Spreading Beauty

I woke up early and decided to post to my blog. 

I don't blog regularly for several reasons, the chief of which is a professional writer named Karen Tintori told me a few years ago that if I wanted to be a serious writer to stay away from the blogs.  I agree.  That are some really good bloggers who should be channeling their efforts into writing books, etc. instead of putting big portions of their time into the "fast food" world of blogging. Over the years I've followed some of these bloggers who are extraordinarily good writers and some have either completely disappeared from the blogosphere or post very sparsely during the year.  

Social media has also killed the blog. It makes expression even more junk food like.  I follow some people on Twitter who also should be putting their time and effort into serious writing and not Tweeting several times a day.  What they have to say is too big, too eloquent, too serious for only social media.  

2013 I was very slack with my writing.  I only sent out a few poems hoping they'd be published in some poetry magazines.  I got rejected, but one literary journals' editor (African American Review) encouraged me to keep trying.  

School will be closing next Friday for summer vacation.  I hope this summer I will be able to send out more work, polish all of my poetry, and basically try to find my own particular voice as a writer and poet.  This week I just finished writing a short story with black characters which evolved into a story more suited to a young adult audience.  I've also started a historical short story that is set in the final years of Ottoman Turkey.  The idea for it came to me from something I read in a book by Alev Croutier. I've been writing this story invisibly, developing a lot of it in my mind like I did the short story I finished on Wednesday.  Some of it has been put down on paper, but since I've been working, I've done mainly mental writing thus far. I'm going to start rewriting and editing my other short story soon.  I'm anxious to get deep into my historical tale, however.  I can visualize the characters in my mind, and I'm really longing to develop them.  

Really what this post is about is not what is happening in my ordinary and sometimes boring life, but it is about a picture I saw posted on Twitter this week.  I'd seen the photo before when my Facebook account was open.  Someone Tweeted it, and said she had it saved to her phone.  I don't want to get in trouble for copyright infringement by posting the photo directly here so here's a link to it: click here.   

The first time I saw this photo of this African woman playing her cello alone the words and phrases that came to mind were "imprisoned but not an imprisoned mind," "spreading beauty in her own little corner," "happiness in the dust"  "ordinary & extraordinary," "spreading paradise among indifference", "alone but happy."  The photo touched me in so many ways.  

I played the violin for two years when I was in the 4th and 5th grades.  Dad had rented a violin for me. The music shop told him he could buy it eventually for me if he so decided.  I remember how I used to practice alone in my room in the terrible scratchy manner that kids do when they are trying to learn how to play a stringed instrument. I was in the school's orchestra long enough to play in one concert, but just before entering middle school I stopped.  My father offered to buy the violin if I kept practicing, but I made a very bad mistake out of fear.  I loved playing the violin. Everything about my instrument I loved from the bow to the case onward.  I had already been accused by my black classmates of speaking like a white person.  I was one of only a handful of black students in my school who were doing advanced level studies.   I also lived in the suburbs. My  neighborhood was the most affluent black area in town, with a populace of teachers, business people, and even a neighbor who was involved in city government.  So I had a lot going against me in my own group; I was an outsider trying to fit in back then.  Fearful that I would be picked on even more I told dad I didn't want to continue studying music and learning how to play.  I told mom I was scared that I would be picked on and called white or an "Uncle Tom."  It was intra-racial tyranny with my people when I was growing up and it still is so today.  Black culture like white American culture is almost completely anti-intellectual.  It's an entertainment and sports culture, but its' focus is on very low grade entertainment.  Things like violin playing is for white folks, and now even with a lot of white people anyone who is into higher culture is seen as a nerd or weird. 

 I feel sad sometimes after all these years that I wasn't brave enough at the time to not cave into to pressure.  I still regret my weakness and fear. I wish I'd had the rebellious spirit I do today.  Where might I be now with my violin?  I might be playing in a symphony orchestra somewhere in the world like the lady in the photo.  

Josephine Nsimba Mpongo in the photo who lives in the capital city of the Congo sales eggs during the day, but she doesn't limit herself to just a second-rate  life. She brings beauty to herself and others.  The culture we live in encourages everyone to reach for the lowest common denominator.  It wants everyone to be run of the mill, and most people fall for it.  They killed the humanities and arts and want everybody to just focus on money and technology.  I see so many people including children who are zombie like, just a wheel in the machine.  They have no imagination.  They are too afraid to reach beyond the few mediocre people in their lives or their imaginary celebrity friends that they will defend and protect faster than they would any family member. 

This is what we live in, but the woman in the photo has gone against the grain sitting perhaps in her yard fenced in, playing her cello, but I bet she is happy.  She is creating beauty in the dust, in the grime.  I really really love and honor people like that who dare to be different despite the dirt and insanity around them.  It's tough if you do, but it is far more rewarding than remaining trapped in the herd in the midst of ugliness.