Composition

There's something magical about sitting in a room and listening to a musician play their own composition.  I admit there is great talent and skill in mastering the musical creations of other artists.  Each musician plays the same song in a new way, with a personal feeling imbued in the dancing notes.  For this reason hearing music- particularly live music, for in this venue the listener becomes a very real part of the experience- is enjoyable, inspiring and moving.  But all the excellent music a talented artist can play stands as nothing to his own composition.  For his song is deeply personal, a revelation to the world, and no one will play it like the creator. For he played it first.  He gave it life.  It spoke first to him and he alone could tell you the thousand little secrets hidden in the melody.  But of course he won't- because as the listener, it is your job to discover what you can of the depths presented to you.  To simply tell you would diminish the music and the story it tells.  That's why music is magic- it speaks to everyone differently, whispers different things.  But it does speak to everyone, so no one feels left out and everyone can appreciate a true composition - for what they know of it, and the knowledge that they don't know all of it.

FEAR

Tired of living in fear.
After all- isn't that what keeps all people where they are?
Fear of the active pursuit of what they really want because, what if it isn't all they hoped it would be?
What if it is?
This year's resolution is not getting dusty on the shelf like so many abandoned goals of previous years.  It is living in my brain, whispering in my dreams, nudging my waking conscious.  The rule is simple:
"I will not let fear be the deciding factor in whether or not I do something."
This commitment requires the analysis of every decision or lack of decision.  Am I avoiding that acting class because I worry I won't be good enough, or will discover the fascination with it in my head is unrealized in reality?  Am I shunning offers and opportunities because my trust in humanity is so warped that I read a scam into everything?  Am I postponing moving forward because, dissatisfied as I am, I'm scared of stepping out of the safe parameters and forging into adventurous new territory?
If I can evaluate any of these decisions and determine the answer comes through wisdom, I may maintain my stance.  But that thing that I fear? That is what I must face.  So for me, the year of 2012 is dedicated to discovering my many fears and relinquishing them.
Every avenue that life presents me must be experimented and tried.  Fear has no place in my life.  It's too consuming, too costly, and too destructive.

Motivation Motivates

Everyone has interests.  Everyone has dreams.  Everyone wishes they could do something or go somewhere or be someone.  And for a lot of people, those dreams stay right where they are, waiting for some life-changing event to bring the stars within reach.  But it doesn't work that way.  The stars do not come to you- you must go to them.  Not in one big rocket ship- there are no rocket ships that can carry dreams.  You must start with a single motion, step by step climbing the mountain that will lead you to the ladder to the sky.  And with each new step your spirits will lift, your resolve will harden.  Motivation can only be acquired by first being motive.

A Sudden Storm

The sky had been a still and melancholy gray, predicting rain perhaps, but exuding a false sense of calm.  Mere seconds later the wind tore across the plain in a howling gale, stripping the trees of what small growth they may have managed and stirring up dirt and leaves from last fall.  The rain came almost as quickly, spattering across the ground and windowpanes in a slantwise pattern as dictated by the wind.
People's voices down the block could be heard, yelling to each other as the water froze and large chunks of ice fell from the sky, striking those unlucky enough to be outside, killing the delicate flowers that optimists had planted, believing winter was past and spring had come at last.
The wind battered at the door like an angry bull, whipping through the cracks, bringing with it icy rain.  The house was plunged into darkness as electricity faltered and the buzzing sound common to a twenty-first century house, was silenced.
The minute hand had scarce made its way around the clock's face two times when lights flickered on and the sun beamed innocently in the sky, its radiance erasing most signs that the storm had ever been.

A Ghostly Connection

"Remember that picture I took on the ghost tour back in October?  Did you get a good look at it?"
"Yes!  It looked like a shadow figure- sitting on the headstone."
"Yeah, that one... I was thinking about going back to the graveyard and checking it out."
"I was thinking the same thing!"
A hesitation, then, "So...were you thinking like, today...or that it'd just be cool to go back sometime?:
"Today of course!  We're already here."
Two indecisive, direction challenged girls set out to find a cemetery they had visited only once, at night, six months ago.  The information they had to go on - I remember it was up on the hill somewhere- across the street from the crematorium... 
They drove up to the Capital, turned down a number of residential streets, chased their tail for awhile, until Kate got the foolproof idea- she called her mother... "Um, Mom?  We're trying to find that cemetery...where was it?  Behind the hospital?  Ohhhhh...no wonder we couldn't find it!"
Backtrack, turn some more streets, they might well have been cops patrolling the neighborhood.  Then suddenly both were jumping with excitement - "I see headstones!!"
They drove carefully down gravel roads which passed between the headstones, ending up on winding roads with road blocks at the end which had to be ignored because they were meant to block them from the road they were on...not the road they were going to.  At last they found the very spot in the large cemetery where they had been that night.  They compared the picture to the scene before them.  There was the headstone.  With mounting excitement they stepped onto the grass and walked up to the large white headstone.  It held two names and Kate froze.  It was her last name.  She called Mom again for confirmation.  Yes...the shadow man they had seen that night six months ago had been sitting on a headstone in Kate's family - she had seen her ancestor who had died over a hundred years ago!

A Feeding Frenzy

A sudden pounding of wings.  One duck flapping furiously across the water was all it took to break the calm surrounding the lake.  In a matter of seconds every fowl in the lake had become aware of the sighting and all were making their way towards where the thoughtful visitors were tossing bread.  Winged mammals must share a common tongue, for as the ducks and geese at the far end were still making the journey towards the food, seagulls began circling above.  They screamed their shrill cries, diving and rising and flapping about.  Their cacophany attracted more and more, but as the flood of seagulls came in, the supply ran out.
With nothing left to offer, the benefactors abandoned their post, but still the seagulls came.  More intelligent than their friends in the air, the ducks and geese drifted off, back to the center of the lake and their activities before the excitement had cut into their afternoon.  But the seagulls kept swarming in, screeching and circling a full quarter hour after all sign of the food had disappeared.  Finally the birds drifted off- a couple at a time before the main body followed, leaving a few stragglers holding out hope before they too, disappeared across the cloud-studded sky, in search of a more promising location.

Built For Peace, But Bearing Signs of War

It was the grandest park I'd ever seen, if you didn't count the royal gardens of Versailles which were marked with the beauty only an excess of wealth could afford.  Tall, wrought-iron gates enclosed the area - the sign above proclaimed "International Peace Gardens".  We'd been once before, but that was several months ago and in the dark.  It was the park I'd labelled Narnia after C.S. Lewis' books, for it held two lion statues - one I called Aslan and I decided the other was the lion who had been turned to stone in the White Witch's courtyard, for I fancied I could see markings about his nose which Edmund had made in his disrespect.  How interesting that that battle between nobility and rudeness raged in my Narnia as it had in C.S. Lewis's!  Upon the hill just across the pathway from the stately lions stood what could only be the stone table upon which Aslan was slain.
The park was separated into areas designated as different countries.  The gates were closed on this visit, so we walked around until we found a break in the wall- it entered into Korea.  Or rather, what used to be Korea.  Evidence of what must have been a handsome structure remained- tiles still clinging to the walls and a plaque which read, "Here used to stand the Korean Peace Temple".  Moving past the desolate scene, we came to the life-size harp of Wales - a personal favorite.  France held a miniature Eiffel Tower.  Vietnam was the country of my two Narnian lions.  China had quite a set-up, with a small gazebo and bridge (crossing a man-made pool which was bone-dry) flanked by two lions which were very different from those of Vietnam- shorter, more square, somehow less majestic and more mysterious.
Pointing to China's lack of water and the empty flag posts which had proudly waved flags from every country over their contribution to the park the last time we came and the closed state of the front gates, my husband suggested the park may be closing - a thoroughly depressing prospect which made me feel as though peace itself were fleeing from the world and all the promise which had held strong, though it was never fulfilled, was leaving with its namesake- The International Peace Gardens.
Much subdued we continued through the park, beauty everywhere, but scarred by the subtle and obvious defects purposefully made.  Sweden bore a plaque saying it had been there since the 1950s but- apart from that plaque- there was nothing to see.  Switzerland was the most impressive.  A huge, man-made rock represented the Alps.  In front of this stood a little wooden cabin and little wooden paths and bridges wound between these structures, various rocks and trees as they transcended different levels.  Disgust washed over me as I noticed the offensive spray paint- on the rock, on the cabin, on the bridge.
Having noticed the graffiti in its prominence, I began to notice it everywhere.  Small carvings on wooden poles, painted letters on bridges, every bench held two or three indecipherable symbols which crudely branded the scene.
In the center of the park stood a circle of wooden posts, each bearing a different language and an emblem of that county's flag, each wishing peace and prosperity to all, standing in a mighty circle carrying the symbol of the 2002 Salt Lake City Olympics.  Our symbol of unity - our pride and connection to the wider world - an event of athletic prowess, where talent, challenge, perseverance, all things good which people strive for, an event inspiring people to do their best-to BE their best, and one of the few things in this world where peace is prominent as differences are set aside in favor of these beautiful qualities for which we all strive.  A teenage boy walked up to this great gathering and began kicking repeatedly at one of the posts, again and again, trying to knock it over.  An overpowering rage filled my entire being at the ignorance and complete lack of respect this portrayed.  I realized that seeing the graffiti was sickening, but, being complete in its destructive influence, it had happened.  To watch this evil take place in front of me, to see quite literally the symbols of all that was best in this world being knocked down by such malicious ignorance, was insufferable.  I opened my mouth but my rage made me mute, which infuriated me further.  What possible excuse could people have for committing such crimes?  Why do they feel the need to destroy all that is beautiful and good?  I passed judgment contradictory to the peace I felt violated that such people who had no regard for anyone else's property or hard work, or even for the prosperity of the world as a whole, deserved only the ghetto and ought to remain their for the entirety of their lives because, at least there they would have nothing of beauty to destroy.  Those who have no respect, no appreciation for the such beauty and blessings, don't deserve to have it.