Tag Archives: Lavender

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The Why of It

I may have mentioned that I’m a daydreamer, and I’m pretty sure that I’ve called myself a writer, too. I know I’ve confessed that I am thus far an unpublished writer, but that I have decided that getting published is the next step. But why have I only just now decided to try and get published?

Well, that’s sort of a circle: I never intended to get published, so I didn’t write anything intended for publication, which meant that I’d never written anything good enough to get published, which led me to feel that I couldn’t write anything good enough to get published, which reinforced my lack of motivation to get published, which …

You see where this is going, right? All it really took was a decision to get published to break that nonsensical chain; but that decision was hard to make and far from easy to implement. The reason for that is pretty straightforward: I’m a daydreamer first, and a writer second. So switch them around, you might say. Not that easy, I’m afraid.

Folks like me (that’s lavenders, if you’ve read my last post) can be some of the very best of storytellers (among other things), but it requires a great deal of focus. Unfortunately, that focus doesn’t come easy, at least for me. I titled this blog Adrift in Daydreams for a reason. Yes, I daydream almost constantly, but I don’t want to give you the mistaken impression that I stick to one daydream for days or even hours on end. Sometimes I do, but generally I drift from one dream to the next according to the shifting currents of my aetheric ocean, and staying focused on one story to the exclusion of all the rest long enough, and with the appropriate intensity, to write a whole book … well that takes some serious willpower. Especially when the story hits a rough patch or I start to doubt my abilities. Self-doubt, I have come to learn, is a constant companion for every writer. It takes a lot of guts to put yourself out there like that, and a lot of hard, hard work to get to the point where you can even try to put yourself out there.

So yeah, I’m a regular fire hose of stories, but I’m a fire hose with a lot of tiny holes all along its length. The result is that I’m spraying tiny little stories all over the place, and the force of the story coming out the nozzle is severely diminished by that loss of pressure, so to speak. Patching up those little holes is a tiring and never ending job, let me tell you, and it’s sort of against my nature.

Why bother then? Well, that’s the real point of this post, isn’t it?

There’s a long story behind my decision to start writing professionally, but that’s for another time. That’s the story of How I Made the Decision to Write, not the story of Why I Write.

I have been working on the same story for several years now, and I’ve been told by some friends who used to work in the industry that I could go looking for a publisher right now. I’m not quite ready for that yet, so it’ll wait. The point is, for a long time I really struggled with forcing myself to focus. What was the point? Quit a job I hated so I could devote myself full-time to another job I hated? Because make no mistake – I hated writing. It was really hard work, and visions of all the other things writers have to do loomed on the horizon: interviews, readings, book signings, and all that. My understanding is that those things are necessary if you’re going to get yourself out there enough to sell enough books to make a living. I had no interest in any of those things, or the intense and painful work of sticking around in this dimension long enough to actually tell a story. Best case scenario: I become a rich and famous author. That’s the best case? I didn’t want to be famous, and while being rich could be nice, money by itself just wasn’t a good enough goal to motivate me. Sure, I wouldn’t mind trying on the title of Millionaire, but money just wasn’t a good enough reason. I hated my job, but it paid good money and had excellent benefits. Money couldn’t drive me to write, and fame was no golden carrot, so I was really stuck.

Flashback time. I like going to visit psychics for readings and such. Yes, lots of them are fakes, but I still enjoy it. I do, however, try to give them as little information about myself as I can. If they’re going to con me, I try to make them work for it. It’s entertaining if nothing else. Sometimes, though, I run into one that is really impressive, and once I went to a woman who performed “Angel Readings.” Basically, she would sit with you and act as the mouth piece for your guardian angel, and as an interesting method of centering herself she would make a chalk(?) drawing of your angel while she did the reading. You got to keep the drawing, and it was fun. This woman asked about my writing (which I pointedly did not mention), and said a few other things of interest to me but not to you. Most importantly, she said my angel called itself Einstein. Okay, whatever. Einstein. Sure.

Years later, I’m struggling to find a reason to write. My wife and I decide to take a little mini-vacation and go to the Dublin Irish Festival, which is a wonderful event held every year in Dublin, Ohio. I strongly recommend that you go, if you ever get the chance. Being a storyteller myself, I decide to go see several of the traditional Irish storytellers. Who knows, maybe I can learn something and be entertained. They were all great, and I look forward to going back and seeing them again; but the important bits weren’t the stories themselves, but what several of them said as they were wrapping up their sessions. Keep in mind these fellows were all in different tents speaking at different times. This wasn’t some grand collection of storytellers gathered together for an hour or two of stories; they were scattered all over the festival.

The first fellow shared a famous quote that I’m sure most of us have heard: “Imagination is more important than knowledge.” Albert Einstein said that, of course, and there’s a bit more to the quote than that, but that’s the part most people hear. That was fun and neat, but nothing I hadn’t heard before.

Then the second fellow wrapped up his session by defending the importance of stories. It was, appropriately, a story (that I’m paraphrasing):

“A woman, the mother of a precocious and exceptionally intelligent child, learned that she would have the opportunity to meet Albert Einstein and have a short chat with him. Elated, she decided that she would take a pen and notepad along and ask him what books she should read to her child to best encourage his knowledge and learning. When the time came, she asked Einstein her question, and he said, “Fairy tales,” and nodded thoughtfully. The woman was understandably taken aback, and after taking a second to recover, she asked, “What then?” And Einstein smiled and said, “More fairy tales.”

Now, I don’t know if that story is exactly true (this came from a storyteller, after all), but I have read a number of other Einstein quotes that support the sentiment if not the historical event.

“When I examine myself and my methods of thought, I come to the conclusion that the gift of fantasy has meant more to me than any talent for abstract, positive thinking.”

“To know is nothing. To imagine is everything.”

I also found mention that Einstein credited his genius to his mother’s reading of folk and fairy tales to him as a child, and my understanding is that he came up with the theory of relativity by imagining himself sitting on a photon. How’s that for the power of imagination?

On the drive home from Ohio after the festival, my wife and I were discussing the storytellers and how I thought it was so cool that Einstein had said those things (I had never heard the fairy tale story before). Then I remembered what the angel reading lady had told me: my guardian angel’s name was Einstein.

And just like that, I had my Why. I’m not likely to make any significant advances in science, and neither am I inclined to become a politician or an activist who might cure some of society’s ills. But I can tell a story, and I can encourage the imaginations of people who will do those things. I can contribute most by doing exactly what I do: daydream. Will it take hard work to translate those daydreams into a shape that other people can benefit from? Sadly, hell yes. That’s okay, though, because I can make myself do the work if I have a good enough reason. Imagination is my reason.

Now, do I think that my guardian angel is Albert Einstein sans corporeal form? I rather doubt it; but that doesn’t matter, because he (or she, or it; how does that work with guardian angels, anyway?) got the point across with just a name. It took me a good long while to figure it out, but I got there eventually (and undoubtedly with some more help from Einstein – talk about a cosmic two-by-four upside the head). Do I still get frustrated and depressed because the work is really hard? You bet your ass I do. Do I still get pulled away from the work by the currents of my imagination? All the time. Do I still need to develop some self-discipline? Pffft; ya think? Man, I so wish I could just order some determination from Amazon. That would make it sooo much easier.

So there it is, my Why and how I came to recognize it. I sincerely hope that hearing how I found my Why will help you figure out yours, whatever it is that you do. Sometimes all it takes is some thought, and sometimes it takes a lot of thought and maybe some soul searching. Maybe my Why will turn out to be yours, too, and that’s cool. I’m happy to share, and happier still to think that maybe I helped someone else finish that all important quest. Take it from me, it’s an immense relief and a profound joy to have a Why.

Next time maybe I’ll do something really crazy like tell a story or something. I mean one I pulled from my ocean of dreams, not an anecdote from my personal life. I think it’s about time, don’t you?

Until then, happy dreaming, but keep your eyes on the road.

William

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The Possibilities of the Impossible

It occurs to me that people who don’t know me might benefit from a short background on the who of me. Not family history, job history, education, or any of that, though I’ll grant that all that is part of who I am. I am specifically referring to my worldview and a few generalizations regarding my personality.

I’ve already mentioned that I’m a daydreamer, and that’s true, so far as it goes. I’m also a bit of a new age flake, though I don’t personally think I’m especially flaky. Yes, I wave crystals around on occasion, I practice energy medicine (Reiki and Fairy Realms Reiki – there’s a shocker), and I’m into astrology. Speaking of which, I’m a Cancer with Aquarius ascending, and according to the Chinese calender I’m an Metal Boar. I insist on Boar, by the way, not Pig. I can’t help but think of Babe or Wilbur when I think Pig, and I prefer the lean, fierce, tusky image of Boar to the pink, chubby, barnyard Pig. The symbolism of Boar means more to me than that of the average barnyard animal. If you really want a great book about astrology, and by far the most accurate description of Cancer I’ve ever seen, I recommend Astrology for Lovers, by Liz Greene. Can’t help with the Chinese astrology.

The important point, in my opinion, regarding Cancer is that it’s a water sign. Water is emotional, mystical, and mysterious. I act and react first according to emotion, then thought. No, I’m not histrionic or moved by irrepressible passions; I’m just saying that I am immediately aware of how I feel about a situation, and that feeling colors my response. The emotional way that I and my damp fellows, Scorpio and Pisces, interact with the world are often beyond the understanding of you earthy, airy, and fiery types. We often make no sense to you, and to be honest we often don’t understand ourselves or each other, either. Incidentally, Scorpios are the ones with all the scary passions; they’re fairly direct in going after what they want, and if you’re going to frustrate their desires watch out for their stings. Cancers like me never go directly after what we want; we always come at if from the side, and there’s a good chance you won’t realize we’re after it until we’ve got it firmly in our claws. Once we’ve got it, you’re going to play hell getting it back, and if you do you can bet we’ll retreat into our shells and grumble a lot. You might get pinched a bit, too. I’ll let one of the fish tell you about Pisces, though the answer might vary depending on whether they’re feeling all bright and tropical or dark and enigmatic.

I am also a Lavender life color, which probably means absolutely nothing to you at all, you poor, benighted soul, you. I highly encourage you to get your hands on a copy of What Color is Your Aura, by Barbara Bowers, or any of the life color books by Pamala Oslie. Life colors are part of your aura (as suggested by the title of Bowers’ book), and describing life colors is beyond the scope of this post. Here’s a link to one of Pamala Oslie’s sites:

www.auracolors.com

You can learn all sorts of things about life colors there, as well as finding a quiz that will help you learn what your life color is. Even if you don’t buy into the whole life color thing, it can be a fun diversion. Way better than those stupid personality quizzes in Cosmo.

Like I said, I’m a lavender, and as much as I would prefer a manlier color like blood red or pirate flag black, I have to admit that lavender is a far more appropriate color for my personality type. While I’m not effeminate, I’m no Leonidas, either. I don’t even like beer, and sports leave me sleeping in boredom. I might daydream about being the macho, sword-swinging bad ass, but in all honesty … well, I do own a sword, but so does my wife. Mine is bigger, though.

This is part of what Ms Oslie says about lavenders:

“Fantasy, enchantment, dreams, myths, spiritual beings, angels, fairies are all concepts which fill the Lavenders’ mind. Lavenders tend to live in a fantasy world. They prefer to spend their time out of their bodies, where life is pretty and enchanting. It is challenging for these airy beings to live in three-dimensional reality.”

There’s lots more about lavenders there, and I won’t say that it’s all flattering. Unfortunately, I also can’t say that’s it’s not true, to some extent at least. The important points here are the fantasy and enchantment bits, and especially the challenge of living in three-dimensional reality. It’s not a simple preference to spend my time out of my body; it’s often impossible (and painful) to stay in my body.

See, to me (and my pastel brethren), the fantasy worlds she refers to are nearly as real as this three-dimensional reality my body is stuck in. The world is larger by far than my meat eyes can see, but I see it all the same. What’s more, this larger world includes all those dreams, myths, spiritual beings, angels, and faeries she mentions. It has to, and it’s not just limited to those things. And it’s not limited to just one larger world; there are myriad worlds out there, and I wander into and out of them all the time. I have to, because I belong there at least as much as I do here. It’s my job, you could say. Now, I could go off on modern physicists theorizing about alternate realities and all those other dimensions that sensible people don’t believe in, but I won’t. I could also mention that all those little models of atoms and molecules you made in high school with tinker toys represented energy (you can’t actually hold a proton, you know), and since we’re made of atoms we are actually energy ourselves, and this sensation of physicality is just an illusion. Okay, I guess I will mention that. My point here is that energy … okay, I’ve forgotten what my point was, but it’s an interesting thought all the same, so I’ll leave it in.

(I humbly ask that no physicists or scientifically-inclined kick my digital ass in the comments; you want to know about Thor, I can help; physics are way not my strong suit, but I’m pretty sure I have the basic idea right.)

I’m not here to explain every detail of why I believe or even exactly what I believe; my point is simply to establish the fact that I do believe in things that most people consign to the toy bin of silly childish things. Believe me when I say that not all faeries are childish (few are, in fact); all is not “pretty” here in my “fantasy” world, and there are dark, bloody things creeping through the shadows. Some of them are faeries, and some are straightforward monsters. Either way, they’re not the sort of folks you want to hang out with. Yes, I believe in unicorns. I also believe in kelpies. More to the point, I don’t see any reason not to believe. You don’t get to pick and choose, you know – if you believe in the nice ones, you have to believe in the bad ones, too. To do otherwise would be like only believing in butterflies but refusing to accept the possibility of bot flies.

The thing is, it doesn’t matter whether these things are real or not; it’s the possibility, the magic, the wonder, and even the impossibility of these things that fascinates me. I don’t want you to think that I spend all my time daydreaming just because I find it interesting, though; I spend all my time daydreaming because that’s what I do. Can’t help it. In fact, sometimes I wish I could stop daydreaming for a little while.

If you really want to know how I drift through the world, here are a few “rules” I live by. I don’t think of them as rules, but since it makes it a bit easier to talk about we’ll go with it.

So here follow the Three Rules of William, or The Possibilities of the Impossible:

Rule #1: Just because you don’t see it doesn’t mean it’s not there.

Just because my earthly eyes can’t rest on a thing or a person, neither that thing nor that person are thereby bound to not exist. It’s not as simple as being in a dark room, or being blind; you’re knee will crack into the coffee table whether you can see it or not. I’m talking about those things that you can’t see, touch, or smell, and those things that maybe you could if they wanted you to. The more sensitive of us often can see, smell, and ‘feel’ those intangible things, though we’re trained to ignore them as flights of fancy or silly daydreams. Sometimes they are flights of fancy, of course, but sometimes they’re not. There’s no rule that states that just because you don’t see it, it has to be there. The point of this rule is that it could be there, even if you don’t see it. An important sub-rule: just because you don’t see it doesn’t mean it couldn’t be there.

Rule #2: Just because it never happened doesn’t mean it isn’t true.

This isn’t the stubborn denial of fact so much as accepting the possibility of not knowing as much as we think we do. For example, lots of people will sigh and patiently (or impatiently) explain that there was never an Atlantis. The rise, flowering, and fall of Atlantis never happened. Okay, except maybe it did happen. And even if it didn’t happen, it’s still a nice possibility. I mean, what a story!

Rule #3: Just because it’s impossible doesn’t mean it can’t happen.

Logically, rationally, I might be willing to admit that a lot of things I believe in are silly, strange, and completely indefensible. Of course faeries aren’t real, there’s no such thing as sea monsters, and vampires simply cannot exist. Except that I always come back to the question of “Why not?” Just because we can clearly explain and scientifically demonstrate why they can’t exist doesn’t mean they don’t exist. Besides, I have felt the presence of faeries, felt them touch me, caught glimpses of them with my real eyes, and communicated with them (no, not with words – not yet, anyway).

I’ll be one of the first to rejoice over having left a lot of dangerous superstitions behind. I’m grateful for the Age of Reason and the Scientific Revolution, believe me. But for lavenders, or at least for me, it isn’t about defying the limitations of science and returning to the days of enhancing fertility by wrapping a compress of horse manure and herbs around my head and laying on a stone under the light of the full moon; it’s about an entirely different discipline, something we’ve moved away from, and Oslie sums it up as enchantment. It’s about intuition, magic, and wonder. Other worlds exist side by side with our own, some within, some without, and some in the exact same space. I believe this, but whether I’m right or wrong is beside the point.

Beyond that, it’s about the subtle beauty and the wonder of all those things rational eyes can’t see. Stories and daydreams are important (and I’ll tell you why in my next post). Will I ever have to slam on my car’s breaks to avoid hitting a manticore? I seriously doubt it. If I do, will I think I imagined the whole thing? Probably. But I can envision the possibility, and now that I’ve considered it I’m going to catch myself keeping a watchful eye for careless manticores every time I get behind the wheel. Stupid manticores. Pay attention!

Welcome to the World of William.