T.S. Tuesday: Communing with the Dead

T.S. Eliot

I have friends in dead places, and, according to Scott Cairns and T.S. Eliot, that is okay.

I recently read a chapter by Scott Cairns--who taught a spiritual writing class I had the privilege of taking last semester--in the book, A Syllable of Water, about poetry, Cairns' forte.

After 15 weeks of class, I wasn't surprised by Cairns' emphasis on the ongoing dialogue between the writers of today and the writers who have influenced them, dead or alive.

He breaks many of the myths about poetry being self-focused and self-referential, doodling verses composed by closed off hermits and dreamers and maybe even hobbits, too.

Cairns writes,

"Solitary as it often seems, the discipline of poetry offers us a way out of our private isolations, our culturally encouraged solipsism; it is a journey that joins us to an amazing community of like-minded folk, the poets who precede us... I'm talking about the living and the ostensibly dead."  

I'm glad to hear this because I commune with a lot of dead people: poets and theologians and writers of all stripes whose works offer me the chance to grow and learn, to recreate and regenerate my own thoughts and works. From T.S. Eliot to Henri Nouwen to Jane Austen, some of my most kindred spirits are not living.

Scott Cairns--still very much living--became another kindred spirit when, later in his essay, he mentions the seemingly omnipresent T.S. Eliot (convenient for this post, eh?). He quotes Eliot's "Tradition and the Individual Talent:"

"No poet, no artist of any art, has his complete meaning alone. His significance, his appreciation is the appreciation of his relation to the dead poets and artists." 

Both Eliot and Cairns assert that the point of poetry specifically, art in general, and--I hope--the words shared on this blog, is to continue the conversation, to engage in the ongoing recreation of the world. To create space for continued dialogue. To leave my thoughts and words in a way that you can make of them what you will.

I don't claim to be a poet or an artist for that matter, but I am grateful to the many "like-minded folk" who have preceded me and allowed me to learn and glean and grow from their art.

And even if you don't consider yourself an artist or a poet or a writer, I want to extend a welcome to this community, an invitation to share your thoughts, and encouragement to join in a great conversation between friends, both living and dead.

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Who are the most influential authors you've read? Your favorite "friends in dead places"? What pieces of art--poetry, other types of writing, or otherwise--can you come back to time and again learn something new? 

A Monday Morning Pick-me-up

It's Monday morning and I have three weeks left at my job to organize 4 1/2 years of files, emails, and priorities for my successor. In addition to my normal job responsibilities AND completing an extensive government grant proposal--the 176 pages of instructions to submit a six page concept paper should explain my ever amping stress levels.

Needless to say, I'm feeling a little frenzied, hurried, helpless.

I want to reject this moment. This rolling out of bed. The mountain of unending tasks set before me. But I'm reminded of the words of Ann Voskamp in One Thousand Gifts:

"I will not desecrate this moment with ignorant hurry or sordid ingratitude."

When I say

I don't want this task.
I don't want this moment.
I don't want this job.

I am saying

I don't want this God.

And that is not what I want to be saying. That is not how I want to spend this morning or these next few weeks or my life--in ignorant hurry or sordid ingratitude.

Like my favorite Sara Grove's song, I want to "Add to the Beauty" instead of seething in stress.

The lyrics go like this,

And I want to add to the beauty
To tell a better story I want to shine with the light
That's burning up inside 

This is grace, an invitation to be beautiful
This is grace, an invitation

Yes, it's way too early on a Monday morning, but today is also an invitation to be beautiful.

And so before I hit the cubicle, I will take a moment to give thanks, to see beauty, to stack joy. You can't add to the beauty if you don't see the beauty in the first place.

The accumulation starts with acknowledgement, so before hurry can apprehend, I will stop and count the graces.

Today, Monday June 11, 2012, I am grateful for

1. The day I get to spend--in the same office!-- with my friend and coworker who usually works from Colorado. Welcome back, Corbyn! 
2. The chance to laugh and pray together at morning staff meeting.
3. The opportunity to grab lunch with a coworker before he leaves for Thailand and I leave for Guatemala.
4. The privilege of inviting others into the life-giving work of Plant With Purpose. 

Thank you thank you thank you thank you.

Now, let's start adding to the beauty!

Let Go and Let Flow

When you write for a living--in my case as a grant writer, blog writer, newsletter writer, appeal writer,  e-blast writer, and every-other-type-of-miscellaneous-communication-writer for the non profit, Plant With Purpose--every word counts.

 I budget my time and my words. I only spend time working on projects that could be useful, writing words and sentences that will end up on donor's screens and mailboxes.

There's no time for fluff or play when the words I write could impact the lives of families around the world (more on my narcissistic, save-the-world guilt complex later).

Which is why I've decided to let go and let flow.

I've started a twelve-week challenge to foster creative freedom called The Artist's Way at Work. The foundation of The Artist's Way rests on a seemingly useless commitment to writing Morning Pages.

Julia Cameron, the mastermind behind The Artist's Way, explains, "as it suggests, they're done in the morning and they're pages."

Specifically, Morning Pages are three pages of handwritten (who still hand writes anything longer than a to do list these days?!), free flowing, stream of consciousness (ie purposeless) writing, done first thing in the morning before you've even had your coffee.

Insanity, right? 

My first objection was time. Wouldn't this time be better spent completing a report at the office, writing masterpieces for this blog, working out my booty, or, the best idea yet, getting more sleep? 

When the entire first chapter, the leaping off point of the book, talked ONLY about the importance of Morning Pages the ever diligent student in me decided I better cave and set the alarm a half hour earlier. 

My second objection was pragmatism. How could it possibly be USEFUL to write three pages of brain dump in a notebook? On the off chance my non-caffeinated brain produces anything brilliant or remotely usable, then I'll have to spend even more time typing up the words that just gave me a hand cramp from writing out in a notebook that the world will never see.

I journal, I do. When inspiration strikes, I write down prayers and thoughts and verses and quotes that stand out to me that may or may not ever see the public eye. But Morning Pages are different. Morning Pages require premeditated mental ascension to the seemingly useless. They require you to commit, to discipline yourself, to an act that in my 'time and words are money' mentality seems ludicrous and even downright irresponsible.

But Julia Cameron and her apparently millions of followers swear by the pages as the first and most crucial step toward unleashing creativity.

So I'm doing it. For the past two weeks, I've (mostly) written my morning pages everyday. Although sometimes they don't happen till after a workout or a cup of coffee, I've been pretty good about sticking to the regimen. And, you know what, I kind of like them.

After my Morning Pages I feel more awake, more alive, more in tune with myself and with God. About 1½ pages into my self-focused chicken scratch, something shifts. After I've exhausted my whining and complaining, I begin to think about serving other people. I begin to talk to God (which I'd also venture to say I'd been doing the whole time). And by the end of the three pages I have not just a hand cramp, but an invigorated outlook on life, a greater sense of purpose, and a sense that God is moving in and through even my petty thought life.

For me the real discipline--and the real reward--is letting go of my compulsion to craft, to polish, to edit my thoughts and words for public consumption. To spend somewhere between 26:03 and 28:37 minutes (not that I'm keeping track) being Aly, uncut and uncensored, and remembering that my worth is not found in my ability to string together coherent sentences or complete a report or article or blog post. That my worth is not found in my own ability to create, but is inherent in me because of the One who created me.  

The great poet, Scott Cairns, who I had the privilege of taking a class with this last semester, said, "Why would you want to write when you already know what you're going to say? That's called propaganda. We write to comes to terms with our lives."

The Morning Pages are helping me "come to terms" with my life. Through them I am reclaiming writing as a journey to self-discovery and God-discovery.

And, so far, I'm liking what I see.

To learn more about the Morning Pages, watch a video explanation here.

Or, if you absolutely refuse to write longhand or can't even remember how to form letters with a rudimentary object called a pen or pencil, there's a website called 750words.com where you can privately write the equivalent of three pages of longhand. This site has a ton of cool statistics, word trackers, and can even give you insight into your subconscious and metadata. If you're like me and love to geek out on words, I highly recommend this site.

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What do you think? Would you consider writing Morning Pages? What are your biggest objections?