Listening to some pop music recently, I noticed how little truth or value there is in the words of many of my old favorites. I particularly questioned “All I Need Is a Miracle” by Mike and the Mechanics. It’s a terrific song, upbeat, great walking tempo; not so heavy on Message. I mean to say, “All I need is a miracle, all I need is you”?
I would seriously avoid a person who needed only me.
One of the subsequent songs was “The Stuff That Dreams Are Made Of” by Carly Simon. Now, there’s a song with substance. I don’t like it as well as “All I Need Is a Miracle,” but it conveys more truth than Mirror of Erised type songs.
Another Carly Simon song, one of my favorites, is the title of this blog post. Regarding love, it’s as truthful as “The Stuff That Dreams Are Made Of,” but it’s subtler and, in my opinion, deeper and more satisfying.
Another message in “Coming Around Again” is that everything seems, like the Law of Conservation states, to not cease to exist, but rather lays dormant and, when the time is right, blooms anew. (Possibly dancing en pointe is gone for good, but not dancing.)
Since I quit the Facebook Pin Loom Weaving Support Group, some of my other interests have rebirthed themselves—knitting, crocheting, drawing, and painting.
I’m still spinning and weaving though I haven’t been spinning daily (interest comes and goes).
The dark horse resurfacer is . . . writing. In my offline blog (AKA handwritten journal), on 7 July 2019 I wrote the following:
I’m pleased and relieved to announce that I no longer have any interest in writing a book! It’s really amazing to me. In fact, this may in part be due to the fact that I don’t read anymore. (You could count the books I listen to as reading, but to me it’s different. I don’t sit down and read anything anymore.) I never thought I’d lose interest in reading and writing, but I have.
Eleven days later, in the same notebook, I wrote about several in-a-row impressions I’d received that I should start writing again. I prayed about it; I whined about it—“You can’t go back!” (Go.) “I’m not interested.” (Do it anyway.). As stated, things come around again, will we, nil we. I couldn’t dispute the fact that knitting and crocheting had just barely come back, and I’m better at them than ever. (Art work still has a ways to go.)
But I really didn’t want to start writing. I had no story ideas. No, no, no desire. Writing is a beast. So much work, so time consuming. When you don’t want to do it and have no ideas, well, it isn’t going to be easy.
But like Ella Enchanted, I was born obedient (I know she wasn’t born that way, but it was a near-birth fairy gift). At first I prayed, “Give me ideas and inclination, and I’ll show up to do the work.” But then I thought of Nephi asking to be shown where to find ore to make tools to build the ship he’d been commanded by the Lord to build and I changed my prayer. I knew where to find paper and pen, so I just promised to “go and do.”
In the ensuing days I had scads, truly SCADS, of divine help and inspiration. An idea came to me. I began outlining it. I began doing research. I also went back to whining, mainly, “I don’t want to do this.” But I am doing it. And I’m really, really trying not to complain.
Yeah, I don’t get it. Don’t know why so many of my interests have suddenly resurfaced, especially writing—the Unenjoyable. (It’s like a bad boyfriend who can’t take a hint.) But I’m dealing with it. And I truly feel it’s the right thing to do, though about as pleasant as sneezing with dislocated ribs. (Don’t ask…)
“So don’t mind if I fall apart,
“There’s more room in a broken heart.”