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Finish This Sentence

Posted on September 17, 2019 by Heloise Jones
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The car is where I listen to the radio. Going here to there, catching segments of shows. The best is when I catch one that makes the world more interesting & expand for me (read, not a news broadcast or update on latest crisis).

That’s a rarity where I live & travel in New Mexico, tho. The good ones broadcast during nighttime hours & weekends. Science Friday the exception. But when I catch one, it makes the day better.

My most recent gem was interviews with Native American writers on To The Best of Our Knowledge. 

I love diving into the subtleties & layers of culture and sociology, understanding better who people are, what makes us tick. What matters to folks.

I write about finding what matters to you, and teach how to get there. I say how we’re always in the stories we write, and illustrate the ways it shows up. This broadcast with Native writers was about it all. And at the end…different voices answered the question why they write. 

In June I was asked that very question in a workshop. I couldn’t answer in one sentence. How does one choose?! When I got home this week, after listening to those voices, I pulled out a piece of paper and wrote, the groceries still in the bag on the counter.

I write to feed my curiosity & wonder, and to hold it.
I write to set my creative soul free.
I write to discover parts of myself,
and stretch. 

To reach that place inside that answers Yes to the question ‘Am I OK.’

I write to touch beauty.
I write to touch you,
to have a relationship with you.

I write to fight narrative scarcity,
to show what needs to be seen.

I write to touch the heart,
so you’re never afraid of your own Voice.

I write to tell stories you wouldn’t hear if spoken aloud,
to make a difference.

I write because it tells me who I am,
and tells me who we are. . .in adversity, in good and hard times.
I write to see the both/and, good/bad, black/white of life on earth

I write because it shows me my heart when I’m seeing only holes in myself.

What I know for sure. . .We are made to create, to experience and know life with our whole being – mind, heart, body, spirit. We are made for connection. Writing is connection, with ourselves and each other. As is art, and every other single thing we do. 

So, now it’s your turn. Finish this sentence:

 I write (or make art, or          ) because…..

Share in the comments below. (doesn’t it feel good?)

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Photo: Chihuly Ceiling © Heloise Jones
Posted in art, life, spirit, Uncategorized, writers, writing | 4 Replies

A Lesson for Writers, and Life

Posted on July 30, 2019 by Heloise Jones
1

I stayed up to the wee hours watching the 1998 film ‘Meet Joe Black.’ From the second I saw it on Netflix, the little voice nagged me to watch. I remember feeling uninspired 20 years ago when it first came out. Slow, the critics and I both said. This time was different, tho. I slipped into a time warp of presence, with no expectation and no time.

I watched, understanding what the writers did. I saw the threads embedded in the story, and why they were done the way they were. And I thought about it for days. I needed to. The world feels upside down. I’ve felt upside down.

In the story, Death (Brad Pitt) shows up in the form of a young man to media mogul William Parrish (Anthony Hopkins), who’s just had a heart attack. He enlists Parrish as a teacher & guide to life on earth. Choosing the man for his experience, wisdom, and fine character. In exchange, he gives Parrish more time to live. The only criteria, he says, is he stays interested. 

We expect William Parrish to change, and he does. The surprise is the change in Death, now called Joe Black, self-described as ‘the most lasting and significant element in existence….that’s existed for millenniums, multiplied by eons, compounded by infinity, and taken to the depth of forever’ (Can we even comprehend that?) 

The story was brilliantly woven. Each character and side story an integral piece for the whole. 

The nature of love is explored. We see it in the love story between Parrish’s daughter and Joe Black we think we’re watching, that turns out to be something else; the relationship between Parrish’s other daughter and her seemingly mismatched husband, so dominant throughout the film, looking superfluous; Parrish knowing so well what love is, and yet, learning more.

All of them with a message about love that Joe Black learns.  

Why we love, and how feeling loved may sometimes be the thing that matters. That being seen and accepted for who we are, and having the freedom to be ourselves is at love’s core. And at times, giving is the way we show our love, and to receive it as such. That we can make mistakes, hurt the people we love, and be forgiven.

Even false love. How avarice can steal those close to us. Ones we think most brilliant, loyal, and there when we need them. Avarice shredding all layers to reveal the corrupted heart of a person.

Ultimately, to fight for what we love and care about.

It’s true we humans often only see what we’re emotionally & mentally able to. We evaluate the world from our experience, or yen to learn & understand. Messages and the meaning we make of things sink in when we’re ready. Every step of this film sunk in to my deep Soul.

The film ends with Joe Black and William Parrish meeting on a hill above the site of Parrish’s lavish 65th birthday party. They quietly watch a spectacular display of fireworks. Three days have passed, and in a few moments they’ll leave together.

William Parrish: Beautiful. Isn’t it?
Joe Black: Yes, it is.
William Parrish: It’s hard to let go, isn’t it?
Joe Black: Yes it is, Bill.
William Parrish: Well, that’s life. What can I tell you?

Many years ago the film was panned. Slow. Useless side stories. Too many characters. Look at the marketing and available images to see where the focus was. . .and yes, how it was evaluated. So, they made a shorter TV version, cut out an entire hour. The director refused to put his name on it. I know exactly what they cut, and I know why he refused to put his name on it.

This film was not a remake of ‘Death Takes a Holiday.’ He made this film to show us something: Life is beautiful. Love is the center of everything we are and do, in more ways than we imagine. Death and Life are both about letting go. Stay interested in life.

And I think he may have wanted to make a difference in the world. Something I can’t confirm, and yet, isn’t that why so many of us create? To speak to something inside us we want the world to know.

It was days before that one thought, ‘Life is beautiful,’ left me.

The last time we see Parrish before he crosses over the hill he won’t return from, he pauses, asks Joe Black if he should be afraid. “Not a man like you,” Death says.

Who will I be when the time comes, I wonder. How about you?

Watch it. Settle in. Let go of the story you think you’re watching. Tell me what you see.

“. . .The more we all know about each other, the greater the chance we will survive.”
~ William Parrish (from Meet Joe Black)

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Posted in life, spirit, writers, writing | 1 Reply

Why Creativity Takes Courage

Posted on June 11, 2019 by Heloise Jones
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Some of my best ideas come in the shower. Characters show up, share stories I couldn’t have guessed. I get downloads for blogs, word for word. Answers to puzzles, insights on questions, things to explore. The shower’s my creative power spot, and this morning I got this: Creativity’s not for sissies.

I was pondering a comment by a client about how people dismiss her as a writer. “I feel bothered when people tell me it’s my hobby,” she wrote. “It means more to me than that.” 

I knew no amount of words would help. I could say it’s about them, what they don’t understand, and it wouldn’t matter. Because I get it. This expression of hers is a diamond in her genetic code. It’s serious stuff. Even for hobbyists. We gotta be like ducks, let stuff like this roll off our backs. It takes courage to be creative!

We have to accept we see things most others don’t.
And may see in ways others can’t comprehend. We’re often called weird, different, flighty. . .or creative, with special emphasis as if it’s an explanation for something not right. Until our weird gets redefined. . .think Steve Jobs or Iris Apfel. What to do? Own It. I mean Capital O. Capital I. The world needs our creativity.

Sometimes it takes time to find our Creative Soul Song.
I’ve been an artist my entire life. My mother said from the time I could hold a pencil, the thing I loved most was to draw. But Writing is where I landed. It’s the Soul Song that answers Yes for me every time. Everything in my life feeds it. We have to be patient, and feed our creative spirit.

Your creative life is your life in the real world.
We carry multiple realities at once – the one from our creative spirit, and the one living in the real world. They’re both as real as real can be to us.

Creativity takes loving yourself, unconditionally.
Whether our signature is visual, movement, words, music, biz, solutions, gardens, healing, name it, it’s part of who we are. We love it, we gotta love ourselves. It always amazes me folks think the book easy to read was easy to write if you’re a writer. Or that painting was done because someone has talent. That dance done so beautifully by a natural dancer. The smart biz person lucked out. And the master gardener just knows. Yes.Yes. And the truth is skill & getting good at our craft took digesting a metaphorical million page manual. And hours of practice. All ongoing. + It’s passion (heart) and belief (mind) that keep us creatively alive. The fantasies persist in people’s mind, even when we tell them.

Deadly potholes are everywhere, despite our accomplishments and triumphs.
They’re always there, and we fall in. Again and again. Comparisons, doubts, fears, performance anxiety, questioning, fraud syndrome, feeling selfish for taking time to create, the failure that erases the long line of stellar works. Like a secret society, those who’ve been there & understand are the ones to get us out.

We want our work seen and valued.
And that often takes what seems like unfair stamina, persistence, self love, loneliness, giving pieces of ourselves away, and getting up from a fall too many times. The hidden hours learning, daydreaming, envisioning, honing and refining are discounted when someone asks how long it took, or asks for a discount when they pay. When our work’s dismissed or someone says anyone can do that, vs. asking, “What does your writing mean to you?’ it hurts. Even with a thick skin.

We humans were all born to create. A home, a family, a path thru life….and some of us, well, we swirl to a special tune we hear, offering something unique to the world in the process. New ways of seeing, an experience that awakens, enlivens, and touches others. It takes a fierce heart. And it’s worth every minute of it.

“I always felt that writing––it just felt magical to me; it felt like alchemy: that you could take mere words and end up creating a feeling or a sensation or evoke a memory.”
~ Susan Orlean

How does your creative spirit show up? What does it mean to you?

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Posted in art, life, spirit, strong offers, writers, writing | Leave a reply

Shift the Route

Posted on April 25, 2019 by Heloise Jones
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Something happened this weekend I think you’ll appreciate. A gateway life hack to a creative life.

I was in San Antonio, the tail-end of wildflower season, and I was bent on seeing fields of bluebonnets like they show in pictures. I wanted flowers at my feet like the pioneers met when they first crossed the country. Flowers as far as the eyes could see.

We headed northeast for Washington County, the proclaimed bluebonnet capital of Texas. We had the name of a town and list of country roads. The wildflower report 3 days prior said bluebonnets were waining, but to my mind, waining’s not the same as ‘gone.’

Preferring a slower pace, settling into the road, we drove backroads and country highways. We love seeing the countryside and how folks live. I expected surprises. There always are.

We saw green lawned parks filled with families beside lakes and rivers. And historic 19th century town centers looking frontier. I wondered on the people who settled those then-outposts. I felt no inspiration to stop, tho, and at two hours, I was done. I didn’t want the last 35 miles. We’d not seen one bluebonnet or tiny wildflower the entire day. On the way home we stopped at the new IKEA for the fry pan I wanted.

Next day, I was tired, feeling low. But we revived the idea and I found a different route. A loop to the northwest promising best ever bluebonnet views. We agreed we’d turn back if nothing showed, flowers or adventure, in 45 min.

Within 20 minutes we were in the famed Texas Hill Country, and it was gorgeous! Rocky, green….and covered with gold-yellow buttercups. They bordered the road forever in front of us. Spread like carpets out either side. They hugged up to the edges of homes, up under bushes and trees. They reminded me of happy gangs. I noticed folks mowed a small swath for yard and path to cars & barns, let the little flowers dance. I liked that, and thought how magical it must feel, living in a field of flowers.

Soon, orange spikes & purple dotted the yellow. And large low-lying pads of white and pink primrose. As we went higher, burnt orangey-red mixed in. (We looked them up later: Red Blanket flowers). And then, their places flipped. We traveled thru burnt orangey-red, the little gold-yellow buttercups mixed in. 

I wasn’t prepared for the thrill of the bluebonnets. The blue so distinctive, it seemed it belonged only to that flower. Like a Carolina Blue sky, seen nowhere else and hard to describe. Pictures don’t exactly get it. They took my breath.

I noticed more ranches in this higher country, and where the land hadn’t been mowed or grazed, flowers filled the fields.

I was half starved a good part of the way, every single place (including fast food) closed after 1:45 Sunday, and I didn’t care. I had hours & endless miles of gold-yellow, burnt orangey-red, and that bluebonnet blue. Spots of other mixed in. For a surprise, fields with frilly white poppies for a mile or so. “This is what heaven’s like,” I said.

When we whipped in at a small ‘public restroom’ sign, pulled up to the little cinder-block building, I wasn’t prepared for the surprise there, either. “I’m fine,” I told my husband. “I’ve used outhouses in the middle of nowhere.” And as if angels got there before me, it was the full monty of best roadside public toilet: clean toilets, toilet paper, hand-soap, running water, and plenty of clean paper towels. Once out, I saw the strip of land was named a park. A few shadeless benches set high above a small, most likely damned, river, the banks down to the water encased in concrete. A man sat sideways on one of the benches. Legs crossed, back hunched low, he smoked a cigarette as he stared at the ground. He hadn’t moved since we got there. I looked around, and supposed watching cars cross the bridge could be a passtime.

Later, my heart filled, my Soul fed, feeling full of gratitude, I asked myself ‘What happened? This wild shift in my mood’.

We changed the route. We didn’t go back the same way, hoping for something we knew wasn’t missed. 

And I changed my expectations the minute I saw flowers. The fields became a treat.

That night I dreamt I had giant white wings. Gold-yellow, burnt orangey-red, and blueonnet blue – the colors I saw all day – poured over them.

My invitation to you…when it’s not working, when it’s clear it’s not gonna work, shift the route. And shift your expectations if that’s what it takes so you can see what’s there. Open to the magic. I swear, it’s worth it.

Getting to Wise. A Writer’s Life.
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Posted in life, nature, spirit, writers, writing | Leave a reply

Capital P Presence

Posted on April 18, 2019 by Heloise Jones
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I saw a very red bird this morning on the feeder. With it’s back to me, I thought the impossible – ’Cardinal!’ The bird looked so red in the muted dawn light, I grabbed my phone, tried for a shot. When it turned its head, there was the top notch! The black banded eyes! I thought a miracle – the wind’s definitely blown me a cardinal. I confess I felt joy, though I knew the poor creature was off course, perhaps feeling strange in this desert land.

When it flew to the big tree, sat a while looking over the yard, I noticed the tail. It was too short, and the body too plump, and the beak, too long and pointed. It was the wrong red, too, with not enough of it. I wondered then at it being alone. How it found it’s way to my yard.

It was such a human moment, me trying to make sense from what I know. Seeing what I wanted to see. I know cardinals are not in Northern New Mexico. 

I’d jumped to magical thinking–the wind blew that bird way-way off course. Because I know those kinds of things happen. And I went to my need for a message from the Universe about decisions I’m making. I went to how special I am these things happen for me, because they so often do. 

After being so human, I had to step back to see I got the affirmation I desired, albeit in a round about way. You see, this happened as I contemplated Presence as Writing & Writing as Presence. My belief that presence is our way to feeling sane in what appears as an increasingly fractured, chaotic world. Because capital P Presence slows us down for a moment. We step out of the spin in our heads & emotions. It brings us back to center. Enlivens wonder and awe. Takes us to connection.

I’m talking about Presence that’s a question – What do I see? – followed by a tweak of curiosity for just enough to understand, particularly when it’s new or unknown. Akin to observing with awareness. Akin to connection. And yet, not. And though all the distinctions aren’t fully formed in my mind, yet, different than mindfulness.

What I know, staying a moment with things like a brief shot of unexpected red under a dim overcast sky doesn’t feel like work. There’s no shoulds or right way to do it. It can feel like a ride that swirls back in time and memory, coming back to today and that question What do I see. And end with a Wow. Because something shifts inside, and adds to the sense we’re solid in the world.

And that’s what writing is about.

That extraordinary-ordinary red was a journey. I traveled to years in North Carolina and my last home I loved, to here now with a Thank You to the Universe for another piece in getting to wise. 

What’s a moment of capital P Presence that you’ve had? What did you discover?
Tell me in the comments.

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