Category Archives: Belief

Beginnings, Always Follow

Life returns, saying
Again, I have loved you once,
And will, Forever!

© JoAnn J. A. Jordan
Wednesday, March 20, 2019

Prompt, if you should wish: Find a way to express the arrival of Spring, or whatever of any matter that crosses your mind today. You are creative, let creativity guide you.

Project

Notes to A Reluctant Creator

Introduction

Welcome! I am so glad you found your way here. We have things to explore and discover. Jump In!

Oh, sorry, you may be wondering what all this Creativity has to do with you. The thing is you are, whether you realize or not, one of the most creative people on the planet, and elsewhere too, if you like to think that way.

Now, you may not be an artist, writer, poet, graphic designer, photographer, or any of those liberal arts things. You may believe you lack talent, gifts, and skills, but I have something to tell you. YOU ARE CREATIVE!

Have you ever shopped for the perfect outfit and matched up pieces from different stores, to make something decidedly your own? Do you pick flowers and arrange them to decorate your table? When you cook, do you get the recipe and then modify it to suit your needs and tastes? Have you planned a party where you decided the guest list, the decorations, the menu, and desserts, employed a photographer, sent out invitations? Have you written an email on which you took extra time to make sure it said what you meant, precisely? Have you sewn, knitted, scrapbooked? Do you do a bit of home repair or mechanical work on a vehicle? Do you plan and plant a vegetable or flower garden? Are you raising or have you raised a child? Have you trained a dog? I submit, in all these things you have used creativity. There is no hiding from it; you are an individual with creative flair.

In the following pages, I may lean toward the liberal arts, but what I suggest can often be used in other applications. I am going to show you some of my work, and encourage, inspire and prompt you to do your own. Be aware creativity has no rules, though I recommend being yourself as honestly and entirely as you may. Creativity is the quality that makes what we produce undeniably our own.

Creativity can free us when we are stuck and guide us when we are at a loss. It is a significant quality we share with God. *Humanity, made in the Creator’s image, blessed with imagination and ability to create.*

I recommend you get a journal and perhaps, a sketchbook, or if you are like many and more electronically inclined, set up a file for your projects. I am going to put you to work, but it will not seem that way. It will be exciting and fun. You are going to discover what your critic ran under wraps in your soul, and unearth the freedom of creativity you experienced as a child.

So, I do not know about you, but I am very excited to begin. We have things to do and learn together, and we are going to find grace and freedom to embrace our authentic selves.2017-03-26 Monster after me In Color

Still, the Taste

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There was a day in the dead of Winter, when the weatherman on the Black & White TV said everyone should stay home. Of course, Daddy went to work, cause he did. I was a tyke.

Melv had to go into work at Mr. Cleo’s Machinist Shop, and Mom was tasked with the drive, in the white Buick that was dripping icicles like a waterfall. We still lived in the trailer park, so as I say, I was a tyke.

I hadn’t had breakfast, Mom fixed a bowl of my favorites, Froot Loops. Back then, car seats had not been invented, and as a family, we were not fans of seatbelts.

Mom drove, Melv sat up front, and I had the back seat to myself, with the bowl and a blond headed Pee Wee doll with a tiny red dress with black trim, from Grants.

We made it out of the trailer park and across Gordon Road, past the Baptist Church that was somehow not quite the Baptist we were.

I was munching on the Froot Loops, and there was somewhat an argument in the front seat, which I did not worry so much about, because at least in this car, plates could not go flying and belts were not involved.

As I recall, I was standing on the hump with one hand on the blue vinyl of the front seat looking out the windshield when the car suddenly began to slide, then spin. I lost the back of the front seat, the Froot Loops, my feet, and was flung around amid the flying cereal.

We hit the rock cut. I wound up in the floorboard.

The Buick had such a coating of ice, as did the rock face, that there was not a scratch on that invincible car. The only casualty of the accident was my bowl of Froot Loops.

Mom did, however, become more adamant about never driving on ice. It did not slow her down under less inclement conditions though. My love of speed is inherited from both parents.

Melv may fill in what happened about his day, I am no longer certain. I was understandably upset about my breakfast.

As you see, I am still a junkie.

© Jo Ann J. A. Jordan
Sunday, March 17, 2019

 

Battling the Specter of Nevermore

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In recent books, I have read about hemlock, strychnine, and other poisons. I read a variety, this is not about genre, fiction or non-fiction, this to me speaks of destruction.

Our whole lives are immersed in depression, despair, lack of dignity, lack of respect, an absence of tolerance. It is no wonder suicide, and murder rates are soaring, mass killings are rampant.

We as a world, need an infusion of hope, a multiplicity of loving-kindness in every aspect of life. We cannot point at one another and claim others should be the solution. We must be, ourselves, the answer, every one of us. We must carry love within us, and to each person we encounter.

Forgiveness, grace, love, mercy must become our functional vocabulary, as well as our method of conduct.

We never know, by reaching out, by being a friend, we may be lifting ourselves or someone other from the precipice of death. The Lord is Love and He inhabits our acts of kindness and compassion. We are called and sent, let us reach out. May we be the solution for one another.

It is, and has been for some time, a fight against Nevermore.

© Jo Ann J. A. Jordan
Tuesday, March 19, 2019

Meaningful Investment

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I am disheartened by the continuing destruction of media in America. My primary interest is print, and the related consigns, but much is the same across all disciplines. Publishing, books, poetry, magazines, newspapers, photography, art, have been my loves almost from the time I left the cradle.

I remember the few books I had during childhood as treasures. The photographs came back after weeks, and were a surprise, did I get the shot or something other? Humpty Dumpty magazine was read repeatedly and the puzzles all done. School newspapers on pink paper smelling of mimeograph ink with a poem or two of my own were the height of achievement. Reading about the health hazards of smoking, in Reader’s Digest, and other concerns kept me somewhat abreast of the world. Having to get the AJC because we did current events once a week, was a pleasure, otherwise, I would never have seen a newspaper.

There is a great deal of media on offer these days for no cost if one knows how to circumnavigate the paywalls. I understand the desire to save money, I acknowledge spending on media may seem unwarranted, unnecessary, and even a luxury. There is an unfortunate lack of vision in that attitude.

For writers, artists, photographers, editors, any creatives to continue in their respective fields they must be paid. Living costs money for them just as for executives, health-care professionals, teachers, legal representatives, politicians, engineers, and any other profession we might name.

If media outlets are not receiving money through advertising, subscriptions, or sale of publications, the compensation paid to creatives continues to shrink. The more talented creatives seek other avenues to make revenue and the overall quality of media available degrades until there is little veracity in what is produced.

Generally, if a creative produces intellectual property, there is an expectation of payment. If as creatives, we are not investing in the properties of others, how are we to expect others to finance us?

Invest in media for the future of media, the fewer funds go into media, the more significant the lack of truth presented will become. The people, particularly creatives, need to save the press through an infusion of time, talent, and money. If we don’t, who will? If not now, when? There is a tipping point where a downward spiral cannot be stopped. Let us never reach that point.

© Jo Ann J. A. Jordan
Tuesday, March 12, 2019

I am grateful:

  1. I have recently realized that one of the groups I listened to when younger have a more extensive repertoire than I was aware.
  2. Reading continues to carry me places I never would go, introduces me to characters I would never know, teaches me things I would otherwise fail to learn.
  3. Writing continues to be a pleasure in my life, though I have doubts about the worth of my expressions.
  4. There is currently food in the house.
  5. The dogs are doing tolerably well.

Blessings…

Computers connect worlds of people who never knew they needed one another but give each other hope.

Books can transport us from the mundane to the fantastic, or teach us how to love one another.

Phones can bring the voice of a loved one from far off, up close and personal.

Music can lift the spirit when everything seems to have fallen apart.

Video can show us things we might not discern without its illumination.

Art can bring us joy and teach us strength.

People, God places in our lives to teach us to love, give, believe, grow, hope, become who we are.

 

The Cuckoo Clock

It was a gift
From my son
When he was
A Marine,
Brought authentic
From Germany
Early in his enlistment.

It stayed in its box,
A fateful bird caged,
Because mother
Would not deign
To have it on a wall
In our common areas;
My encroachment.

Freed, I brought
It to a wall, hung
It where it might
Arbitrate day and night,
The hours which
Pass with sylphlike
Swiftness away.

Now, it seems
I am ill-equipped
To keep it enlivened
Because the chains,
I often fail to pull,
And it stops
A jarring silence.

Still, as often as
I may, I set it
In motion, loving
Its ticking,
Its cuckooing,
The comfort of
Its company.

© Jo Ann J. A. Jordan
Sunday, March 3, 2019

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As a prompt: Explore your relationship with media and evaluate whether you should make changes in your expenditures on consumption to bring you goals for creative compensation in line with your desires for quality. Perhaps, a written Pro vs. Con evaluation would help you come to a valid conclusion.

But my smile still stays on… – Freddie Mercury of Queen  The Show Must Go On

Experimental

The Poem

An invitation
To meet myself
In the free space
Offered by a page,
And perhaps bring
Some others along
To join in a celebration
Of life’s incantations.

Who knows what dragons
Might be conquered
By an apt word proffered
At an inauspicious moment,
Suddenly made perfect
In lines unschooled,
Unmetered, but found
Very appropriately.

The dream crystallized
In verse may be that one
Which settles in a wayward heart
Giving fulsome courage,
Reviving will once trampled,
By the rampage of harsh
Realities laced with death,
Resurrecting abiding hope.

Yes, it is meager,
Only words, but words,
Words hold the power
To encourage change,
Evoking freedom from
The penalties of chains,
No one can stop words
No boundaries can jail them.

The poem is innocuous
Unlikely to foster ire
But it carries the soul
Of desire untethered
By earthen fetters
It rises above language
Whispering on the air,
Sometimes unknown, yet bare.

© Jo Ann J. A. Jordan
Sunday, March 3, 2019DSC00111

The tempestuous soil

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This Soil I Call Home

They wonder why tearing down monuments rankles. Apparently, they do not know the history of this earth where we are bound. I only know a little, but I know the land is holy.

Once, tribes of indigenous peoples, later called Indians roamed this country. They battled among themselves in societal tribes. They lived, loved, hunted, died, made lives. Then all they owned, all they loved was taken, and they were left, bodies, bleeding into the soil once their heritage.

These conquering Europeans also brought criminals who they restricted and mistreated, tortured, letting some starve, others became indentured servants, used, abused, unpaid. Some finally won free but were still cast down, called trash.

Then industry rose and needed cheap labor, or labor unpaid. So ships brought cargoes of ebony people taken captives from their lands, forced to do the back-breaking, soul stealing work, making greatness by the labor of their hands.

A cry for freedom rung clear, a peal that would not be silenced. The nation, tore asunder, brother against brother, blood was shed. The ground cried out, flooded with scarlet rivers and elsewhere torrential streams of tears.

Other fights, other massacres occurred. A price was always paid in blood, for blood has ever been the sacrifice for freedom. The fighters, their names too numerous to recall, on both sides of the stories gave everything for who we are.

Whether right or wrong they paid, and it is we who should remember. We should let the monuments stand that we never forget how great is the price of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. Least in tearing down, we awaken the hungry monster who destruction, war, and death, is named, and allow it to break loose drinking lifeblood again.

© Jo Ann J. A. Jordan
Saturday, January 19, 2019

I am always surprised by inspiration. It usually has no reason nor rhyme. It overtakes me in its own way and time.

For a prompt: Write or otherwise create about an issue that moves you, heart and soul. Be blunt, be real, let it show what you feel. When you access your creativity, you should be your most honest self. Share if you like. If not, allow the revelation to be yours alone.

I hope this suits you. If not, still come again. Have a blessed night.

 

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