Anger, Hatred, and Meanness

I have been reading and reading and reading while writing nothing. I am not sure if I am caught up in the idea that something will occur in my mind as I absorb the information and ideas around me or merely procrastinating because I do not feel the words. I think of my favorite literary and movie character, Anne Shirley. "Why must people kneel down to pray? If I really wanted to pray I'll tell you what I'd do. I'd go out into a great big field all alone or into the deep, deep, woods, and I'd look up into the sky--up--up--up--into that lovely blue sky that looks as if there was no end to its blueness. And then I'd just FEEL a prayer. Well, I'm ready. What am I to say?" Anne's quote is precisely how I feel about writing at this moment. Heck, that is how I feel about writing most moments. Now, what am I to say?

You see, my life is not full of happy embraces of my personal interests and goals. I'm not saying I do not have a support system. I do; however, I do not believe that most in this small circle know how emotionally secluded I am in my one woman show. I am not certain I can complain since this is my own doing. I have always kept things so that I was in control and no one else had a hand in what I am doing. Have I built my own cell? Absolutely not! I have created my own bubble which is a very dangerous thing indeed. My ways are that of a gripping story, I suppose.

I have been up against a lot of negative and ugly lately. Times like this eat away at my heart. I seclude myself in my little vacuum of Livie-ness that it becomes a struggle to cope and manage. I always find the capability to break free from my little world I create but it is like being born; thus, it is not simple nor painless. 

Reading Emerson has reminded me of a time when I would walk through the woods nearly alone (refer to "I am" post on my Funny Farm blog to understand). I felt a sense of awe as I read the familiar works. I know the moments of fantastic awareness as the winds blew through the trees, creating a symphony of sounds that only you know at that very moment are the only audience member. I sensed the beliefs; yet, I was lost in the depth they contained. 

I want to blame. I want to blame my household, it's inhabitants. I want to say that they keep me from the levels of processes which contain a scope beyond everyday life. I cannot manipulate such ideas because in truth it is I. I am behind the wall of intellectual indulgence. I have blocked the writer within. The illusion must fall....

My Dearest Anne,
     I am curious as to what reading of Ralph Waldo Emerson you have consumed. I would love to hear your thoughts on such beautiful writings. How do you compare his thoughts with your own "spiritual hikes" across Berry's Pond or through the Lake of Shining Waters, how about the Avenue, as Matthew so simply called it? I feel Emerson is an absolutely breathtaking writer after reading a few historical pieces required (for what you would only understand as a "correspondence course"). 
     I am elated to inform you, that, just as you felt when you won the Avery Scholarship, I have received the Back Home Again in Indiana scholarship from my counties community foundation. I am unsure as to how many applicants I was up against, but I assure you I am thrilled to know I was even considered. I admit, I do not accept awards and compliments very well. It becomes such a moment of pride for my humble views of myself and my writing. 
     Over the years I came to love and admire Marilla and Matthew just as you do. My thoughts are with you as moments remind you and cause little pangs of heartache for two of the most beautiful people I have ever come to know.
Yours Kindredly,
Olivia

....... only to build it back up again. Welcome to my world where make believe and reality become one. I have a way in which my mind works best by flashing from one to the other as a tool used to cope with hurdles and hoops.