Small Rebellious Acts of Creativity #sraoc is a weekly invitation to explore a word, or a phrase, through whichever creative avenue, platform or modality the participant wishes. It is intended to be a philosophical or creative catalyst moreso than a straight up writing prompt.
When you shoot
at each other
with enough force
their collision creates
a new understanding
When you hurl
at each other
with enough force
at the foundation
When this prompt was pulled from the JAR, I immediately thought of the collision of ideas and experiences that allow us to create our artwork, our writing, our music, our everything. I asked other creatives what words best describe their collision of ideas, and here’s what I received.
So to all of our creatives out there, Thank you. Your stars are now colliding, providing us all with this meditative collection of collisions.
My offering this week is more akin to the love child of a digital shoe box and my journal than any one tangible obvious item. A meandering of collisions and synchronicity.
The Big Bang and how things begin (11.03.19)
It started with a photo – as the three of us were joking around about all the possible directions the prompt could take. On a different week, I might have actually tried to write about two jaded starlets having red carpet fisticuffs, or something like that. Sadly, this week was not that week.
But it is always nice to start with a visual (when it comes to the three of us, it’s usually a well sourced gif!) I’ll be honest, the only thing colliding in this photo was my intent to find something space-related and my enchantment with the ease of pexels.com.
On House Fires and Hope (mental wanderings 12.03.19, while escaping the heat in the pool).
The Star is my favourite of the tarot’s major arcana. It embodies guidance, hope and the new possibilities which open out of the catastrophic demolition of The Tower. This is where my thread of ‘hope’ begun as my exploration of ‘when stars collide’.
When I was thinking of the place the The Star holds in the major arcana it brought to mind a lady I met about a decade ago, who in the course of delivering a workshop told us how her house had burnt down several years before, in the time that it had taken to do the school run. A lap top had set a couch cushion alight and they lost everything. Her story invoked a communal sense of horror. Then she told us how they discovered their house insurance had not been paid, in a complete oversight, when the renewal arrived the month previous. It was at that point that someone commented how it must have been the worst thing to ever have happened. She smiled and said simply: no actually, it’s the best thing that ever happened to us.
From Kim Falconer’s Astro-LOA Flash (13.03.19)
As the story goes, Pandora came with a carved chest full of gifts from the gods, and she wasn’t meant to open it. Of course, she did so anyway, unleashing unimaginable ‘evil’ on earth, but that’s not all. In the box stayed the greatest blessing, the Star of Hope.
Writing As An Act of Hope
From Krista Tippet’s Interview with Teju Cole for the On Being podcast (listened to on 12.03.19)
Well, Virginia Woolf talks about the future being dark. Rebecca Solnit cited this. The future is dark, and that’s the best thing it can be. “The future is dark” doesn’t mean that it’s bad. “The future is dark” means we don’t know. And that, itself, is a consolation. It probably is not going to be our very worst fear. And John Berger talks about the difference between optimism and hope. Optimism is “Oh, well, it’s all gonna be fine.”
Wishful thinking, impractical; but hope is this kind of — it’s an arm you extend out into the dark on behalf of others. To go back to the idea that in a moment like this, we all have different strengths — with all the privilege I have and all that is working out for me and all the access I have to certain forms of concentration, how dare I be hopeless? There are people who need the hope that I can convey. Even if I’m writing about something very dark, to take it through eight drafts, to take it through ten drafts is an act of hope, because you’re saying, even in this moment, a well-shaped sentence matters — because somebody could say, “We’re facing the apocalypse. Who gives a shit how well it’s written?” And my hope is that if it’s written well, it might catch somebody’s attention and be a balm for something that they’re going through, if it’s written well. And so I try to write it well.
Poeting As An Act of Hope
Quickly thrown together, but ended up being too big, to got on Adam’s poet tree for Open Day. (12.03.19)
You were told
To be one was to be two
To be nothing was to be something
To be small was the biggest you deserved
And for a time you drank it down
But now you dig your own well
Drink of your own waters
You know the difference between
the nothing that precedes the something
and the nothing that holds you down
That small is not smallness
but smallness always asks for less than
and half is not the whole of anything
much less you
And you tend the well
You tend the flame
You tend yourself
And you tend the truth:
you are always
in every moment
in every breath
Using the mantras “I am okay; I am enough” was a massive source of strength and hope for me through the hardest parts of 2017, when I had found my way to the bottom of despair.
And finally music… this song is my go-to feel-good song.
May you always find hope in the darkness and and allow it to guide you into the best kind of collisions.