My name is Joy, and I love to write.
Why poetry, here? Because poetry uplifts its writer, and if she is lucky enough, her readers, too. Around us, so many objects abound to write about. Once a poet starts with a smallest, most trivial object, he shall discover that his pen will spill out what is most delicate or most majestic hidden inside him. Since the classics sometimes dealt with lofty subjects with a lofty language, a person with poetry in his soul may incline to emulate that. That is understandable. Poetry does that to a person: it enlarges the soul and gives it wings. Yet, to really soar, a poet needs to take off from the ground.
Daily Cascade
Since my old blog "Everyday Canvas " became overfilled, here's a new one. This new blog item will continue answering prompts, the same as the old one.
Cool water cascading to low ground
To spread good will and hope all around.
It's great that gardening does so much to refresh and sustain your spirit. For me, it's classical music (mostly); a 'black thumb' barely begins to describe my "skill" with plants.
The narrator considers that all Fridays are unlucky because of religious beliefs related to Jesus' crucifixion and links to witchcraft. The superstition of Friday the 13th relates to Judas as the 13th guest at the Last Supper and the Knights Templar's downfall. The author prefers Sundays for fewer scam calls and hopes for better regulation.
I enjoyed reading the history of Friday the 13th. I'm always impressed by the day when I think of it, but then I tend to forget and carry on as usual. I don't think anything unforeseen has ever happened to me on Friday the 13th. Unless something happens today.....
Prompt:
Have fun with these four cliche phrases and these four words--- I smell a rat, a lone wolf, a bite at the cherry, a cut below, essential, notion, passion and knock!
Only Courage
“I smell a rat,” I said at dawn,
when the sky became
a pale-blue *notion of
what it meant to begin again.
In the hallway of my *essential days,
where doubt would *knock
I stood as “a lone wolf”
by habit,
but not by heart.
Perhaps, I feared this chance
was only “a bite at the cherry,”
one brief sweetness...then,
the stem went bare
and I called myself “a cut below,”
measuring my worth
against louder voices,
brighter rooms,
fancy people,
but you had seen my *passion
and how it lifts the ordinary
into something fierce
and shining.
There is no rat here tonight, only courage,
and the steady rhythm
of my knuckles that *knock
and knock again
until your door opens
to my light.
Prompt: "I have experienced almost mystical moments of awareness when I have been alone in nature that might foreshadow the sort of heaven I like to imagine. "
Jane Goodall
Write about this in your Blog entry today.
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Beyond ordinary perception, were the words that stuck out inside my mind when I first saw this quote.
In a way, Jane Goodall's words suggest spirituality, but hers is some deeply personal and quiet kind of spirituality, not necessarily tied to doctrine and religion. I think this is because, for her, heaven is not of golden gates or choirs of angels and such, but a heightened state of awareness that can be experienced in nature.
She is not just seeing the trees, sky, water or anything else, but feeling them. Such an insight softens the lines between self and her surroundings. Goodall, in such moments, feels a sense of connection, peace and clarity that is more important than her "self." And this feels "sacred."
As such, one can deduct that heaven is not a distant idea or sight but the extension of earthly moments of awareness. From this point of view, heaven is less about location but more about our consciousness.
Did I ever feel this way, I ask myself, now. Yes, more or less or similarly, at times. Yet, in my case, I need the absolute quiet. Where I live I used to feel similar feelings as ours used to be a very quiet neighborhood with houses and their large-enough yards, until my nextdoor neighbor adopted another dog a few years ago. As much as I love dogs, this little white-furred sprite of a thing can't stop his nonstop barking, like right now, too, and it is distracting. So, I think, maybe I should be trying to figure out what the dog keeps saying all the time. Possibly, I can find some clarity in this dog's nonstop outbursts, too. But peace, I don't believe so. Still, he's part of nature, isn't he!
Coming back to Jane Goodall's words, I don't know if her views are shared by all of us, but they can be available to us, too, when and if we can stay still. That is, still enough to truly notice the messages of nature.
Prompt: Write about shamrocks in your Blog entry today.
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Shamrocks! Am I right to think that you mean the bright green clovers, often associated with Ireland and St. Patrick's Day?
If so, although most shamrocks have three leaves, the four-leaf clover is what I am going to write about, today. Maybe because I like things that are a bit different and hopefully more advanced.
Science, however, says that the fourth leaf on the clover is a mutation, and that's why it is uncommon. Still, because it is uncommon, finding one feels so special, as if almost coming across a tiny secret.
I bet this is because we humans have always tried to give meaning to nature. I remember pressing flowers into my note-books when I was a teen. Unfortunately, I never found a shamrock, to the best of my memory, during that time.
Yet, I found one many years later. This may just be because good things appeared when I least expected them. Perhaps that real luck isn't in the plant itself. It's in the moment of discovery, the noticing, and the believing. Maybe the fact is, luck has something more to do with attention.
Prompt: Writing Prompts
Do you like writing prompts? If so, what do you like about them and which kinds of writing prompts inspire you the most?
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I don't just like writing prompts, but I really, truly love them. Without them, I'd be flailing about on what to write.
I try to write to all kinds of prompts. At this time, however, there are only three of us giving out the prompts in Blog City. This is fine because I'm sure we all try to send interesting enough questions to our bloggers.
I don't write with other blogging groups because I want to concentrate on one idea per day, since when I have the time, I like to give it enough attention. Mostly, when I write, I don't just answer the question, but I stretch my answers toward the ideas the question incites that also interest me.
Surely, I wouldn't like to write too much against or for something too strongly, even if I have my own stance and choices. This is because I made my blog mostly public and I don't want to hurt other people with what I may say.
This, my middle-of-the-road way of writing, may also be the result of my two sons' conflicting stances. Case in point, one of them is on the extreme right politically, while the other is on the extreme left on everything, and over the years, I learned to walk the line in between them. Believe me, that wasn't easy. And as difficult as everything became with the ai, which companies usually botch up--and I don't mean WdC's going through a revival here--my middle-of-the-road stance with my sons has always felt the most difficult.
See, that's why I love blogging. From prompts, I could jump to my sons, to ai, and to what is difficult or not.
All this is because I take prompts as suggestions and I feel free to write whatever comes as a result. Some days, I'm more thoughtful, others frivolous. But that's okay. After all, to me, writing is playing.
Prompt: Art
Write about art's influence on people. What is it about art that changes and inspires people?
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Talking about visual arts alone,I have two cousins who are true artists. Plus, at one time or another, I tried my hand at painting and even worked with a local artist, Mr. Cardiff, semi-famous at the time; he used to work in NY City and did illustrations for several magazines. But that was once upon a time. After Mr. Cardiff passed away, during sometime in late 20th century, I think early 1980's, I stopped painting. So, I can easily say art had influence on me, since my family has had several artists during the several decades of my lifetime and the last couple of centuries.
Why is art so impressive on us people, then? I think it is because art can reach the parts of us that logic alone cannot handle. Art makes us see and be seen. It gives shape to our private emotions, and while doing that, it heals our hurts. It reassures us that our fears, longings, griefs, or joys are also shared by some others.
I can easily say that art has inspired me by showing me possibilities, transformation, and beauty in everywhere and especially in overlooked places. Surely this can be said about all arts, too. In my case, even as a young person, art made me understand that the world may not be fixed and that it can be reimagined. Maybe it is that mystery in art that talks to imagination rather than demanding approval or agreement.
Art, in any area--be in the visual arts, in music, or literature--has certainly offered me something almost spiritual, something inward. I know it moved me. And possibly, what moved me, shaped me.
Prompt: Fantasy World
Do you have a favorite fantasy world such as from a book, movies or maybe, a game? Describe such a world or describe our world the way you wish it to be.
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Truth is, the way I see it, our world seems like a dark fantasy, today. Still, it may gain its light again. I'm crossing my fingers for that to happen. Certainly, the difference between “reality” and “fantasy” is often not magic itself, but how we see and shape what is possible. So there's hope. There has to be hope.
Inside that hope is the technology; although at this stage, I fear it, and at times, I'm at a loss in using it. Yet, one day we may be able to heal diseases with light, grow cities that float, or travel beyond our solar system as easily as we cross oceans today. Even if, our world may never grow dragon wings or have crystal towers overnight, surely, our imagination and wonder will take us far.
Anyhow, I think, if we chose creativity, art, and storytelling as central structures, and not side luxuries, our cities might be built not only for function but also for beauty.
Then the real magic in any fantasy isn't those spells but the courage, loyalty, sacrifice, and transformation, with kindness becoming natural and ordinary. So, I'm going to imagine that: Our forests will no longer shrink but will be restored and growing. Cities will not only be of stone and glass, but also will flourish together with living plants and trees and transportation will be efficient but will not pollute the air. Since we'll have healed them, the oceans will be sparkling clean.
As to us humans, our children will learn dream-craft in addition to the curriculum, so they can invent, imagine, and design their future. The elderly will become wisdom-keepers and not sidelined as excess baggage.
I certainly believe that magic is not in wands and spells but in reality. In this reality, magic can be :
* A cure for a once-incurable disease.
* A device that translates any language instantly.
* Energy drawn cleanly from sun and wind.
* Loneliness reduced because connection will be effortless.
Looking from a different angle, I believe our world is a fantasy world, even now, this minute, if we choose to see it that way. Just watch it: The Aurora Borealis is already like sorcery. Deep-sea life and its creatures already look far-out and invented. Then, doesn't a newborn’s heartbeat already feel like a miracle?
Maybe the question isn’t if this world can become a fantasy world, but if we are willing to participate in its transformation for the better.
It may just be possible. In any case, I think so. I hope so!
Prompt:
Have fun with this sentence-- Excitement replaced fear until the final moment. Poem or story, it's your entry!
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Diving
Mist hovered low
as if the morning
was holding
its breath,
while I stood at the edge of the dock,
my toes curled over splintered wood,
with water stretching before me
like a sheet of quiet glass.
Deep water? What's to be afraid of
but I was...always...of
what I couldn't see
of what might pull me under
in the way a surface hides secrets
like life.
Behind me, I imagined a whisper
"You don't have to do this!"
But what of the times I didn't dare
what of the times I stepped back?
Ahead, the water shimmered
daring me in blue and silver
and my heart knocked against
my ribs, but
not today
"Let caution write its own story."
First step...the hardest...
a shift of weight
the second was easier
like the promise to myself
Then, I ran!
Excitement replaced my fear
and the water rose to meet me
alive, cold, shocking
and I broke through it...
And Wow! I was newly born
surfacing
euphoric...
and I gasped
and grinned at the mist
that was lifting
and at the water still deep
still unknown and unconquered
But so was I.
--------- True story! Although at my age, I don't dive anymore.
Prompt:
Have fun with these ten words: wording, leash, soak, stock, platform, grandmother, plane, eternal, inspector, and February.
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Further ThanDeparture
My *grandmother sat beside me,
her house-dress smelling faintly
of lavender and love.
“Travel,” she said, “and
let the world *soak into you.
Don’t just pass through it.”
So, on a gray morning, one *February,
I stood on the *platform,
my ticket folded like a secret in my glove,
and the loudspeaker’s *wording
blurred into the crowd,
his each syllable trailing off, as if
loose cash in careless hands.
A distant *plane carved a silver line
through the pale, uncertain sky, while below,
the newsstand displayed its *stock of headlines
and heartbreak, while an *inspector paced
the edge of the yellow line,
measuring time with polished shoes
and a narrowed gaze.
I felt something *eternal stirring,
not in the engines’ roar
or in the timetable’s strict command,
but in my grandmother's steady soul
having my back, her words though
so far away now, guiding me forward
without a *leash, trusting that
I would come up with truths
to have them *soak into people
better than tears with their *wording
further than departure, and love
no inspector could tally,
and no grief could freeze.
Prompt:
Write about your dream garden for your Blog entry today.
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I am not sure, today, if I can dream of a fancy garden with winding paths and what not, but once, I had a garden I still dream about.
I had it until I came down with severe and incurable plant and weed allergies, the worst being of ragweed that was totally incurable as the allergists claimed. The allergists also banned me from any garden work; therefore, soon after all that, we moved to Florida where, at the time, ragweed didn't exist.
Once upon a time, however, when we lived in LI, NY, in the back of the house was its two-acre yard. I still dream of that backyard, inside which were seven apple trees, plus a couple of pear trees. Then, I fenced an open space for a rose garden in which I put in 55 bushes. Why 55? It just happened that way. I wasn't planning it. Some days, in spring and summer, after all the yard work was done, I'd go sit in the middle of the rose garden and read.
Behind the rose garden on the same opening, I had fenced in another vegetable garden. My sons who were quite young, then, called it, "Mom's Victory Garden," after its bountiful produce, possibly because of a popular garden show on TV, at the time.
Around the house were many tall oak and maple trees and it was really shady there. So, I put a hammock in between two adjacent trees and that became my fall place for resting while I watched the colors of autumn everywhere.
Truth is, I don't know if this can be called a dream garden, but it was where I felt the happiest. The place was serene and the three sides of the backyard were separated from the neighbors' yards by thick bushes and trees.
I think a dream garden is not only about plants. It is about memory and hope and sanctuary. That type of a garden lives and breathes as if it is human.
The most famous gardens have grandeur, artistry, and vision. I am not sure if the ancient Hanging Gardens of Babylon truly existed or not, or if I would find the same serenity in a famous Japanese garden or even in Monet's garden, which I had found in my then backyard-garden.
To me, that not so fancy and not professionally cultivated garden of mine's memory still feels as if a dream I once had. It was where I lived the beauty without any concern for displaying it.
Prompt: Have you ever had a nickname? Write about this in your Blog entry today.
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I don't think I ever had a nickname that became popular. My older son used to call me, "Anniee, Nanniee!" when he was a baby. Later, I became "Mom!" Then, other people called me with adjectives, all good, every now and then, but nothing really stuck.
My family I grew up in, they never used nicknames, which could be another reason. We all were who we were to one another. I guess none of us preferred an alternative to our real names. One of my uncles who was a schoolteacher was very much against nicknames, saying nicknames would alienate people to themselves. Maybe he had something to do with it, who knows!
I think nicknames are okay, especially for the ones with very long first names. Then, this which I vaguely recall, was when my friend Charlotte was called Shar. She truly hated it, and therefore, that didn't stick, either..
I guess nicknames are used to show affection and intimacy, and for very long names, they are convenient. My family, especially the extended part of it, was very friendly and affectionate without nicknames. So, I didn't really feel the absence of a nickname.
Prompt:
"Everything existing in the universe is the fruit of chance and necessity."
Democritus
Is existence as simple as the result of chance and necessity? What do you think?
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I don't know why but the word fruit first got my attention when I first saw this quote. Not that I'm hungry either
Why fruit, I ask myself, was so suggestive? After a thought or two, I came to the conclusion that fruit implies growth, development, and unfolding. It hints at process rather than being static. Even if chance and necessity are the soil and sunlight of existence, what grows from them is always iffy.. Ask me! I've tried to propagate new rosebushes, but only at times with success, from cuttings when I had a rose garden, a few decades ago. No rosebush that grew was 100% like its parent bush.
As such, there is always novelty in the world. Even our children are rarely like us. This means future is not fully scripted, and so unlike playing a role on stage.
Yet, this is only in one sense. This is because existence is not so simple as if it happens from a chance of physical processes that we all live through. It contains consciousness, moral awareness, creativity, longing, suffering, love and loss.
Our existence, it seems to me, is in our interpretation of it, mostly. It is in the stories we tell to ourselves and others, the values we hold openly or hidden, and the love and other emotions we feel. For example, a chance meeting between two people, sometimes, might lead to a lifelong bond. Chemistry and probability may describe how it happened, but do those fully explain what it means to the two people involved? I don't think so.
I think this may be because complex systems like human beings often have many sides to them, properties you may say, that are different than their components. It is so in nature, too. Water is a very different thing from the hydrogen and oxygen that makes it. In the same way with us humans, our lives, cultures we come in contact with, and our individual experiences make us grow in different directions from our parents.
So, even though the quote sounds correct at first glance, I must question its simplicity. This is because I also think there are factors for existence, other than chance and necessity, we may not be truly aware of; huge factors like a higher being or a higher order that we cannot wrap our little minds around.
Now that I've sounded like my philosophy teacher in high school, I think, I'll go get a piece of fruit from the fridge. An apple, maybe.
Prompt: Food
“Pull up a chair. Take a taste. Come join us. Life is so endlessly delicious.”
Ruth Reichl
In what ways are food and life connected, and why is food so important that it takes so much of our time?
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I think how we eat mirrors and enhances how we live. That's why, even when I'm eating alone, I make a big deal of it. I pause in thanks, for example-before the first bite, no matter how simple or lavish the food is. This is because food marks time, and because of that thought, each meal I turn into a small ritual. This steadies me, as if this could be my last meal. I guess, life needs markers, and without ritual, life blurs. With it, I express gratitude and create meaning for myself.
As to what the quote implies, I believe Ruth Reichl is saying that food and eating together creates belonging. She means, few things bring people together as naturally as a shared meal. This is why weddings, funerals, holidays, and ordinary weekends revolve around tables. As loneliness is often eased by the simple act of sharing food, such a connection comforts and nourishes us as much as the edibles and calories do.
About the preparation of food taking time, of course, it does. Good things rarely happen instantly. Vegetables must be peeled and cut. Dough must rise. Stews must simmer. This is partly because what we eat often reflects who we are. It points to our heritage, beliefs, geography, and even our values. Recipes passed down through generations preserve the stories of people in our families, their hardship, joys, celebrations, and above all, resilience.
Just as we inherit traditions, we also choose what to keep, adapt, or let go. My sons are surprised when I eat cured black olives at breakfast, as they were my grandmother's favorite breakfast food. And likewise, life, same as cooking, blends the old with the new.
After all, food is one of the most universal languages. It is a container for remembrances. It is identity on a plate. It is memory in motion. In a way, it becomes like life itself; fragile, fleeting, and deeply sustaining, be it solitary or hopefully communal.
Prompt: Babies
“Dogs have owners, cats have staff, and babies have room service.”
Nanette L Avery
What is your take on this quote as to what makes babies so lovable?
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Well, to begin with, babies are cute. With big eyes, round cheeks, small noses, tiny chins, they awaken our protectiveness and tenderness. This may be because they are also totally helpless, totally sincere, and totally eager to learn about our world they have been brought into.
Also, a baby is a beginning, a potential with future. If we didn't care for them, babies wouldn't survive. They are clueless about their environment and even their own needs. And they have no hidden motives. Their expressions are honest. They cry for an immediate need. They laugh out of pure, whole-hearted joy.
In my case, holding my babies, feeling their soft skin, hearing their breathing, their smiles, smelling their scent were the most rewarding experiences in my life. Even today, with my sons in their fifties, for a split second when I look at them, I still feel those rewarding experiences and think how wonderful it is that my babies, once so small and helpless, could turn into such grown, thoughtful, and wonderful human beings.
Happy Valentine's Day.
Prompt: Write your entry using the words: red, candy, cupid, flowers and Hallmark.
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February Fourteenth, Alone
This morning opened quietly
no knock at my door, nor his laughter
drifting to me like the light...
no more...except the calendar was
whispering in all shades of *red,
inside my shadowy room.
I recall him bringing towers of *candy
stacked like promises, with hearts
wrapped in shiny foil, as if
he wanted to seal his sweetness
after he was gone and his laughter, too,
warmer than our fireplace.
Yet, I smile and think *Cupid must be
busy today, as my neighbor has received *flowers,
roses mostly, and I saw this while watering
the Cordylines, plants for good luck,
in the front yard, which he had put in
with *Hallmark declarations.
So, in a while, I'll unwrap a single piece
of candy, and taste its sweetness slowly
and I'll watch my own rose bush in
the back of the house, how its buds can
open, even when alone, petal by petal,
toward the light.
Not really. I rarely go to a grocery store or a supermarket, lately. I have some of my groceries delivered, instead. The fresh produce, my son picks up and brings to me.
I haven't heard of or experienced any shortages in my area during winter months, so far. During the summer, though, just before a hurricane, the shelves are usually laid bare. That's why during the earlier summer months, I overdo my shopping by buying more of the stuff that can stay out a day or two without refrigeration.
That said, sometimes, a popular item or two gets taken off the shelves due to some contamination or a company going out of business. But there are always some other items that can replace the missing item.
I checked the link, btw, but as usual with MSN and some other news companies, the piece doesn't mention any specific thing that is disappearing, but it seems to be just an attention-getting off-the-cuff news.
I only hope our economy picks up faster and better and we have no shortages anywhere, whatsoever.
Prompt: What fictional character would you choose for your Valentine?
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Wow! I can't even choose! I think I'll have something like an army of them. Well, why not? In some places, men used to have harems, didn't they? I bet, today, at least some men still dream of that...
So, I'll try to go by something age-related, here. My first valentine could have been Jack, the one who climbed the beanstalk. As a kid, I was in awe of high climbers. But Jack had to compete with Tom Sawyer, at a later time. I especially liked Tom's kindness toward Huckleberry Finn. Now, Huckleberry is a character all by himself, and possibly someone, a certain one of my dearest cousins would go for , considering her choices of the feisty men with inner struggles.
Let's go a few years forward. In my teens and late teens I was mesmerized by Dostoyevsky. So there was Prince Myshkin, my favorite of all time, the Idiot. I think, freaked by my adoration for the Idiot, someone out there or up in heaven must have taken a pity on me because my husband was not an idiot, but he was just as soft and caring. As was George Emerson in “A Room with a View” by E.M. Forster. There is a pureness in George. He is true to himself and doesn't fool around to believe it is love.
Yet, to this day, that Dostoyevsky's Idiot takes the front row and first and foremost admired male leading character for me; however, there are many others in the lineup. Let me just mention a few of them by name. Luke Skywalker, Sam Spade, Arsène Lupin, Dr. Leonard McCoy ( Star Trek), the Fool in King Lear, Kilgore Trout (who I think represents Kurt Vonnegut's psyche) and several more.
Okay, now that I've named names that I could barely recall due to my flailing old-age brain, I think I'll still attend Cinderella's Ball with the Idiot. See ya!
Prompt: The Winter Olympics. Are you watching The Winter Olympics? What do you like about them? Write about this in your Blog entry today.
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I'm not watching The Winter Olympics or much TV, at all. I only watch the news for a few minutes while I have supper. Yet, this wasn't always so.
I sometimes used to watch the Olympics with my late husband, but not anymore. Partly because, speaking for myself, I am not an athlete, and also, I have little respect for the Olympics in general. While they encourage individual accomplishments, historically speaking, they've also served to create and add to conflicts and disputes among nations.
This started probably after World War 1 when the losing nations weren't allowed to participate in 1920 Antwerp games in Belgium. Later, during World War 2, Olympic Games were canceled until after the war. Then, in my lifetime, my first disappointment came about with Jimmy Carter's boycotting the games because of the Russian invasion of Afghanistan. I can still feel bad about our athletes who had trained so hard at the time only to find out that they weren't allowed to attend the games to represent the USA.
So, then and now, I believe, no matter what happens in the world or among nations, the Olympic Games should be sacrosanct.
Well, they aren't. That they aren't doesn't make them international, does it?
It is understandable when a country may not have enough means to train athletes for the games, and thus it may not participate, but the idea of boycotting for politics annoys me big time. The only real excuse I can think of is North Korea's canceling participation at the 2020 Summer games, which was because of Covid. Not that I like North Korea or anything, quite the contrary, but theirs was a legitimate reason, the way I saw it.
Olympic games should be for all nations in the world. They are to serve and encourage excellence, respect, and friendship. They are meant to inspire generations through athletes' stories.
This is because, in essence, they are for the people of the world. This is because they can be crucial for promoting global unity, cultural exchange, and peace by bringing nations together in friendly competition, and bridging divides.
Yet, unfortunately, they can't! And because they can't, their meaning is lost to me.
"Love makes your soul crawl out from its hiding place."
Zora Neale Hurston
Now that Valentine's Day is near, what do you think real love is?
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I think real love is honesty and it doesn't demand perfection. It asks the soul to crawl out of hiding and bring its vulnerability with it, in full force. It is as if saying, "This is who I really am. Will you accept me as I am and stay?" I know this is not easy to show or say clearly, but it is possible, especially if a person is not a control freak.
Expressing this, all sides in us as we know them and that we are okay with not controlling the situation, is not easy; however, it is liberating. This is because it doesn't seek judgment but recognition. How wonderful it is that someone sees you as you are, fully, and does not run away!
This is not, however, the dramatic way songs, movies, and stories often portray love wrongly. They rarely show this kind of a genuine openness. True love may be quieter and more steady than that generalized idea they try to impress on people.
Yet, when you really think about it, true love may not be dramatic, but it is much more demanding.
Much more demanding because such sincerity gets rid of any fake performances, but gives importance to our existing and being as we are.
Someone who hides his or her own soul and ways, possibly for years, can learn through true love that the world is safe now. He or she can step forward and be as he or she is. I am not saying that, with this sincerity and openness, old wounds can disappear immediately. Yet, they become easier to face and carry, since now, there is another person who understands them, also, just as well. In addition, fear and self-doubt can shrink too, even if these are not erased totally.
Personally speaking, I feel very lucky to have found such an understanding person in my late husband. He was a psychiatrist, and at times, I have wondered if that had something to do with his total acceptance of me. But then, while I was speaking to my sister-in-law a few days ago, she told me a few incidences between her brother and her, and how understanding he was to her needs, even when they were both children. She thought this was because he was five years older than her. I think that age difference and his being a big brother may have had little to do with it. I really think it was him, who he always was. As he was always the way he was. He was a gem.
Prompt:
"...Auras, Davey. I see them, too. The longer you stare at them, the wider the energy field expands until more colors begin to show themselves.”
Christina Westover, The Man Who Followed Jack Kerouac
What is your take on human energy fields, sometimes called auras?
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If I ever say I can see auras, I'd be lying big time. When this idea first surfaced several decades ago, I pushed myself to see the aura of anything by squinting real hard. I could only see a slight colorless thin layer, something that's like when one looks into a fire or light bulb and sees it a thin layer of colorless light shimmering around it.
Yet, some spiritual, metaphysical, and holistic traditions claim that there exist subtle layers of colored light or vibration surrounding the human body. Seriously, who am I to argue with such traditions! Well, I looked it up.
It seems the word aura is an energy field extending a few inches to several feet from the body. So right now, I looked around my own arm. Yes, there is something there but I can see only about a millimeter of it, a colorless something, and it probably shows the heat rising from my body.
So I checked what aura really is, only to find out that modern science does not currently recognize a measurable energy field around humans in the way some traditions describe. Yet, weak though they may be, the human body does produce real electromagnetic signals from the heart, brain, and nerves, which can be measured with medical equipment like ECGs and EEGs. Just electrical fields though, mind you!
According to what I could find, that is proven, is that "no reliable scientific evidence has shown that emotions or personality traits manifest as visible colored fields outside the body." So, could this be eye fatigue? But then, science is known to fall behind human experiences.
Who sees the auras, in that case? According to what I read, energy healers or Reiki practitioners, mystics or spiritual teachers, and psychics or clairvoyants.
Still, I think just the idea of auras and being able to see and read them must be a lot of fun, if not an eye-opener that science hasn't understood...yet.
What most spiked my curiosity were the colors people claimed they were seeing around living beings. So, here's a list of colors that is said to exist in auras.
*Red: Energy, passion, courage. Strong will or physical vitality. Sometimes linked to anger or stress when intense or dark.
*Orange:Creativity, enthusiasm, sociability. Emotional expression/ Can suggest restlessness if muddy or dull.
*Yellow: Optimism, intellect, confidence. Curiosity and learning. Bright yellow often means clarity or joy.
*Green:Healing, compassion, growth. Balance and nurturing tendencies. Darker greens may be interpreted as jealousy or insecurity.
*Blue:Calmness, communication, intuition. Peaceful or spiritual outlook. Deep blue is often associated with wisdom.
*Purple orViolet: Spiritual awareness, imagination. Sensitivity and psychic development. Artistic or visionary qualities.
*Pink: Love, gentleness, affection. Emotional openness. Compassion and kindness.
*White: Purity, truth, spiritual clarity. Rarely claimed and often linked to advanced spiritual states.
*Gold: Enlightenment, higher consciousness. Inner peace or divine connection.
*Black or Gray: Blocked energy, fatigue, fear. Emotional heaviness or illness. Sometimes interpreted as protective boundaries
Possibly, these colors systems are symbolic. They may help people to reflect, meditate, or think they are gaining personal insight.
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