Unforget

In the backroads of my mind, where gravel meets the fallen leaves in a gentle touch, you are lost somewhere in between the windy sky and the earth, moist from the rainy yesterday. You are holding my hand in a sweet attempt to keep it warm. Who are you?

I know this is silly, a digitalized feeling of a sort, a quick note in my phone, one of many saved during countless traffic jams of Nairobi. I haven’t blogged for a while, and felt a strong urge to write something, anything. The job keeps me busy, too busy in fact to walk around the yard barefoot, or talk to the lonely dogs in our compound, or ever sip from that air of creativity that surrounds you once you let your mind loose for a minute, once you let go of the burdens of the day. I want to absorb Sunday mornings again. I promise to myself I will try doing nothing... this Sunday morning.

Image credit: GREYFading

On blogging

"Inspiration is wonderful when it happens, but the writer must develop an approach for the rest of the time... The wait is simply too long."

 ~ Leonard Bernstein

You might have noticed I rarely step out of my creative writing shoes and post in any other way. It comes from trying to be consistent with one style, or be true to this blog. But then again you might have noticed I was gone for quite some time, and that definitely overwrites “being true to this blog” argument. So I wanted to put the style on pause, long enough to apologize to those of you who read the blog. I’ve been traveling, changing jobs, moving and I’m preparing to move again, and most importantly, I’ve been trying to leave some emotional baggage behind. I’ve been succeeding on some days and failing disastrously on others.

I’ve also had difficulties putting all of the above on paper, no matter how hard I tried. I keep going though a growing pile of drafts and nothing seems good enough. So I figured I’d just get over my editorial self and post whatever I have. Maybe once I’m though this rough patch, the words will start coming easier. In fact, as I was polishing today’s (way inadequate! – yells that annoying little censor in my head) post, I was suddenly flooded with ideas and jotted a lot of things down, which made for a creatively satisfying day. Again, sorry for being off the radar and – since you are still reading this :) – thanks for sticking with me.

Special thanks goes to Monique for her "I’m Just Going To Delete My Blog and Not Tell Anyone" post. It totally brought me back to reality. Blogging reality, that is :) Many news posts coming soon!

Love, peace & hope from me to you.

♥ ~ Jules

A little lost

"To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything, and your heart will certainly be wrung and possibly be broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact, you must give your heart to no one, not even to an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements; lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket - safe, dark, motionless, airless - it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable. The alternative to tragedy, or at least to the risk of tragedy is damnation. The only place outside Heaven where you can be perfectly safe from all the dangers and perturbations of love is Hell."

~ C.S. Lewis, The Four Loves

How do people say things as pretty? Can I do that... please? Sometimes I think my words sit under this huge rock in the sea that is my thoughts, ideas, feelings and desires. The category five storm needs to happen for them to be thrown out to the surface, spit out by the waters that are too dark otherwise to tell where the sunshine ends and the abyss begins.

Sometimes I think lack of pain kills inspiration. Sometimes I think pain overdose does it too. I find chapters of comedy and tragedy as I try to frantically skip any prosaic pages in life. Slowing down seems to be a sure motivation killer so I run fast, and bump into walls, and get hurt, and get up again, and keep running, and bump into walls...

I jump between extreme thirst for social life and desperate need for solitude. I think we give up part of our freedom the moment we choose to depend on others, be it for attention, time, means to survive, understanding, kindness, affection... But then, if others choose to depend on us, do we fill that gap with some of their freedom? What right does anyone have for anyone else's freedom? Being part of society automatically means being, in one way or another, unfree. Being absolutely free then... means being unsocial? And then there is solitude, which takes away the freedom to be loved.

The only true way to be free as I found it is to be free within. It is that type of freedom that I seek out and fight for and worship.

* * *

As I get tired of this buzzing world I take a stroll to the land of no emotion, but I get too restless on my way there to ever reach the illusionary destination of absolute personal strength. Few days into my "independence" I feel the prose of reality crawling at me like a giant heat wave, leaving no air to breathe, no shade to escape to on the surface so hot it melts dreams.

That’s when I take a big breath and dive deep into my poetry, finding there the only relief and a place of safety.

Sometimes answers are hidden in words. More often, words bring out more questions. Sometimes I wish I had words when none come out. At other times I wish I could just stay silent for hours... days. I think good words are hard to get and it probably only adds to their beauty. Then there are angry words and words that are empty, and I haven’t decided yet which one is worse.

* * *

"Why don’t you go blog about it?" I heard last weekend, and thrown into the heat of an argument, it was meant to sound offensive. I'm afraid "it" just doesn't do it for me, my dear boy. Hey, look who’s stronger now. I am on one of those freedom strolls and you’d better not get in my way. I don’t mean to sound amazon-ish but then again, I am so tired of fighting you. We’ve been barking at each other for so long, it started taking a shape of some sick entertainment. Another round, and we might as well start taking bets. At times, it boiled blood. At this point, it tires me. I am not meant for hatred, I don’t like harsh words given or taken, even if, especially if, they are empty shells thrown one's way to offend rather than convey meaning. I am no angel but let me dwell on it some other time. How are YOU going to find your way through such darkness into which you let your thinking wander, such anger with which you let it out? You can’t make a real difference, you can’t right the wrong if you fail or refuse (which is it?) to draw the line between passion and fury. You can’t be truly kind nor loving when you let your pride guide you, wherever it is you are heading.

Thanks!!!

I just wanted to thank someone from EatonWeb who took the time to look at my blog and write this review. I know it’s just a couple of sentences but they mean so much to me! Thanks EatonWeb!!!

Click here to check it out

Naked

You finding my blog felt a bit like finding myself naked in the middle of the street. I told you I wouldn’t be mad and I’ll stick to my word, although emotions do boil in me every now and then when I think about it. I guess it’s not so much the fact that you read it — anyone in the world can see it after all — it’s about how you found it, it was a bit shady to look around my computer, don’t you think? Then again, I’d probably do the same in that situation so I am not sure if I am even allowed to be mad at you. I always thought I was the sneaky one, I didn’t expect that from you. Next time you want to know something, ask me nicely and I might as well tell you.

It was nice of you to show appreciation for my writing.
I truly appreciate your art too, and I hope you know it.

Still, you shouldn’t do things behind my back.
I should clear my browser history more often.

Linger

“…I'm in so deep
You know I'm such a fool for you
You got me wrapped around your finger
Do you have to let it linger
Do you have to, do you have to
Do you have to let it linger…”
-Cranberries

You asked me once if I ever thought about blogging. I came up with some joke to avoid the answer. I do blog you know. Although will you ever know? Probably not. See, if you know, then I can’t write for you. It allows me to whisper those lines to you… quiet enough for you not to hear.

Hello there

Hello, world. I finally power blogger. For the name... in a crazy stretch of imagination I was trying to choose between journabble and... Oh, don't even ask. Trust me, this was the better one.