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Archive for the ‘15. Miscellaneous Writing’ Category

Written by:
Wendi Friend
2004

Who hasn’t experienced the stereotypical parent freaking out over their child’s choice in music? “Turn that crap down!” They yell from the other room, knowing that their own words will have no impact or influence over the head-boppin’, mind-bending musical frenzy taking place in their child’s room.

Elvis Presley, with his perfected pretty boy look, prolific outpouring of soothing rhythm, and invigorating pelvic thrusts, outraged American parents who felt threatened by his sex appeal. Music broke through the four-square thinking held captive through the 1950’s. Sure, there had been occasional “antichrists” in music who were either dealt with, kept quiet, or swept under the rug by the powers that be. But the sugar sweet, love-me-true songs of yester-year took a sharp turn into evolution, giving way to such things as mini-skirts, go-go boots, and unabashed raw freedom like that later exposed at Woodstock.

Music in America was changing. My question is, did it change with the mindset of the people, or did the people change with the mindset of the music? Rather than being played to inspire foot tappin’, finger snappin’, and the occasional epiphany, music is now a fine tool, honed and sharpened with vengeance, violence, and drugs. But above all, music was and still is being charged with growing sex appeal.

Sex appeal has always been a part of music, this cannot be denied. The way the notes float on air and tickle the senses has a way of not only soothing, but seducing the human Spirit. We are not privy to music as an advanced form of humans; music has been working its magic since the days of Ancient Egypt and beyond. Music has, for as long as human consciousness can remember, been used to enhance sex, like a good cognac. Oysters and an acoustic guitar, a glass of wine with a piano solo, starlight with a little saxophone — these all set a certain mood, a romantic aura. But where music was once the shadow supporting the mood, we are now faced with music that is so influential that it has become the mold. We have become the shadow of the music.

The first case I can truly remember in my own right is when Ozzy Osbourne was accused of causing young fans to commit suicide. Play the record backwards, he’s saying “shoot the gun, shoot the gun.”

That’s what I heard the newscasters report as I channel surfed, hoping with all my heart to find some Scooby Doo or Flinstones to change the subject. I was a kid then — an intelligent one, too, I fancied myself. Only old, closed-minded people would actually think that a stupid song could make someone kill themselves. If some kid took his own life, his troubles went far beyond a bad choice in music! Stop blaming the music, that’s what I thought. But now, I sit here and question whether or not I’ve become one of those old, closed-minded people because I am opposed to today’s music and its influences.

In my day, Cyndi Lauper was a big topic of conversation with her song Be Bop, from her album of the same title. Who remembers this one:

“She bop–he bop–a–we bop. I bop–you bop–a–they bop. Be bop–be bop–a–lu–she bop”?

Be Bop had a great beat, was fun to dance to, easy to sing – it was young, hot and fresh! But it wasn’t until I was in my mid-twenties that I realized good ole’ Cyndi was singing about masturbation. Still, her message was subtle, so much so that the generation currently indulging in her style didn’t even know what they were “bopping” to!

George Michael blew all of our minds when he just came outright, laid it on the table with his lyrics to I Want Your Sex from his Faith album:

“It’s natural. It’s chemical (let’s do it). It’s logical. Habitual (can we do it?). It’s sensual. But most of all….. Sex is something that we should do. Sex is something for me and you. Sex is natural – sex is good. Not everybody does it. But everybody should. Sex is natural – sex is fun. Sex is best when it’s….one on one.”

Even this was not an indication of exactly where music and mindset were heading.

My awareness of music while growing up was never too keen. I had a few favorite songs and was aware, for the most part, of the top forty, but my musical education didn’t start until my children began to engulf themselves in today’s greatest hits. I always thought having children while I was young would keep me closely tied to them in experience. I’d still be “cool” and into the same things they are, though at a slightly elevated capacity. But when I started paying attention to the lyrics as well as the beats, and taking in the way young girls express themselves through halter tops, low cut hip-huggers and a saunter instead of a walk. I began to see a connection. These kids are, this music IS sex appeal! A new song hits the airwaves, the kids pick up the lyrics, then suddenly those lyrics become a part of every day chatter. That artist’s style becomes the way the children dress and carry themselves. The mindset of the music is adapted into the mindset of the young ones. Music shapes them, whereas in my day, we shaped music.

But enough about my day. What’s being listened to today? What are the influences being absorbed by the minds of our children? Such influences may include but are not limited to: Eminem, Busta Rhymes, Mystikal, and Outkast.

Sex appeal has become such a dominant part of musical culture that one is forced to wonder, is music changing to suit the needs of an evolving people, or are people changing to the ever influential realm of music?

Eminem is well known with most young people. Much of his controversial lifestyle has been widely publicized, especially his having been banned from MTV. His style of music is such that one WANTS to move their body to the beat, nevermind what he’s saying! But, wait… what is he saying? What is his message? He sums up my point nicely (and I use the term loosely) in his song, Sing for the Moment from the CD 8 Mile, in which he says,

“Entertainment is changin’, intertwinin’ with gangstas, in the land of the killers, a sinner’s mind is a sanctum/ unholy, only have one homie, only this gun, lonely cuz don’t anyone know me/Yet everybody just feels like they can relate, I guess words are a mothafucka they can be great/ or they can degrate, or even worse they can teach hate/It’s like these kids hang on every single statement we make, like they worship us/plus all the stores ship us platinum, now how the fuck did this metamorphosis happen?/”

Busta Rhymes is another favorite among today’s youth. You know, that Just Make it Clap funky Reggae beat from the 2002 album, It Ain’t Safe No More? What is the message of Busta Rhymes? Move past the rhythm and listen closely.

“Hey! Hey! Ain’t no fakin the fluid. Water drippin off asses of women that’s shakin it to it while I’m takin you through it, no mistakin my crew is Flipmode, Baby!!! Got you actin all stupid, now I’m back in the cupid, just to tell you the truth is them niggas that be havin you blacken and ready to lose it, pushin lambos and harley rockin Roberto Cavalli (huh!). Now I got a new hobby, diamonds and tattoos and bodies. Watch me crash through the party, go ‘head and spaz girl. Tattoo in the name of my click across y’ ass girl. We ’bout to blast girl, from here to Albuquerque, like jamaican niggas rockin big chains in socker jerseys. Take you on hotter journeys, the way we put it down. And be hittin be havin you shittin more than a box of hershes. We come to control it. We come to command it. And just for the record, we always come to set a new standard. Act like you know.”

My eleven-year-old son printed out these lyrics at my request when I asked him to show me his favorite songs that he knows the words to. I’ve heard him singing this all the time (although he obviously omitted certain parts!). I love the beat of the song and always turned up the volume — but I never knew what the song was actually saying! The way many songs are put together today, consisting of words that aren’t actually words and spit out at high speeds from multiple voices, the songs are virtually understandable! But the beats are cool, and that’s the catch.

Who is Mystikal?

“Go tell the DJ to put my shit on. I’m keepin you neggas and bitches in jump from the minute I get on. Takin they shirt off, showin they tattoos, screamin and hollerin and all. Got the gift to come up with it, put it together, deliver it, make them feel it, bitch I been on! Sharp! Like you pulled me out of the pencil sharpener. Bad! Like that student in the principal’s office. Put rappers in coffins, they dive like dophins. I’m the damndest lyrical marvel you come across often. So watch yourself! Or fuck around and get beside yourself, I know! Go ahead though… bounce them titties, shake that ass, drop that pussy, but stay in line hoe. Fuck a cain’t, cuz you can can. Cocked up, head down, pussy poppin on a handstand. Leave that pussy smokin. If you gon’ do somethin then bed over and bust that pussy open.”

That’s just verse one of Danger from his Let’s Get Ready album.

Granted, most songs with such vulgarities are “bleeped” when played on the radio. Furthermore, the majority of material with such content now come with warning labels. What’s the warning label for? Parents aren’t buying these albums, kids are! I can also tell you that my kids had no problem walking into a music store and purchasing whatever music they wanted — cut or uncut — without my being there. In fact, I’ve never heard of anyone being carded for music, either. So who are those warning labels for? Besides, who needs a music store or an identification card when anyone can download music or get burned copies from friends?

Don’t get me wrong. I am not suggesting that the only problem lies in hard-core rap lyrics. Every genre of music presents a handful of artists who not only push the boundaries, but erase the boundaries all together. There’s something for everybody, and the scary part of it is, artists and record producers are well aware of the power and influence they have over youth. Bottom line, though, is bottom dollar — and we all know that sex sells.

I never wanted to become the kind of parent who tells my children not to listen to certain music. I’m not about censorship. I’m not saying don’t make or sell the music. As a young girl, I never understood how freaked out the adults would get over our tunes. But it seems to me that music has changed since the time I was a young girl, and its influence over the behaviors and thought patterns of our children has increased.

Once upon a time, music was molded to the tastes and pleasures of the people. But that was a time long, long ago. In today’s world, we have become the shadow of the music.

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Written by:
Wendi Friend
2005
*NOTE: Contains Profanities*

Waves had no mercy as they tossed the drenched soul to and fro, dunking him in his own madness. Refusing to drown, the sailor fought for air, prayed for hope, and gripped firmly to every moment. While fighting to keep life, he also managed to find time to analyze and criticize every aspect of life – from the flavor of the morning coffee to the bastard at the electric company who didn’t know how to do his fucking job. Still the sailor struggled to find the light of day from beneath the ocean’s wrath. Though he chastised the Gods and challenged the Goddesses, though he found happiness in nothing, though he sought to self-destruct at any given moment while on dry ground, he fought like the dickens to save his own hide with the waves beating the crap out of him, cursing out the universe all the while. Go figure. And yet, there’s an ere about him that makes you want to reach right into the water, scoop him up into your arms, wrap him tightly in a warm blanket, and serve him warm vegetable soup while he tells you wicked tails of his adventures at sea. You’re full of questions you hope he’ll answer while he lights the pipe you’re sure he has hiding somewhere on his person, remarkably dry and ready for smoking.

You have to admire his strength, really. Think about it, the entire ocean is trying to take him down and he will just not keep his head below water! He’s like Popeye or something with amazing strength, although nicotine and caffeine do hardly a can of spinach make. Nonetheless, he’s got reserves of strength somewhere because he just keeps popping his head above water long enough to take a big gulp of air, and then down he goes again, using all the strength in his arms, legs, lungs, heart, and soul to stay close enough for, “… just… one… more… breath.” He didn’t even waste any energy by screaming out for help, just silently prayed to who knows what (‘cause he was cursing everything else in the universe out), and struggled to survive.

You wonder how he got in the water in the first place. If he’s such a great sailor and he’s so unbelievably strong, then how in nature’s womb did he fall out of a damned boat? Speaking of boats, where’s the boat he fell out of? Was he pushed off by pirates who sailed away with his treasures? Did a raging storm come crashing down and rip his boat to shreds, leaving nothing but toothpicks? What’s his story?

Well, you never do get time enough to ask the lad his lot in life because lucky for him God heard his prayers and sent along a little wooden raft with pigmies on board. They didn’t speak English and had on barely any clothes, but no matter, it was salvation! Blessed be the sailor whose connection with Deity was such that prayers were directly answered and a raft was sent to save his sorry complaining ass from drowning. Good thing the gods have a sense of humor – and because they do, they sent pigmies in loin cloths on a ratty ass raft. Nonetheless, they came for him and he was saved.

The sailor, dripping wet and shivering to the bone, hoisted himself upon the raft, gasping for breath before glancing up at his rescuers. Once he’d caught his breath, he shifted his position to sit upright, wrinkling his nose in distaste at the condition of what he considered a mere floatation device crafted from poor workmanship. That’s when he noticed the big, dark-skinned, hairy toes on the feet next to him. Naked toes, followed by thin, bony, unclothed legs, and… Oh, for heaven’s sakes! Loincloths! The sailor shook his head, making somewhat of a “tsk tsk” sound of contempt. One pigmy offers the sailor a fresh fish for food, but the fish is whole, barely dead, and a might small compared to the likes of what the sailor used to catch. Disinterested, the sailor waves away the fish, turning his head in disapproval. With that, he found himself back in the water.

Merciless waves crashed down upon the old sailor once again, submerging him in darkness, tossing him about like an old rag doll. Still, between gasps for air, he found time to criticize the pigmy race and what he considered to be their pathetic lifestyle of floating around on makeshift rafts in nothing but loincloths while gnawing on raw fish. The thought of it disgusted the old man. Nonetheless, he managed to holler out once or twice, if not out loud then in prayer, for help to come and rescue him from his own misery. Miraculously, a helicopter happened to fly over the man, flying low and offering a rope. The old sailor swam away from the rope, terrified of heights and refusing to take hold. The helicopter hovered for some time trying to aid the old sailor who was fighting for his life, but the old sailor, victim of his own fear of heights, would not cooperate and waved the rope away, so the helicopter had no choice but to go on its way, leaving the sailor behind in the raging waters.

As one might imagine, the sailor soon drowned. While his body drifted away to become one with the ocean, his spirit entered through the great gates, following the white light, to meet with the All that Is. When in front of his God, the sailor, who never thought to kneel, bow, or start with something simple like, “Hi”, immediately lashed out at God for allowing him to die, “I don’t know why I thought you’d come to my rescue; you left your own son to die…” but then cuts himself short in mid sentence and changes the direction of conversation all together.

“You know, this isn’t at all what I thought heaven would look like. What have you got the thermostat set on? It’s really chilly up here. I was expecting diamonds, gold, and pearls; this place looks more like a Hollywood mansion badly decorated by some gay t.v. personality. – pastels, really?”

And with that, the old sailor found himself cast from Heaven, headed for a warmer climate with more fiery décor.

What kind of character would it take to get himself kicked out of hell? How could you grate on the nerves of Satan so bad that even he can’t stand to be in the same room with you? Tell him old fishing stories, laced with arrogance and ignorance, for the rest of eternity. Boast about how you’re the God of the seas, and the God of the seas ye shall be. So the sailor was cast out of hell, and back into the waters in which he’d already drowned. This is where his soul remains today… eternally drowning in his own misery because nothing on Earth, in Heaven, or in Hell could meet his expectations – and his character was toxic to everything.

When sailing on the ocean of emotion, riding the waves of experience and passion, keep an ear out… you just may hear the moans, cries, and complaints of the lost sailor.

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Written in 2001

 

“The magick moving through art is the ability to visualize without seeing, listen without hearing, speak without talking, and feel without touching.” ~Wendi Friend~

I over-slept today. I awoke frantic and frazzled due to bad dreams and thick stress. My eldest child, Atlas, was already gone off to school. The younger two decided that I should be left to sleep, so they played quietly together in the loft after having gotten dressed and made their beds. I awoke feeling the need to crawl inside myself; but in a healthy way. I felt like my heart was trying to tell me something. I wanted to sit still and listen. I wanted to silently remember my dreams and explore my thoughts.

Brewing my first pot of coffee for the day, I wrote down that I was hungry for creativity. Creativity, for me, is medicine – whether I’m creating with words on paper, crafting with supplies, or playing with notes of a new song. When my hands are busy, anticipation and expectation preoccupied with art, I can hear myself better. I can see the journey ahead a little more clearly. I can breathe a little more deeply. I was ready to heal. I was hungry for creativity.

Unfortunately, growth was not the only thing I was feeling this morning. The sign on my heart must have been flashing, “No Vacancy,” because all the space within it was consumed with a mixture of hope, need, want, and guilt. I know why I’m in this position. I know that stress backed me into a corner. I know that responsibility challenged time to a race and won. I found myself staying up late nights, waking early in the morning, and skipping meals in between because I couldn’t find the time to do all that needed done in the accomplishing of my goals. I felt guilty because the kids wanted to spend time with me. But, then, so did I.

That’s when I remembered this quote and wrote it down on paper again at that moment: The magick moving through art is the ability to visualize without seeing, listen without hearing, speak without talking and feel without touching. I wrote it down the first time in a journal/coloring book I’d received as a gift. I used a pink gel pen, then – and must have re-read the statement a hundred times while my left hand colored the picture to the left.

As I re-wrote the phrase this morning, seven year old Stinkerbelle knocked on my door, wanting to know if she and Rhythm could go play outside. Turning in my office chair, I smiled, saying, “Ya know what? No. Why don’t you go get your brother and the two of you can hang out in here with me for a while.” Stinkerbelle was thrilled to no end, as was her brother. I had no idea that hanging out in my office would be such a treat for them. When they were both in here, I explained that I’d like them to do something creative with this part of the morning, then they could go outside and play. Stinkerbelle immediately wanted to put to use the weaving project she got for her birthday. Rhythm had been wanting to play with my magnetic poetry book. He watched me do an exercise the other day, thought it was neat, and had been wanting to try one of his own. He picked out five words from my bag of magnetic poetry pieces while Stinkerbelle began stretching little loops of elastic to hook and weave on the plastic base. While the two of them nestled into their creative acts, I nestled into mine.

While Rhythm wrote his own thoughts of the day and Stinkerbelle wove a pot holder, I allowed the pen to move across paper with my own round of magnetic poetry. I withdrew five words from the plastic bag and wrote them down:

1. wind 2.away 3.sister 4.summer 5. morning

`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~

Morning flew quickly by today.
Summer heat taunts, though it’s only spring.
Winter has finally melted away,
making room for the great sun king.

Dreaming of a garden of flowers
I seek nature’s comforting glow.
Sister wind has exhausted her powers
when March currents did forcefully flow.

As I stand in these seasons changing,
I am one with light and sound.
My mind does it’s mystic rearranging
while my feet connect to the ground.

So I thank the entity Mother Earth
for destruction, obstacles and strife…
for death only makes room for birth
and a new opportunity for life.

Winds blow away negativity
cold freezes ugly thoughts
heat melts snow, warming creativity
and I find what I have sought….

my own inner garden of peace.

While we were working, I noticed how tranquil we all were. Rhythm and Stinkerbelle both worked with pleasant grins stretched across their faces, and I realized I was doing the same. We were able to be together, and yet apart, all at the same time. We were all doing the same thing, but differently. We were all being creative and exploring ourselves. This satisfied all of our needs. Their wanting to be with me didn’t mean that I couldn’t still do what I needed to do. I learned that they just like to be in my presence and sharing in my love of art.

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Intro: Another writing exercise- write for 20 minutes, or 400 words based on a quote.

“The Power of Words”
Written by:
Wendi Friend

“For me, words are a form of action, capable of influencing change.” ~Ingrid Bengis~

I never understood that words are a form of action. In fact, I’ve often heard it said that words are cheap. I knew my words could influence the thoughts, emotions, or reactions of others; but I don’t think I truly realized how my words impacted me – except that I knew writing contained some kind of inexplicable form of healing.

When I take a problem out of my worried head and put it on paper, I’m able to view it from a different perspective. I found a neat little pattern in my journal. Sifting through my journal entries one day, I recognized that the beginning of my writings were often disorganized, chaotic and clustered with surface emotion. However, about half way through, I’d begin writing past the raw feeling of reaction and merge into an analytical frame of mind, trying to find a cause for my condition. By the time my hand began to cramp, I had written the answer to my own problem. Never was writing the solutions my intent. My intent was to find a place for my voice and thoughts. I needed to speak without anybody listening. I needed to have a hissy fit, temper tantrum, pity party. I wrote not to gain an answer, but to rid myself of negativity. Inevitably, when the negativity had been cleared away, truth, beauty, understanding, and peace of mind all surfaced. This is the first real awareness that I had of the power in words and the writing of them.

Later, in an exercise for a spiritually exploitative writing workshop, I was taught about another aspect of the power of words. I was asked to write on paper those things that I thought would bring me closer to or set me farther away from that elusive thing called happiness. I thought I’d be able to whip out that assignment in a flash. I thought I knew exactly what would make me happy or prevent me from becoming happy. I was so wrong. Once I explored the reasons and consequences of my dreams and wants, I realized that I wasn’t striving towards my goals for the right reasons. I wasn’t happy in my life because I couldn’t identify what it was that I wanted, or why. Finally, I put pen to paper with the intent of self discovery. I’m not sure if the reaction happened because I finally identified it, or because writing the thoughts substantiated them, or if having brought them to my attention made me want to work harder to achieve them. Regardless of why, a reaction happened creating positive consequence when I put pen to paper.

Words, whether spoken, written, or sang out in song have a powerful energy in them. Our words hurt people, or comfort them. Our words encourage people, or discourage them. Our words have an impact on how we think, feel and react.

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Intro:  Looking back on this one, I don’t think it was as much a writing exercise as it was just a personal reflection, written in the fashion I had learned through the writing exercises.  I no longer live in the house I lived in when I wrote this — no longer have that garden, and I miss it.  I’m planning on moving soon and I do believe a new garden will be in order…

“Out Door Gardens and Inner Peace”
Written by:
Wendi Friend
2000

“Working in the garden…gives me a profound feeling of inner peace.” -Ruth Stout-

Surprise was not amongst my feelings when I found myself in my garden with trimmers. This is where I often land at the end of a spiritual whirlwind……. clipping the excess growth off of life.

Once a week I feed the garden, twice a day I water it. Six times a day or more I visit the garden, memorizing the face of each new sprout. I name them, but not earthly names to be spoken through human lips. Never mind that.

Clip, clip. Pieces fall, some with blooms still on them. Jagged, crooked branches fall beside my bare, wet, grass covered toes. Snip. Snip.

The sun begins to set behind the wall and stars began winking at me from above. Bugs with wings, feet, webs and antennas creep, crawl and fly from their hiding places. My mind opens to allow it’s dried leaves to fall, too.

I clip the pieces which grew so large that they fell clumsily over the red Windsor walls. I crumble the dried leaves and shriveled petals. My mind opens to allow old thoughts to fall with the clippings around my bare, wet, grass covered toes.

I swept up the mess

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Intro: This was a writing exercise. The directions: choose a quote and write either 400 words, or for 20 minutes as a way to get the creative juices flowing.

“The Perfect Mental Storm”
(A Writing Exercise)
Written by:
Wendi Friend
1999

“The way I see it, if you want the rainbow, you gotta put up with the rain.” -Dolly Parton-

The Perfect Mental Storm

Clouds roll, one over the other – tauntingly, hypnotically, completely absorbing the sky with their dominating nature. Growing, spreading, threatening clouds greet me this morning.

I can’t say I’m surprised. The mental weather report indicated possible showers. Tornado warnings have been issued and hurricanes have been reeking havoc in areas once peaceful. I ignored the warnings.

No, that’s not true. I didn’t ignore them. I taped my mental windows and stored cans of proverbial soul food where I could. I warned everyone that the storm was coming, but as they did with Noah when he built his ark, as that story is told, I was dismissed as being silly.

At present, I’m in my safe place, my mental basement. Sure, there are some cobwebs and rats to deal with. I seem to have plenty to occupy myself in this solitary self protection. I’m hanging out with, of course, the tunes and energy of Alanis Morissette. She hears me without me having to exert myself or open my mouth. She allows me to cry, knowing that I’m accepting not denying. Some people see me cry and they think it means I hurt too much to progress so I’d rather wallow. Alanis knows that while I’m crying, I’m growing.

No, Alanis doesn’t know that. Alanis provides the space in which I can discover that I know that.

Mental circles. Round and round the wind blows. My foundations are rocked to the core. I can see through the tiny window in my mental basement that there is mass destruction all around me. I am pained watching lives destroyed, homes tousled – my home is tousled, like my hair was this morning when I awoke to greet the gray clouds.

I cling to what I think is right, but every time I think something’s right, its wrong and I’m blamed, chastised, punished, accused, outcast.

Not from the basement I’m not. No. Here, I’m going to color and sing and read and write and play and sleep until the storm, all its wickedness, the harsh hand of destruction has created for me a purpose. There is a purpose. There is a reason I’ve subjected myself to such a solitary position. What is it?

Somewhere is a rainbow. Somewhere is a blue sky that will let me appreciate its beauty without condemning me for being to “deep.” Somewhere there is a bird who will love to sing with me even if it doesn’t know the words. Somewhere, there is a soft, gentle breeze that will comb my hair for me, dry my tears and present me with flowers.

Somewhere there are colors holding hands in the sky to prove to me that unity is not just the dream of a half sane, lost little girl trapped in a grown up’s body. Somewhere lives hope, and it thanks me for not forgetting its name and purpose. Somewhere out there, just beyond this dark and dreary day, the air will be crisp, clean, polished and free of decay.

Maybe tomorrow I will see those colors. For today, I’m locked securely in my basement and choose not to look out the tiny window.

I close my eyes, I close my human heart. I opened my mind and my all that I am, so that the universe can cradle me in the hammock of life…….

Today I rest. I feel. I think. I exist for no purpose other than to discover the purpose of this disastrous, frightening, abundant, powerful, beautiful, creative, necessary, productive, insightful, perfect mental storm; for the only way to see the rainbow is to get through the rain.

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Intro: This was a writing exercise.  The idea was to pick a random quote and write 400 words, or for 20 minutes as a way to exercise the muse. This is the quote I chose, and these are my thoughts…

“Creativity can solve almost any problem. The creative act, the defeat of habit by originality, overcomes everything.” – George Lois-

“Solving Problems with Creativity”
(A Writing Exercise)
Written by:

Wendi Friend
1999

Whether or not humanity was brought to existence through evolution or creation is a question which has plagued mankind since its beginning. Regardless of whether or not humanity spontaneously happened through natural phenomena or was created by the hands of a higher power, one thing is certain: we have evolved since then.

Long ago in the first days of man, when all the cave men and cave women were standing in the rain, somebody allowed their creative side to come through and led all the wet folks into a cave where they’d be dry. When they found themselves dry but cold, someone else’s creativity found the idea of body heat. When the cave people realized that they couldn’t move about comfortably in a huddle, someone’s creativity discovered fur, blankets and wraps to provide warmth. Creativity added variety to the necessity of food by giving us different flavors, textures and types of food, and spices with which to season the food. Creativity allowed room for someone to discover fire on which to cook the food, keep warm, and provide light. Without creativity, we’d still all be cave men (and women) standing in the rain.

Over the next several life spans, Creativity would decorate our environment. As creative people, we made buildings in which to conduct a variety of creative business plans. We created roads on which to drive in the cars that we created. We created clothing, creativity created fashion and style. Through that creative fashion and style, we make ourselves known.

Through our dress, mannerisms, lifestyle, choice of words, friends and occupation we are being creative. Creativity separates each one of us from the next. Creativity allows us to progress with new and interesting thought. Creativity is the voice of the spirit. She uses bright colors, mesmerizing sounds, flexibility and gracefulness, soft touches, rugged textures, careful words and rhythm to express herself.

All too often, people suffer from severe depression, loneliness and lack of acceptance. Perhaps this is just what the voice of creativity screams when she’s being ignored. Creativity opens doors, spreads wings, makes possibilities. When we turn off our creativity, we are closing those doors, clipping those wings and insuring that nothing becomes possible other than lack of growth and lack of happiness.

Whether or not humanity spontaneously happened through natural phenomena or was created by the hands of a higher power, one thing is certain: we have evolved since then, and we’ve done it with creativity.

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