What has transpired since my last entry has altered the way we see the world, if not the universe. Some have dug deeper into their fears and shut out anything that challenges their beliefs. Others have tossed their long-held beliefs, replacing them with entirely new ideas. Some of us have stood still so long we are not sure how we fit into the larger picture. The one point of agreement may be that the ground continues to shift, leaving us unsettled and vulnerable.
Writing for me has always been my safe place, where I hide when the world gets too challenging. Putting my thoughts down helps me to sort out unruly emotions. In the past two years I have become an avid journaler. If you were to read my journals you'd be unimpressed. Daily activities, observations, a thread of redundant thoughts pulled tight whenever I sense the world around me unraveling.
A haiku. A poem. A small chapbook that keeps getting shopped around. That is my recent literary output. Looking toward another winter in Denver, I have chosen to complete a non-fiction book that is screaming for my attention. The term "unfinished symphonies" comes to mind. I have dozens of unpublished poems, a book manuscript, and this non-fiction beast that deserve better than my ennui.
Which of your unfinished symphonies needs attention? What have you started and set aside because the project is too large, your confidence too small, or your life too busy to consider its importance? Your unfinished symphonies are important. They are a part of the reason you're here. They are meant to touch, comfort and embrace others.
This fall please choose one of your symphonies, no matter how incomplete, how ignored, how ugly. It needs your attention. The world needs your voice.
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My writing often deals with the environment, my poetry filled with allusions to natural and man-made disasters. I have unlimited hope though; there is just too much wonder in this world to become a defeatist. To quote Margaret J. Wheatley, '"Hopelessness has surprised me with patience."