I just returned from my first trip to Vegas. The fact that I'm even writing that sentence still surprises me. Las Vegas isn't a place I ever felt a great urge to visit - I don't gamble, I don't drink and I couldn't care less about "night life". I'm usually in bed by 10:30 and asleep an hour later. But when my husband decided to attend a three day conference there he invited me to come along for the ride and I accepted. I like to see new places, and I like to spend time with my husband, and the trip gave me opportunity to do both.
I also knew that the trip would allow me to do some "people watching" in a completely new setting. I was engaging in a sociological study - observing the reactions others had to "The Strip" while monitoring my own.
One of the very first things to strike me about the Vegas Strip is the sheer over-burdening of the senses that confronts the unsuspecting visitor. I knew there would be bright lights, but it never occurred to me that there would be so much noise and chaos. Music is piped in everywhere - the casinos, the shopping concourses and often on the streets. The casinos have a steady din of machines that make noise and people conversing and fuzzy music under all of it. People on the street call out to you constantly - wanting to know if you want tickets for a show or are willing to view time share opportunities or want "an escort". The casinos are smelly too - trying to disguise years of tobacco use in stale air with cloying scents of a floral or fruity nature. Vegas, my friends, engages in an unceasing assault on the senses, from the moment you arrive to the moment you leave.
Places like Vegas are designed to put all of your senses on high alert so that you won't be tempted to engage your brain. (Who would be tempted to drop wads of cash on gambling and alcohol if they took the time to think about how much they were spending?) The message Vegas sends out is clear - don't trouble your mind with pesky thoughts, just eat, drink and gamble! Give your brain a rest, but keep that wallet-reaching hand well exercised!
I began to miss my quiet contemplative moments quickly. The bright lights and constant buzz of the place became jarring to me, and by the end of my fourth day I was anxious to get home. (By the end of my fifth day I was downright cranky and jaded to boot.)
I know that for the tired and stressed this brain switch off experience may be exactly what the doctor ordered up as a dream vacation. Honestly, I can understand the short-term appeal of such a getaway. What saddens me is that there seems to be a subset of our culture who thrive on this sort of atmosphere. They want to turn off consciousness as often as possible. "Peace and quiet" are not appealing concepts to this crowd, who don't want to be burdened with deep thoughts or contemplation. Instead they are constantly rushing off in search of another thrill, another drink, another sexual exploit to satisfy their cravings. These are the people who have what I'll dub "the Vegas mindset"- bring on the lights and the noise, I don't want to think. They live their lives as empty vessels, waiting for some exciting new gratification to momentary fill them up. Silence and solitude scare them.
"Be still, and know that I am God."
We've all heard that phrase, but it could just as easily be "Be still and know that life is good." Life is not meant to be lived at breakneck pace, under neon lights and among jostling hoards. Life is not meant to be one sensory overload experience after another, but a series of small, important and often, (but not always) gratifying sensations and moments. Life is meant to be filled with pondering and questioning and periods of boredom and frustration that make us yearn for something meaningful. God may not enter the equation at all, but I believe we can never really know ourselves without submitting to periods of solitude and sometimes uncomfortable inner scrutiny.
When we stifle our minds and refuse to give them opportunities to work out our conscious and subconscious concerns there are negative consequences. While our thoughts define us, those things we refuse to think about may define us more. Much of what we need most in our lives is found in those moments of quiet and stillness when we let our subconscious thoughts off leash and examine what we fill our minds and hearts with.
Subconscious: (By Sharon Flood Kasenberg, November '07)
Feelings we'd prefer kept in -
born in sorrow, anger; sin,
unbeknownst to us sneak out
as resentment, fear and doubt.
Much that we would never say
manifests another way.
Untold secrets that we keep
haunt our dreams, if we find sleep.
Stirrings that we can't explain,
buried somewhere in the brain
unacknowledged, still compel -
motivating to excel
or perhaps abandon cause
as they magnify our flaws.
In our quest for self control
we ignore depths of the soul -
questions we have locked inside,
where our fears and wishes hide.
Answers that we haven't sought,
buried in subconscious thought
come to light from deepest shade,
when we ponder unafraid.
My urging to all is to not be afraid of those quiet, ponderous and even boring moments. Through those lulls we are invigorated and able to become attuned to the depths of our own souls, the answers to our questions and the GPS instructions that lead us on our individual quests. "Be still, and know..." Let your mind fill in the rest.
Still: (By Sharon Flood Kasenberg, June '06)
Still learning what's important
with every passing year -
still striving to overcome
all my irrational fear.
Still looking for some answers
to demystify the heart;
still hoping to find wisdom
that I might in turn impart.
Still of belief that charity
should be compelling force -
still urging all to action
while adhering us on course.
Still following my conscience,
but struggling with my will -
still contemplating wonders
as I'm learning to be still.
Tuesday 29 October 2013
Monday 7 October 2013
Finding My Voice! (By Sharon Flood Kasenberg)
My last post does have a title, and this post exists for the sole purpose of directing you to that post, which is in fact called "Finding My Voice". And because I'm not afraid to use my voice I'll complain once more about how blogspot never lets you change anything in the title line once you've hit "Post". If (like me) you make the mistake of prematurely hitting that button before you've titled your post, your post is destined to go untitled unless you get creative. So scroll down and enjoy reading!
Finding My Voice (By Sharon Flood Kasenberg)
My Voice: (Sharon Flood Kasenberg - January '07)
Somewhere between my head and heart
it seems I've found my voice -
a way to express love and fear,
share sorrows and rejoice.
I'm attempting to find balance
between feelings and thought
as cool logic tempers passions
that tend to run too hot,
my heart softens the sharp edges
of reasonableness;
with efficacious empathy
I might find words to bless.
Can I use love and intellect -
avail myself of each;
use words to stir both heart and mind -
to nourish and to teach?
The same voice that always whispered
is dictating in rhyme
attempts to meld my brain and soul
in strictly metered time.
Though the cadence must be measured
I'll generously share
the contents of my head and heart
for readers to compare.
Can you discern where my thoughts end
and where my heart begins?
As each attempts to rule the day
my voice decides who wins.
When I first began to share these poetic musings I was afraid that nobody would care enough to read them. I felt exposed - tossing my thoughts and feelings off like sweaty laundry to stand naked. I worried that I was throwing the contents of my mind and heart into some void in cyberspace, to a faceless anonymous alien audience who might not ever respond.
I wondered whether this blogging experience would be encouraging or demoralizing. Initially it often felt like an exercise in futility, especially when my husband admitted that he didn't read my posts! I persevered, becoming more assertive by putting each new post on his Facebook wall where he was bound to see it (eventually). I also began to send out posts to friends, thinking that some of them might be curious enough about what I had to say to click on the link. I want to thank each of you who have taken a few moments here and there to read and offer comments and encouragement. (You'll never know how much it thrills me when you tell me you enjoy what I write, much less tell me I should post more often!)
Blogspot allows me to see how many people have viewed each post, and while my ego isn't healthy enough to allow me to credit every person who stumbles upon this blog with actually reading it, I am gratified to know my posts are at least seen. But I'm grounded enough to know that the numbers will never be true indicators of how well I "vocalize".
I've always written, but until seven years ago almost every word I wrote was for my eyes only. (Except for the play I wrote and directed in grade two, and any diary entries that I thought had enough comedic value to read to friends.) My "Rhyming Muse" has made me more confident about sharing verse and prose. Rhyme snobs still exist (they always will), but I think I've been able to show a few people that complicated ideas can be conveyed in simple rhyming couplets. I believe that demonstrating literary acumen shouldn't require complicated sentence structures and a dictionary for translation. In my opinion, good writing is easy enough to understand, but sufficiently complex to make you ponder.
It took many years of searching before I found a voice and the courage to speak up. Some will listen, others will ignore what I have to say. What is important to me is that I continue to speak regardless of who hears, and that some who hear will respond.
If what I write ever makes you smile - if it makes you think or want to exercise your own creativity then I have succeeded. My satisfaction doesn't depend on how much my poems are seen. I care more about whether my efforts have affected those who have read them. When you turn my "vocalizing" into a conversation or a thought to ponder I have no doubt that my voice is being heard.
Poetic Justice: (Sharon Flood Kasenberg - September '07)
If chaos in my mind intrudes,
corrupting calm and peaceful moods
I find a haven writing verse -
it helps the threatening clouds disperse.
Perhaps it is my therapy -
for through combining words I see
solutions in what I create
and weakness when I hesitate.
When my fragmented thoughts cohere
so that on paper words appear
it seems forces beyond this earth
took fetal thoughts and gave them birth.
Completed lines leave me consoled -
but only rarely I behold
poetic justice meted out
when in my verse I have no doubt.
Somewhere between my head and heart
it seems I've found my voice -
a way to express love and fear,
share sorrows and rejoice.
I'm attempting to find balance
between feelings and thought
as cool logic tempers passions
that tend to run too hot,
my heart softens the sharp edges
of reasonableness;
with efficacious empathy
I might find words to bless.
Can I use love and intellect -
avail myself of each;
use words to stir both heart and mind -
to nourish and to teach?
The same voice that always whispered
is dictating in rhyme
attempts to meld my brain and soul
in strictly metered time.
Though the cadence must be measured
I'll generously share
the contents of my head and heart
for readers to compare.
Can you discern where my thoughts end
and where my heart begins?
As each attempts to rule the day
my voice decides who wins.
When I first began to share these poetic musings I was afraid that nobody would care enough to read them. I felt exposed - tossing my thoughts and feelings off like sweaty laundry to stand naked. I worried that I was throwing the contents of my mind and heart into some void in cyberspace, to a faceless anonymous alien audience who might not ever respond.
I wondered whether this blogging experience would be encouraging or demoralizing. Initially it often felt like an exercise in futility, especially when my husband admitted that he didn't read my posts! I persevered, becoming more assertive by putting each new post on his Facebook wall where he was bound to see it (eventually). I also began to send out posts to friends, thinking that some of them might be curious enough about what I had to say to click on the link. I want to thank each of you who have taken a few moments here and there to read and offer comments and encouragement. (You'll never know how much it thrills me when you tell me you enjoy what I write, much less tell me I should post more often!)
Blogspot allows me to see how many people have viewed each post, and while my ego isn't healthy enough to allow me to credit every person who stumbles upon this blog with actually reading it, I am gratified to know my posts are at least seen. But I'm grounded enough to know that the numbers will never be true indicators of how well I "vocalize".
I've always written, but until seven years ago almost every word I wrote was for my eyes only. (Except for the play I wrote and directed in grade two, and any diary entries that I thought had enough comedic value to read to friends.) My "Rhyming Muse" has made me more confident about sharing verse and prose. Rhyme snobs still exist (they always will), but I think I've been able to show a few people that complicated ideas can be conveyed in simple rhyming couplets. I believe that demonstrating literary acumen shouldn't require complicated sentence structures and a dictionary for translation. In my opinion, good writing is easy enough to understand, but sufficiently complex to make you ponder.
It took many years of searching before I found a voice and the courage to speak up. Some will listen, others will ignore what I have to say. What is important to me is that I continue to speak regardless of who hears, and that some who hear will respond.
If what I write ever makes you smile - if it makes you think or want to exercise your own creativity then I have succeeded. My satisfaction doesn't depend on how much my poems are seen. I care more about whether my efforts have affected those who have read them. When you turn my "vocalizing" into a conversation or a thought to ponder I have no doubt that my voice is being heard.
Poetic Justice: (Sharon Flood Kasenberg - September '07)
If chaos in my mind intrudes,
corrupting calm and peaceful moods
I find a haven writing verse -
it helps the threatening clouds disperse.
Perhaps it is my therapy -
for through combining words I see
solutions in what I create
and weakness when I hesitate.
When my fragmented thoughts cohere
so that on paper words appear
it seems forces beyond this earth
took fetal thoughts and gave them birth.
Completed lines leave me consoled -
but only rarely I behold
poetic justice meted out
when in my verse I have no doubt.
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