Confession Moment #10: An Artist Heart with a Personal Dilemma


How do you balance a public profile being a private person? I’m writing while I’m thinking, because the subject often comes up, especially, as a blog writer.

Often the stories, poems, and prose are not even about me. But sometimes they are. Other times they are about parts of me or the people I see if that makes sense. Whatever the true subject or objective, the words used to express or describe are indeed mine. So, however, I dress it up, essentially, they are subjectively about something connected to me.

On a personal note, I keep everything close to the vest. I rarely disclose personal details about my life, my friends, my plans, or my family (directly). I’ve been this way as long as I can remember. If I do, then that means you’ve earned a level of trust somewhere in my mind and heart. A level that says similar to how I treat those who share their lives with me, you’re not going to go and shout what I say from the mountaintop. I cherish these relationships because they are difficult to find and hard to keep.

I’d liked to say this originated when I first heard the story of Zachariah in Bible school pre-adolescent, and subconsciously, it may have. However, I’m not convinced that’s true.

I’ve watched people over the years and in watching them, I’ve learned a great deal about boundaries. Everyone’s boundaries are different and I like to keep mine like a fortress at times, if not all the time. The problem I learned about living in a fortress is when you need help, it’s hard for help to find a way in. So the almighty and I struck a balance. He places people in my life I know I can trust and confirms their placement by their actions. It has been working thus far.

I’m sure I’ve been burned in the past, but that’s not what this is about. I am also an artist as I previously wrote earlier in this written dialogue currently happening in my head. And the craft of an artist is extremely public and often very personal. Whether the craft envelopes the artist’s personal challenges, triumphs, or something in between the content is almost always raw.

Thus my actual personal life, I like to keep personal and private. Not necessary a secret, but definitely private.

I had an encounter today with a friend girl of mine who innocently indirectly shared a personal component of my life on a public platform. She was only providing encouragement. Encouragement, I greatly appreciated. However, upon having a quick conversation she quickly understood and respected my wishes that I’d rather not have certain components of my life publicly discussed or commented on overtly. I am grateful for that and for her because others might have misinterpreted my call for discretion. And, turned a molehill into a mountain.

Said interaction brought me back to this confession moment. I regularly share my thoughts, experiences, and beliefs on an array of subjects on my blog and on my community Facebook page. I do so willingly and without reservation. Mainly, in hopes, it liberates someone secretly struggling with similar issues. If my transparency can save a life, provide hope, or simply let someone in the universe know they are not alone, then it’s worth it!

We live in a society where fear, shame, emotional distress, and emotional pain are bottled up until they blow up. So I write to let others know, they are indeed not alone, and most of what we battle are temporary distractions. If my public artist heart can save one soul then the open declarations are worth it every time.

Having said that, I was raised in the church. More specifically, I was raised in a church where every Sunday before communion the Pastor would call all those who had “sinned” during the week up to confess their sins one-by-one into the microphone, publicly, in accordance with our church doctrine before the entire church body. Sometimes these lines were ten to fifteen people deep. And, even after confessing their “sins”, they would each have to stand before the church before he prayed for them out loud about their specific “sin” before they were allowed to be seated.

This practice struck me as odd and invasive. Yet, for 18 years I watched the same people, week after week form a line down the right aisle waiting to be redeemed before as a church body, we could take communion. The practice troubled me, but it was tradition and it was not until years later I would experience something different, so I watched in silence week after week, month after month, and year after year until I was 18th and no longer required to attend church. Did my need for personal privacy stem from this, who knows? But, I do know I had my own silent struggles, I never felt comfortable sharing because of this practice and they followed me into adulthood.

So there was always an invisible shield on my internal thoughts for most of my life. I’m not saying I was muted but definitely guarded. And as luck would have it, for good reasons at times. So it’s rare and special when I really can be truly open on a personal level. I’m not harboring dark secrets. I just enjoy the sanctity of my personal life remaining personal.

Still seeking the right balance between publicly transparent and privately personal.

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“Confession Moment #10: An Artist Heart with a Personal Dilemma” (text) by EYHCS published under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 4.0 International License.

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Day 323: Coordinated Elevation


You ever feel yourself shift. I am not referring to a physical movement, but a metaphysical one. It happens when the dots literally and figuratively start connecting almost imperceptibly.

One seemingly insignificant event propels you into action. Each subsequent action confirms the previous one. And, then it happens, coordinated elevation.

It is in that moment your vision expands and your knowledge awakens. Like a well-oiled machine, you began to level up. The shifting is so smooth, it’s almost imperceptible. Yet, your spiritual awareness allows you see the navigation happening as you move pass each level.

The skies open, the band plays, and the performers sings, it’s shifting time. Get ready, get ready, get ready!

If you haven’t trained your metaphysical being, you will miss it! If you have, your bags are already packed! So, lace-up your cross fits & enjoy the fruits of your labor.

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“Day 323: Coordinated Elevation” (text) by EYHCS published under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 4.0 International License.
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Day 137: The Response


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I have friends who are atheist. I have friends who agnostic. I have friends who are Christians and friends who ascribe to another religion or no religion at all. Their belief in a deity or lack of belief is not a prerequisite for our friendship to flourish. Primarily, because I understand the experience principle.

 

Reality forms from one’s experience. The attribution exists in a collective oration. I’ve discussed this before. The idea nothing is truly real until you experience its’ realness first-hand.

 

Yet, I know empirically that my God is real and when sought the deity shows forth as Emmanuel.

 

You cannot see what you cannot believe. You will not believe what you refuse to see. The principle of a harden heart.

 

If you take the cap off your beliefs, God will take the cap off your sight. The principle of the promise.

 

As always the choice is yours, but the response is not.

 

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The  “Day 137: The Response” (text) by EYHCS published under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 4.0 International License
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Day 5: Conflicted Mourning


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This was not the intended first published piece of 2017.

I have written other works of art centered around my reflective learnings of 2016. I wrote the inspired words and set them aside. I learned this technique awhile back. Write with passion. Write with emotion. Write whatever comes forth then set it aside. Forget about the infused emotional, thoughtful, and provoking life I left on the screen. Let their fire dim. Let their virtuosity wane. Let logic overrule. Let the pain and anguish of their meaning flicker out like the last flame of a well-burnt candle.

Then and only then return to the scene. Shift through the ashes. Search out the treasures. Breathe in the remnants of what remains. Ask the only question that matters. Are the words still true? Publish, if yes. Revamp, if no.

My confliction causes me to break away, if only for tonight, from this writing ritual.

Prepared I knew. We are not a family of jesters. Sure, we joke and laugh at the appropriate times. Yet, we are planners and thinkers. He had been preparing my mother. And, my mother had been preparing us. So I knew. I was prepared.  I was aware. The signs came with each fleeting day.  I expected the call more than once. I knew what steps to take in order to be available. I held back tears with each new revelation. The diagnosis was clearer with each update. Not through what was said, but by what was withheld.

The urgency came. The call was made. The words were spoken. He’s passed away she spoke. There it is. The confliction of heart, mind, and spirit. I feel it. I cannot fully name it, but I sense it. The heart aches because his temporal presence has left. The mind is grateful the pain and confusion he experienced in his final days are over. The spirit rejoices because his soul now rests where no more harm can come to him in the form of “treatment”. I feel it all and I feel none of it. The medical attempts to save him reduced his quality of life in the final weeks, if not months, so I pray his mother and my grandmother greets him upon his arrival as her memory consoles me now.

I feel it all and I feel none of it. The medical attempts to save him reduced his quality of life in the final weeks, if not months, so I pray his mother and my grandmother greets him upon his arrival as her memory consoles me now.

For this is how I learned to express what is sometimes inexpressible. I am a stoic soul with a complex heart. It is here the emotions intersect with the logic to usher in the therapy mere condolences cannot bring. Here my gift allows me to sit in my Father’s lap. In a place, my stoic soul with a complex heart – can experience the caress that does not bend and does not break. For this was not the intended published first piece of 2017, but it was needed.

You will be missed, but not forgotten.

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Day 228: Leaders


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The thing about being a leader is they always cross over the finish line. The crowd just watches them cross. Leaders are focused on attaining the goal. The crowd is focused on watching every move of the finisher.

Leaders don’t worry about the onlookers. They have mapped out the path to the finish line. The onlookers may see what a leader does, but not understand why the leader does it!

And, seeing without understanding makes it an emulation and not an experience.

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The  “Day 228: Leaders” (text) by EYHCS published under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 4.0 International License

©EYHCS AND THE LATEST WORD, 2016. UNAUTHORIZED USE AND/OR DUPLICATION OF THIS MATERIAL, INCLUDING, BUT NOT LIMITED TO YOUTUBE VIDEOS, PAPERS, AND OTHER ORIGINAL WORKS OF ART WITHOUT EXPRESS AND WRITTEN PERMISSION FROM THIS BLOG’S AUTHOR AND/OR OWNER IS STRICTLY PROHIBITED. EXCERPTS, LINKS, IMAGES THAT ARE THE COURTESY OF INDULGY.COM WITHIN POSTS UNLESS OTHERWISE STATED MAY BE USED, PROVIDED THAT FULL AND CLEAR CREDIT IS GIVEN TO EYHCS AND 15 WORDS OR LESS WITH APPROPRIATE AND SPECIFIC DIRECTION TO THE ORIGINAL CONTENT.

Day 184: Precious Moments


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I did not pick the planters pot.
I did not pick the seeds.
I did not determine the soil.
I did not lay the seeds in the chosen soil.
Nor did I pack the soil upon the freshly laid seeds.
I was not there for the germination stage.
I did not witness the first leaves grow.
At the time, I did not even know.
I was a little more than a small shrub back then.

The seeds became buds.
The buds fought to become flower,
Under all the April showers.
The flowers became fruit from the original root.
I felt like pollen with each passing bloom.
Or maybe the bee seen darting through the room.

I will never be the original potter.
I will never be able to recall the plants first blooms.
Yet, I do know how the plant became a tree.
I did witness the fallen leaves.
I did witness the painful struggles as one limb became two.
I did enjoy the transformation.

And, one day the trees’ seeds will create more plants with hopes of becoming bigger trees.

It is my experience with the circle of life.
Oh, what a wonderful life.

© 2016 EYHCS

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Day 165: As A Writer – the Real Tragedy


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Year one of my blog I attempted to write daily. I was more successful at times than others.

Year two I actually managed to write almost daily for a large part of the year.

Year three, I realized, I could not make the same commitment as other bloggers and set out to post at least once a month.

Last month was the first month I missed my mark. I didn’t stop writing, I just stopped posting. I go through these periods where I want to hold on to the drops of knowledge streaming from my mine. Eventually, I release them, once I feel they have germinated long enough to sprout and bloom.

I enjoy writing. I enjoy your comments and likes I think more than I realized I would. Sometimes, we have to hold onto ourselves a little longer so we remain whole, especially, as artists.

Artists create from experience.

Artists divulge secret thoughts in their artistry.

Artists are transparently exposed to the elements of the audiences’ minds, preconceptions, and suppositions.

Some of these elements are true and others not so much.

 

What prompts me to write today is a need to release in a form I have come to find solace.

My writing rejuvenates my soul.

 

I know people are hurting today by yet another demonstration of targeted misplaced hatred.

I recognize many are searching for answers and for some those answers will never come.

I appreciate the pause the nation, if not the world, has taken to grieve the senseless loss of life.

I mourn the slain.

I pray for their families, their friends, their love ones, and the love ones they will never have.

The tragedy is tragic.

The incident deserves space in our hearts, in our minds, in our thoughts, and yes, in our conversations.

 

My issue is not with the events.

My issue is with the reaction.

 

And, for some it may seem callous.

I confess, I questioned myself.

I wondered if living in this world has desensitized me in ways I do not understand.

I wondered if my anger at what I can only classify as debilitating thinking is right.

Am I wrong for cringing when I hear a person say “they no longer feel safe”?

It is extremely difficult to stomach, when it comes from a person of faith.

 

What is this weird concept of safety? We are only as safe as the intentions and dedication of someone else to harm us or themselves. Of course, there are things we can do to mitigate the threats to our safety, but living means we all live with a certain level of uncertainty. It’s called life. We seem to love creating boogeymen so we have a reason to raise our voices and be heard. Or close our doors and not be seen. Pick your prison!

“I’m screaming inside, because it would be impolite and disruptive to do so on the outside, “Hello, who do we put our trust in?” “What world do you live in?” “How can you proclaim power and cower every time darkness breaches the ‘Circle of Life”?”

As a writer, words build bridges.

As a writer, words tear down walls.

As a writer, words lift up dreams.

As a writer, words silence nightmares.

As a writer, words speak for the mute.

As a writer, words invoke change.

As a writer, words are eternally hopeful.

 

I guess what I’m saying is the situation in Orlando, in our nation, in our universe can breathe darkness in the shallowly places of our lands. In these times, we often lament about the incident long enough to allow time to pass before the next great tragedy. I am not here to take away someone else’s method of coping. If this is how one needs to cope, cope on.

 

I simply find myself frustrated with the lack of depth of our arguments, of our comments, or our display of power the size of a toothpick in an EF5 tornado.

 

Deeply Sadden and Frustrated,

 

EYHCS

 

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Day 98: Writing


 

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Writing is all about the experience. I can only write about that which I have experienced or that which I have witnessed. Even fictional storylines possess characteristics of nonfiction realities.

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Rejuvenation: The Power & Potential of a Young Mind


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I had an awesome, funny, and very telling conversation about the future of our society with my 14-year old nephew this evening. We were talking about the STAAR test he took this past Monday. He held strong opinions about the subject matter of his essay questions.

Him: They had stupid topics. It was just so frustrating.

Me: What were the topics?

Him: What is friendship? And, what is courage beyond courage?

Me: (Reserving all opinions based on my own experiences. He’s 14 and still learning these concepts.) Why are they stupid topics?

Him: “Because you have to be literal.” They don’t want you to be conceptual.

Me: (Laughing hysterically on the inside and outside, because he says what I am thinking. At 14, these concepts are so limited by age and experience.) So, what is friendship to you?

Him: Bonding and honesty. I mean, we were friends last year and we’re still friends. I play Xbox at your house sometimes and we have sleepovers.

Me: Well, at your age I imagine that is friendship. You will view it differently 15 years from now, but today, “that’s a great answer”.

Him: Why didn’t they ask about immigration or something? “That’s a real topic I could have written six paragraphs about.

Me: (So proud, he’s thinking! And, that’s more than I can say for a lot of adults.)

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