Julie Unplugged

Morning Pages, Fibonacci, Saturday before 8 AM

My morning pages intrigued me today. They started with word portraits of my parents before moving into inquiry of my own parenting and then an angry jaunt into resistance before settling into my new-found joy in Fibonacci.

Poetry does that for me, centers and grounds me.

Here is what I wrote:

Fib #8

I

Stop

Wonder

What is it

That raises my heart

Each time I consider your heart?

Fib #9

It

Leaves

Scratches

On the Page

My precious pencil

Partner in art, part of my soul

Fib #10

Please

Dont

Be Loud

So early

In my morning time

I need restorative quiet

Fib #11

Dogs!

Please!

Dont bark..

Its too late

Go back to sleep now.

Morning art time, interrupted

= = = = =

Buttercup caught sight of something in our front yard that set her off and she barked like wild after it, which woke up Sam and made Emma mad and stopped my flow. But I was past my three pages and I was still hoping to get some work done before my official, parenting-Saturday-workday began.

I am laughing I am even polite in my poetry.  I need to fib that.

Fib #12

Please!

Please!

I said

Ummmmmm, Presto?

Make the magic sound

Instantly everyone listens?

Foolish fantasy mine so I plunder my last words

= = = = =

I took an extra line, like I did in my Cleansed Fib wait, I need to fib that, too.

Fib #13

Fib

Form

Gives Me

Liberty

To scribe extra words

I empty myself in More Space

= = = = =

Ok, I am done. Sam is resting his head on my shoulder. He just read his name and is excited.  My coffee mug is nearly empty.  It is almost 8 am on Saturday. 

Discovery of Fibonacci Poetry Witnessing the Moment with Words - from the 2006 archives

Note from Julie in 2012:

It is always a bit.... awkward to read my words from long ago. In this particular post I think, "What funky formatting. Should I change it? I decided no, except I centered the poetry and added some visuals.

Now, from April, 2006

 

I think this is the longest I have
ever gone between posts.  Wow. Nine
days, practically an eternity for me.

I also notice the sheer perfection
in the topic I have chosen to write
upon today, as well as some of the
content WITHIN this topic... it all
spirals into that perfect symbol, infinity.

I am blessed in so many ways.

I remember in the days before I admitted to being
an artist I was pretty darn lonely. I didn’t think there
was anyone around Bakersfield that was remotely
like me, so instead I buried myself in bad habits,
recluse behavior or its counterpart, pretending
to be someone I wasn’t.

My life is so different now. I am surrounded
by artists every day.

This week has been very poetry rich.  I have
felt the call to compose almost everything I
experience. I call this “witnessing the moment
with words.”

I was driving next to the Haberfelde Building
yesterday and I saw a woman standing beside
her mini-van.  I held her image in my mind
until later in the day, when I sat in a restaurant
with pen in hand and wrote:

I saw a woman today, a young woman
Whose hairstyle looked like a
Triangular helmet and I remembered
Fourteen years ago when I
Wore triangular helmet hair, too…. hair
That protected me from seeing my
Foolishly cagey choices that
Neglected my psyche….
I wondered if
She hurts
Too

I didn’t realize at the time that the poem
had actually taken on the shape of a triangle.

I sat in the restaurant and my eyes fell upon
another young woman who happened to be
speaking on her cell phone at the time.  She
was explaining to someone that she was calling
from Bakersfield right now, and from her
appearance, I guessed she was in outside
sales of some sort, traveling her territory.

I remembered, again, a chapter from my past
before I embraced my artist self. I wrote:

I wonder what she sells?
Maps, cell phone, ledger rested
Upon the J-I-T-B table
“I’m in Bakersfield” she told
The unseen party
Gently highlighted, expensive hair
Hides her face from my
Sideways view I wonder
What she thought when
She bought those shoes?
Her breath is steadily
Shallow as she studies the
Small print report
Her now moved hair shows she is
So young
And I wonder….
I just plain wonder

Last night I went to the poetry group at Russo’s at the
Marketplace.  I haven’t been there a lot – I don’t consider
myself a regular – but I am beginning to know some
of the faces, voices and their quirks and personality traits.

We were introduced to a new form of poetry, the
Fibonacci Poem. 

Like Haiku, it connects poetry to a numerical form. Some
poets balk at such a structure.  Here is my take.  As free flowing
and “there are no rules, there are no wrongs” as I am, I
completely relish the joyful, free, clarifying sense of
peace that comes from embracing a poetic form.

It is an example of joyful discipline, free practice,
constricted abundance.  Ah, the glee of paradox.

This new form of poetry is based on a formula where the
length of each subsequent line of the poem is based
upon the length of the two preceding lines of the poem.

The first line is O + 1 which equals, 1. Therefore,
the first two lines each have one syllable.  The third
line is the addition of the first and second line, so it is
2 syllables. The third line has three, the fourth five, the
fifth, eight and so on. The standard, if there is one, for
now is five lines of twenty syllables.

It is conceivable one could go much further, stretching
single lines out infinitely. Remember, there are no rules,
there are no rights or wrongs in
the Julie-book-of-creativity.

I sat in the midst of my fellow poets and wrote a
few “Fibs” (Fibonacci’s abbreviated name.)

Fib #1
She
Draws
A quick
About face
I won’t surrender!
She cries as she runs away fast…..

Fib #2
“Must
I
Listen?”
She wonders
“I would rather not.”
She curls up and falls fast asleep.

I actually presented those Fibs as a part of the
poetry group last night, being the ultimate teacher’s
pet that I am. Jenn gave us an assignment to write
a Fib as homework. I did it as Circle Work.

This morning during my writing practice,
more Fibs popped.

Fib #4
Have
You
Ever
Felt when shoes
Really hug your feet?
I savor their loving support

Fib #5

You
Say
She is
Teacher’s Pet
Instead I say this:
She loves learning with great passion

Now, a bit more spiritual and deep:

Fib #6

I
Said
“Fill me”
And he did
That sacred moment
Forever felt in memory

This next one is based on multiple conversations I have
had about “Cleansed”,  a play that is stirring up
controversy here in Bakersfield.  I moved to a longer
form of Fib in order to say all that needed to be said.

Fib #7
Why?
Why?
Do we
Give to it?
Negative forces…….
Our strength may need its brutal pull….
Internal resurrection one soul finds her answer

To think some people insist they don’t “get” or
“like” poetry. I say, let’s keep it alive. Maybe that
means we need to use new forms to bring their
heartbeat into alignment with the joy of poetry,
the simplicity of poetry, the delight of words
breathed onto paper in a form which
is not our norm.

= + = + = + = + = +

The originating thought for “Fibonacci” Poetry.

Learn more about the Math behind Fibonacci:

= = = = =

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© 2012 by Julie Jordan Scott

Music Melts

“Music melts all the separate parts of our bodies together.”

Anais Nin

Inspired by Igor Stravinsky's "Rites of Spring"

I hear the instruments glide into song and I feel their
message. Wordlessly they tell a story that spans all space
and time.

I become the music, the music becomes me.

I hear nature.

I hear my heart beat.

I know safety, I know joy, I know awakening.

The body – as the quote from Anais Nin says, becomes
the corporate body – all of us, in unison and each
individual – melts together in a puddle of oneness.

Sunrise.  A smile.  A celebration.  Tears.  Hands
reaching out.  Understanding.  Lovemaking.  Applause.
Ecstasy.  The Moon Rising.  Joy. 

Music melts all the separate parts of our bodies together.

I Was Never One of THOSE Girls....

I was never one of those girls who walked around the locker room naked, showing off my bountiful beautiful young nubile body to the other girls at

Dana

Hills

High School

. On the contrary, I faced the lockers and got from dance clothes or standard PE clothes to street clothes as quickly as possible.

I am also not one of those women who just loves walking around naked in front of a lover.  I remember a director once saying "No one walks backwards" and I thought, "You have never seen me strategically leaving a room after a liason with a new lover."

I just don't do the naked thing very well, if I do it at all.

My upper body, I am ok with that. I could even say I am very fond of my upper body attributes. And… full nakedness. No. Not me. Not comfortable, never have been so why on Earth would I be now?

On the other hand - - I have been known to listen and follow the call.  So for whatever bizarre reason you might imagine (I certainly haven't figured it out yet) I had this wild idea to write a series of poems about womanhood. I was doodling and came up with "Curvy… curvy… curvy..." and I started to see the infinity symbol in my body as well as on the page.

So then I followed the creative call to images, to body images, to images of my body and paintings and oh my word, what on Earth is that thought?

Ah, no big, I thought. These pieces won't come together, too weird even for me.

I found myself writing a note to the women on Planet Sark – "Any photographers in Southern or Central

California

?" and was connected almost immediately to Leigh.

So that is how I found myself in a makeshift garage-photo studio in Echo Park, perfect for the gritty, raw feeling I was looking for in my first ever Nude Art photo shoot.

Leigh brought a CD of almost-World-music and turned it on. She played with her camera and I slowly got undressed. She was good at ignoring what I was doing until she was separated from me with the camera.

I was half dressed when I told her how I wanted to do these photos.

Why is it I felt like I was directing again?

Here is a close replica of what I said, "I am not sure how you normally do this… but here is what I was thinking."  Leigh looked at me, her precious, pure skin facing my older, less pure skin.

"I don't really want to pose per se, what I want to do is sort of go into a meditative, contemplative state and then feel whatever emotions I am feeling and move my body however I feel like moving and I would like to be able to trust you, as an artist, to shoot when you feel a connection to what I am doing."

Leigh nodded. It seemed as if she got it.

"I mean, this is about being a woman. It is about empowerment, I mean – obviously… look at me. I am not 20 years old. I am not thin. I am just me. And this is… an empowering stretch for me to do this. Hopefully… somehow… inspiring."

I took off my remaining clothes and we began.

I floated on my breath. Up, Up, Up and away. I almost forgot that Leigh was even there. I entered the music and found myself in a state where I was visited by friends and family in my creative mind.

There were my children, there were former loves. There were tears. There was dancing. There was ache. There was peace and contentment.

And this was only one roll of film.

We did one roll of what I call "ethereal, mystical, soft focus" nudes. The hope with those is that the viewer is taken into an emotional state and has to stop to check in – wondering "is that a naked person I see?"

I also wanted them to be raw, gritty – I know, paradoxical. I know. Ethereal, raw, mystical and gritty.  Kind of like my heart.

These photos are, after all, an accompaniment for my poetry, not the other way around.

The second roll of film was extreme close up.  I actually talked to Leigh when she started taking those shots.  I watched her look through her view finder. Very close, very close.

She had five pictures left when she said, "Is there anything else you want?" I was amazed that by this time I could just stand there, completely me, completely without clothes – and not even think about it.  "I want one of the curve in my hip, from behind. Oh, and by the way, my butt is my most hated part of my body."

She obliged and took a couple shots.

"What else?" she asked.

I thought again. Well, these are about womanhood. "I know, I will lie down – let's see what happens with gravity."

She laughed. "You are so funny." The funniest thing was, I didn't realize I was being funny, I just wanted to see what happens visually with gravity.

When we were done she handed me the film and I realized now all I had to do was find someone who would develop them.

Oh, great. I hadn't thought about that.

+ = + = + = + = + = + =

To see part of the "finished product" of this incredible day....

I Felt It In My Toes.

One Poem from My Favorite Photo of All Time

A Second Poem from My Favorite Photo of All Time.

This Poem is becoming a fast favorite of many women and was the scariest photo of all for me to publish.

I felt it in my toes

This particular poem didn't make it into
"Les Femmes Artistes" but it was written
during the same period, and is a piece
I enjoy with every cell of my being.

I need a venue to perform it, once I
perfect its rhythm.  So - here it is,
still in word incubation but definitely
fully birthed in feeling terms.

I loved that Leigh got such a perfect shot
without even knowing I was working on this piece!

I felt the kiss
in my soles
in my toes,
in my toes

It shot,
lightning
to my knees
to my thighs

Happy Happy Happy
Rang my heart
Here with you
In the daylight

The kiss danced
with my waist
closer, closer,
closer, closer,

Then you said,
"Can we go now?"
You gestured,
The Door

"Sure, Sure
Sure, Sure"
My voice said
And I turned

Quick pirouette
Flounce to the door
Then I felt it -
The kiss careened

down my belly
across my hip
down my thigh
and my knees I felt

The kiss retreat
back to my toes
to my toes
to my soles

Incredible Quote

I love this quote - and feel the insatiable need to

share it with everyone.

"When in doubt, make a fool of yourself. There is a

microscopically thin line between being brilliantly creative

and acting like the most gigantic idiot on earth. So, what

the hell, leap." --Cynthia Heimel

Curvy Truth

There is a certain power that comes from

Holding a man’s eyes in the center of my curves

But most of the time my focus falls unconsciously

On the two much not wanted parts

Of my curvaceousness

And I long for less

In the right places

So I move into

Self flagellation –

unforgiveness festers

pus overflows

from infected boils

create more ugliness –

Enough!

A gentle call from within

Sang my first curves into being

Young girl becoming woman

Pituitary chimes “Its time!” – My curves were born

Quickly “Too much curves!” my brain yapped.

The Mirror agreed. Boys agreed. 

Doug Wright said “Your sister Sue is perfect

What What What happened to YOU?”

Doug Wright couldn’t be wrong…..

Curse the curves

cranky curves

curdled curves

crush the curves

Straighten them, shrink them – but how?

Finally I found

I opened

I settled for

One who seemed to like my curves

Shackled-frozen-cuffed into a long sentence

Of Unsinging squelched art while

Mediocrity slayed my heart

Curves * My curves * What?- - Curves.

Babies burst my

curves even wider

Too much curvy curvy curves

Too much curves… too

Much too much… too

ENOUGH!

Then came Him.

We were at a celebration of art

He held a piece of pottery in his hand

With lusty sacredness said, “Mmmmmm,

This curve is just like that curve” and he looked

At my curvy curvy curve…..

Eighteen months later, Christmas,

I bought him a pot the

Same Artist Threw

He looked at it, confused

He had forgotten the Sacred Lustiness

Replaced instead

With unquenchable resentment

Of my love of theatre….

So I chose my art over

His once-love-of-my-curves

But I kept the Mmmmmm Lusty Sacredness, anyway

Curvy skin curvy self

Curvy soul

Cradle the curves

Unclassify the curves

Celebrate my curves

Cheer for YOUR curves

There’s a certain satisfaction that comes in holding

A man’s eyes in the center of my curvy curves

Mmmmmmmm, loving my curvy curves

The Sacred Lusty-ness in my curves

Doug Wright asked the question –

“What What What happened to you?”

Love happened. Mmmmmm. Curvy love.

Bold - Bold - Bold - Savor - Savor - Savor - Delight - Delight - Delight

This month my theme is “Savor Delight” – I

can literally feel those words from the bottom

of my toes and the soles of my feet to the

top of my head – actually, I can feel them

bursting OUT of the top of my head.

I also know courage is an attribute that

energizes and makes everything more true –

so boldness and courage are at the top

of my list for 2006 overall.

This year? It will go down in history as

The most amazing of my life.

How can I say that?

Well – it is my intention.

And so far, it has been pretty darned amazing.

(Notice I didn’t say free sailing or easy or

everything I ever wanted or asked for in that

proclamation. I said “amazing” and simply

amazing it has been so far.)

Bold is adventurous, assuming, audacious, courageous,

daring, dauntless, fearless, forward, gallant, heroic,

intrepid, resolute, unafraid, undaunted, and valiant.

It is clear, colorful, conspicuous, definite, evident,

eye-catching, flashy, forceful, lively, loud, manifest,

prominent, pronounced, showy, spirited, strong,

and vivid.

Savor is flavor, relish, scent, smack, spice, tang,

tinge, zest.  It is sensual, it is appreciative, it is

a full bodied experience that feels completely.

When we savor we know, we luxuriate, partake,

relish, revel in, sample, sip, smack, smell, taste

it all.

When I savor each moment, I hold it in my heart,

My breath, my spirit and I admire it, adore it,

Applaud it, cherish it, enjoy it, honor it,

make love to it, praise it, prize it, relish it,

respect it, treasure it.

I feel delight and I am filled with contentment,

delectation, ecstasy, enchantment, felicity,

fruition, gladness, glee, gratification, happiness,

hilarity, joy, pleasure, rapture, relish, satisfaction.

When I know delight in my bones, in my cells,

in my skin – I am transported, transcendent,

transfixed.

When I share my delight with others, together

We are more alluring, amused, attractive, charming

Cheerful, enchanted, fascinated, thrilled

and tickled pink.

I get into the groove, I feel intense satisfaction, I

Understand what it means to be pleased beyond

“just pleasure”. I know “Wow” intimately when

I stand in the middle of delight.

Yes. This is going to be a most memorable month.