surprise.

Mom, Grandpa, Grandma, Sister, and Me c.1990's not long before my Grandpa passed

I suppose I'm an introspective person, most writers are, when something happens in the world, I want to know why. I want to understand my emotions, the reactions of those around me, I want to make connections to the larger story. I try to observe, and to take away some truth, and if that truth pierces me with a sharp enough arrow, I let myself bleed in words.

This is all starting to sound a bit cryptic, but really, what I want to say is, that lately I have been unable to bleed. Is death too big to wrap my head around? Is it shock or fear that makes me numb? Explaining grief may be a futile thing, and from what I hear, it can be different for everyone. It may be a deep, dark pit, that we don't know how to climb out of. It may be a wind that blows from time to time whenever we see a picture or remember a loved one's voice. Or it may be, as it has been for me, a frozen layer of ice that I've had to let thaw gradually, scooping up tiny puddles bit by bit.

It's strange how we forget about death until we are faced with it. Just two weeks ago my Grandmother passed away. She had been on hospice care, and as I loaded my family into the car for a ten hour drive to Indiana we knew it was only a matter of days. She was 98, it was her time. We had been anticipating it for years, and yet, when the words came that she had finally passed there was still a moment of shock.

My grandmother's passing caused us to take an unexpected journey that turned into a 10 day stay. Though it was for a bit of a sad reason, we were able to spend some quality time with family, reminisce, and bring back some things that belonged to her and my grandfather, treasures to remind us and carry on their legacy.


picture of my Grandmother, Mom, and Sister: The Morris genes are strong with this one


Death is the only journey we all CAN expect, and yet when it comes we are never quite ready to say goodbye.

This past week I had a mom friend and her three kids staying at our house while they got ready to move out of state. My son and hers have become best friends over that past few years, and they had so much fun on this extended sleep over. They left last night, and when my son woke up this morning, their absence was definitely felt. 

He cried when I told him we probably wouldn't be seeing them for a long time, and I held him in my arms, all curled up in a ball on my lap. Somehow, his tears seemed to unlock the part of me that had become numb, and all of a sudden there was a flood of emotion pouring out from that once frozen iceberg, so that I am able to write this post.

If we believe in an afterlife, then goodbye is only goodbye for now, and we can follow the same advice that I gave to my five year old this morning:

"we'll write letters, we'll talk, we'll look at pictures, and remember things, until we're able to see them again."


Grandpa and Grandma on a trip to East Asia c.1970's