Too much to write about

It's been many months now since I've written here. But I've been writing, alright. There's been plenty of business development, correspondence, marketing materials, website development, advertising, checking in, confirming, clarifying, creating. Just not much blogging.

I'm back here because I added a blog to my profile to boost my business, my Boost Your Biz business, that is. It's going pretty well.

And I'm working on my acting too, even though I missed a couple of classes lately. I've got a role coming up in the fall that I've been developing for a while, so I'm getting excited to bring her to the stage. And I've been invited to submit a part of my play script to a one-act festival, which is inspiring. And I was offered use of a country house as a writing retreat, so I might actually be able to do it.

And I am doing some photo-manipulation-collage which includes a piece that will be in a group show next month. And I'm co-producing a small event next month. And I got a cool domain name and a great deal on hosting.

And I'm working on my business savvy and sensitivity, negotiating relationships, bettering my self-skills, my boundary navigation. And I'm challenged by health limitations which I am determined to break through, and I think I'm doing it. And I'm feeling more confidant and relaxed, though not always.

And I'm looking for roommates and really pretty broke, like bad broke, but kind of don't care because all the stuff up above this paragraph is all I care about.

Well, there is that thing about feeling alone, which is different from being alone. I'd rather not be involved with either one of those. Working on that too.

Going with the flow

So, I dream again. All the time. All kinds of dreams. Most mornings I wake up aware that I have dreamed, if not what I dreamed about. None have been ground-shaking for a while, since those stirring first dreams earlier this year, but I like it that the many years of nights as big black holes are over.

"...those women who walked instead of riding the bus"

If Dennis Kucinich had been included in yesterday's Democratic presidential candidates' debate, really an exchange of blame and barbs among the truncated field of Clinton, Obama and Edwards, it might have been interesting, or at least useful to a voter interested in assessing the candidates' principles or positions. Instead, I settled for being entertained, if not educated.

Falling on the federal holiday celebrating the birth of the Reverend Doctor Martin Luther King, Jr., the candidates' words sat in a context of righteousness, protest and activism, with all three competing to offer their version of what Daddy King might have thought of today's political scene, about what it takes to make things right.

As I listened to Obama, I realized that I remain a woman who will walk instead of riding the bus, if riding the bus means supporting an oppressor, contributing to what works against my best interests, feeding the monster. Some people can sell themselves so easily. I might give myself away, but I am not for sale.

To live one's life in a form of protest, making the personal fully political, is a distinct choice. How that choice takes shape -- by exclusion or inclusion -- brings different results.

On Atheism: The Heretic, Heine and Me

• Atheist (noun). A person to be pitied in that he is unable to believe things for which there is no evidence, and who has thus deprived himself of a convenient means of feeling superior to others.

— Chaz Bufe, The American Heretic’s Dictionary

I empathize with following your gut, testing a possibility, letting go of worry or following any number of other rational directions whose hypotheses remain unprovable. Pre-enlightenment, Heine's idea about when religion "makes sense" (see below) fit, in a way. Since then, the religion of science has been at times as wildly foolish as the science of religion. These days though, the church and fetish crowd just makes me shudder. Hypocrites...ewww.

• In dark ages people are best guided by religion, as in a pitch-black night a blind man is the best guide; he knows the roads and paths better than a man who can see. When daylight comes, however, it is foolish to use blind, old men as guides.

— Heinrich Heine, Gedanken und Einfalle

There's something about this analogy that I like, though I can't agree completely. It works in a historical context, I guess. But personally, even in the darkest depths, I'm not going to follow the yellow brick road and sleep in the poppies. I might flail around and look quite mad, but not knowing is not knowing.

• An essay: Authenticity and Art Making

— Trish Szymanski, CityBelt

Who's the creator here, anyway?

...

Me in May 2007