Why Do We Write

Lately I have been reading Shakespeare for ideas and listening to Beethoven as a atmosphere for my daily writings. I find atmosphere can have a great impact on writing, as well as how long its been since my last cold shower. 


So, for the third time in a row, I start my post off with some Shakespeare.

Since brass, nor stone, nor earth, nor boundless sea,
But sad mortality o'er-sways their power,
How with this rage shall beauty hold a plea,
Whose action is no stronger than a flower?
O, how shall summer's honey breath hold out
Against the wreckful siege of battering days,
When rocks impregnable are not so stout,
Nor gates of steel so strong, but Time decays?
O fearful meditation! where, alack,
Shall Time's best jewel from Time's chest lie hid?
Or what strong hand can hold his swift foot back?
Or who his spoil of beauty can forbid?
O, none, unless this miracle have might,
That in black ink my love may still shine bright.

(Feel free to read with a dictionary, if the 15th century English troubles you.)


This poem is very similar to his Sonnet 116, which has for a long time been my favorite among Shakespeare's sonnets. Now on with the topic of this article:


Why do we write? 


In poetry it is possible to make something beautiful out of pain. To make something that, at least in Shakespeare's case, is truly undying. It is a way to bring light to darkness.


To create a monument of suffering, pain, virtue, truth, love, beauty and their connection. "That in black ink my love may still shine bright," Shakespeare said. 


That in pain love may still reign eternal, that is the reason for this writing. Shakespeare with his sonnets and his plays; Rumi with his poems of love for God; Poe in Stories like Eleonora and poems like Annabel Lee.

And neither the angels in heaven above,
          Nor the demons down under the sea,
    Can ever dissever my soul from the soul
          Of the beautiful Annabel Lee.

 Love is the reason for writing.

For Lack of a Muse

It's much easier for me to write after a day of not doing very much than after a day spent actively and with friends. Unfortunately for my blogging, this is summer break, and my priorities aren't exactly all about coming up with excellent articles.

Hey, I'm not exactly getting paid, am I?

Writing requires a step back. I once wrote a the lines: "so step back with me and see; seven billion lost people; living out their live's in a dream." ~Seven Billion Lost People

This is indeed the best mind set for writing. One must be far enough away from the situation for the creative juices to start flowing. Sometimes I find I'm perfectly happy in my current situation and I don't want to step away from it.

This is only part of the problem. The other is summed up pretty well by Shakespeare.

Where art thou, Muse, that thou forget'st so long
To speak of that which gives thee all thy might?
Spend'st thou thy fury on some worthless song,
Darkening thy power to lend base subjects light?
Return, forgetful Muse, and straight redeem
In gentle numbers time so idly spent;
Sing to the ear that doth thy lays esteem
And gives thy pen both skill and argument.
Rise, resty Muse, my love's sweet face survey,
If Time have any wrinkle graven there;
If any, be a satire to decay,
And make Time's spoils despised every where.
Give my love fame faster than Time wastes life;
So thou prevent'st his scythe and crooked knife.

Where art thou, Muse? A muse is an inspiration. It can be a person, or any random stimulus.  Right now I'm not feeling much. I feel as though I'm dragging out this post, slowly and painfully. My heart is not in it.

"What does it feel like not to open?" I remember Bhakti saying.

I feel mostly empty. Not bad, just empty.

I'm talking to a friend, but what I'm saying to him isn't what I would say here. To him I can say exactly what's going on, here I'm limited to emotions I'm feeling.

The emotion happens to be emptiness, and that doesn't bode well for a 300 word article.

I'm out.  

Who is Silvia? What is she?

Who is Silvia? what is she,
    That all our swains commend her?
Holy, fair, and wise is she;
    The heaven such grace did lend her,
That she might admirèd be.
Is she kind as she is fair?
    For beauty lives with kindness.
Love doth to her eyes repair,
    To help him of his blindness;
And, being helped, inhabits there.
Then to Silvia let us sing,
    That Silvia is excelling;
She excels each mortal thing
    Upon the dull earth dwelling;
To her let us garlands bring

~William Shakespeare, "Who is Silvia?"

Today I will pose a question. I will not give you the answer. I would, if I knew it, but I don't. Hence my asking of this question.

What is beauty? 

Think about that for a second. Answers will come to your head, if you think about them, you will most probably turn them down. 

Youth? Maybe with people, but certainly other things in nature can be beautiful without youth. In a barren, stark way sometimes, but beauty is there. And besides, even with people, not all young people are beautiful, and what of Walt Whitman's famous verse, "Beautiful Women?"

Women sit or move to and fro, some old, some young,
The young are beautiful--but the old are more beautiful than the young.

Purity? Purity is a broad category. To many subjects it may seem difficult to even notions of purity. If taken in it's quintessence, then perhaps we are getting closer to our answer, but is it not a type of purity that is the beauty of youth? That un-corrupted naivety?


Before we continue with our quest, let me make it clear I am not talking about simple aesthetic beauty, for what is considered aesthetically pretty changes a great deal even in a hundred years. I am attempting to get to the root of this principle.


I am starting to run dry. Love? Devotion? Kindness? Both are contributing factors, surely, but still seem not to reach the essential concept that allows us to use the word "Beauty" when describing so many different things.


Also consider that I am primarily a visual thinker, so in this blog post I only discussed visual beauty. Ponder how it pertains to music and other media forms as well.

Leave your answer in the comments section below.

Is there not beauty in old age as well as youth? ©Benjamin Goss

Is there not beauty even in a barren landscape? ©Bruce Percy

Life and Death? Is there not beauty in both? ©Unexpectedtales

Heart and Soul

The post I wrote on blogging two days ago started a discussion among my Grandmother, my Mom, and my sister. My post talked of point of view, on how your mood when writing an article affects your choice of person. They quickly got into a discussion on how, while second person is better for “How To” articles, first person is better for expressions of one’s feelings.

Although this is a completely valid point, one that goes along with the point I raised in my post “The Trouble with Blogging,” I started to get annoyed. A few of my poems are written in second person, and I took what they said personally.

I reacted rather strongly, “This is what I don’t like about blogging, people always want to change everything to suit themselves. Why don’t you just start blogs of your own?”

Later my grandma said I shouldn’t have taken it so personally. I pondered that for a while.

When I write a poem, I put my heart and soul in their entirety into it. It is as much a part of me as my arms or legs. The most painful part of blogging will always be that people may unknowingly take it cheaply. And it isn’t their fault, for they don’t know what it is to put yourself, all of yourself, into such a simple median, a few paragraphs, a sonnet. Something that is so prone to flaws or grammar and spelling.

Perhaps even I didn’t realize how much I put into those poems until now. When someone talks of my poetry, or even something unknowingly related with my poetry, I can’t help but take it personally.

The moral of the story? There are a few. Don’t take anyone’s work cheaply, especially if you know what it can feel like. Accept your lessons and move on, learn from them and don’t try to blame others, seek to understand them.

And keep writing. Always keep putting your Heart and Soul in, every single time.

Welcome to New Mexico

I have to make sure I keep thinking of this as fun - something I'm doing because I want to, not as an obligation, if I'm going to manage to write daily for the next 30 days. I'm not used to having to write this often, I usually write once a week or less and it all turns out fine. I can only hope this does too. 


As a hobbyist writer, I write when I'm inspired to write, and that's it. I don't have a job where I am expected to publish articles by deadlines. I never plan to, either.


My writing, and especially my poetry, have always been something of a personal journey for me. Something I like to share with the readers of my self titled blog, Balaram Briant, but that I do on my own time, privately. I can't even write poetry without a muse. Believe me, I've tried.


I guess this is what makes it hard for me to write in front of others, under pressure. My mind refuses to go into the reflective, meditative space that allows me to write what I do. I have no problem sharing my finished work, however.


I started this blog separately because I'm frankly worried of ruining the not so bad name of my main blog with ill inspired posts.  This project should help me to write better for my other blog in the long term, but for now this is my New Mexico for nuclear experiments.


It will be a challenge to fully open up my heart everyday, I'm no saint so it won't be pretty. 


Maybe you want to get to know someone you didn't before, or maybe you'll just get caught up in these 30 moments. I you wish, you can share the journey with me. I hope you like the desert.