On Walls

One.  I've discovered a new phobia. I have the fear of bare walls.
Two.  I have a new hobby too.  Taking pictures in my basement.
Three.  I wrote this poem at a writers camp.  The challenge was to observe something generally considered ordinary and mundane and see if you can discover some kind of unexpected beauty, then write a poem about it.
This poem is dedicated to my basement.  It's good to be back.  Writing in a blog titled 'A Blue Box in the Basement and a Cup of Coffee' didn't feel right writing from anywhere else.

Room Kind of Love

You enter in

My hollow heart.
Where have you been?
Where did you start?

You sit inside me,

Against my wall.

You cry for help,
As though I'm not here at all.

I breathe on you
From my vent above,

Cooling your tears.

A room kind of love.

Wall Painting

I'm not the only one. 
You can vent too.

You can talk to me, 
Like I talk to you.

Your plug to the left,
My outlet to the right,
Though these walls are mute,
Take my input tonight.

I know all you hear
Are my hissing lights,
The electric hum,
My creaking pipes.

But you look sad,

And I don't know why.
But I'll lock you in,
While you cry.

Ceiling painting by Dr. Elemis Pott and the Pizza Angel

Wallace 

The giant blob fish portrait by Grace Wyka that sits proud and resolute on my wall.

View from the window

Another View 

Wall paintings and wooden sword 

Wall painting 

To Narnia

Now we're back to the beginning
It's just  a feeling that no one know's yet.
Just because they can't feel it too
Doesn't mean that you have to forget.
Let your memories grow stronger and stronger

Till they're before your eyes.

You'll come back
When they call you
No need to say goodbye.

-The Call, Regina Spektor 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kQVDkZYbtkI

To:  my friend, Gabe/ Edmund 

Now at last they were at the beginning of chapter one of the Great Story no one on earth has ever read, which goes one forever; in which every chapter is better then the one before.

-C.S Lewis, The Last Battle 

(A mother writes C.S. Lewis regarding her son who feels guilt because he loves Aslan more then he loves Jesus.  C. S. Lewis replies:)
"For the things he loves Aslan for doing or saying are simply the things that Jesus really did and said.  So when Laurence thinks he is loving Aslan, he is really loving Jesus, and perhaps loving him more then he ever did before."

Me as the Dwarf (Ginnabrick) and my Wood Nymph friend

Susan:  "Peter, do you think we'll ever find our way back to Narnia?"
Peter:  "If we're lucky Susan.  If we're very lucky."

-The Lion the Witch and the Wardrobe, Dramatized by Joseph Robinette

I spend six months in Narnia.  I returned from being there a couple years ago, when I read the books.  I'd never been so engulfed in a series before.  Reading has never been one of my brightest subjects but Narnia captivated me.  When I returned home from a vacation, I refused to get out of the car until I had finished reading the Silver Chair.  I spend an extra 15 in the car after reading it to ponder on it's brilliance.  I'm not the only weirdo who's been captivated by Narnia.  How does it never grow old?
I learned a few interesting facts while I was in the Lion the Witch and the Wardrobe play.  That C.S Lewis suffered from P.T.S.D.  And he wrote.  A lot.  It was his therapy.  And he created Narnia, kinda of his escape.  That's when I pieced it together in my head.  The reason so many people feel a sense of freedom on reading Narnia.  It was made as an escape, it was C.S Lewis's escape too.
          I escaped to Narnia again through a play.  We performed our last show a week ago, and as Peter and Susan said their last lines, the little Dwarf behind the curtain cried because she didn't want to leave.  Because in her darkest of times she had Narnia to escape to, and it was time to say goodbye.
This is my thank you note to Narnia.  

Thank you for being there for me.

From: God To: Ecuador

Freely you have received, freely give.  I'm sending you out like sheep among wolfs.  Therefore, be as shrewd as snakes and as innocent as doves.  All men will hate you because of me.  But he who stands firm to the end will be saved.  Whoever acknowledges me before men, I will also acknowledge him before my father in heaven.
Whoever finds his life will loose it, and whoever loses his life for my sake will find it.

(Then I heard the voice of the Lord saying, "Whom shall I send?  And who will go for us?"  And I said, "Here I am.  Send me!")

My food is to do the will of him who sent me and to finish his work.  As you sent me into the world, I have sent them into the world.  

Peace be with you!  As the father has sent me, I am sending you.
How then, can they call on the one they have not believed in?  And how can they believe in the one whom they have not heard?  And how can they hear without someone preaching to them?  And how can they preach unless they are sent?  As it is written, 'how beautiful are the feet of those who bring good news!'  So is my word that goes out from my mouth, it will not return to me empty, but will accomplish what I desire and achieve the purpose for which I sent it.
You will go out in joy, and be lead forth in peace.  Go and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the father, and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit.

 From: God

Lord willing, I'm going on a missions trip to Loja Ecuador in March, 2018, from the 2nd to the 10th.  Several months ago my dear elderly sister (Mary Poppins) posted about this trip on her blog.  (Read it.  She's pretty great.) And as I read, I felt the sudden urge to go with her.  I sent God some prayers about it and he sent me some replies.  So here I go.
To say I'm not nervous would be a lie.  In this trip we will partnering with translators and local church members to go from house to house sharing about Jesus, about salvation, and also providing free medical assistants.  Me and Mary Poppins would love it if you would pray for us and the team, that God would speak through us, and that he would be preparing the hearts of those who will hear it.  Less then 1% of the population has a personal relationship with God.
I also signed up short notice, and have to raise over $2,775 by February and have half the funds by Thanksgiving in about 5 and a half  weeks.  If you would like to help me in answering Gods call in that way, you can give on my fund raising page:

https://www.purecharity.com/emily-newtons-fundraiser-for-loja-ecuador-ec18a/r/backers

I'm also selling wrist bands for $4.  Let me know if you're interested in buying one and I'll find a way to get it you.

Marry Poppin's blog:
 http://secretlifeofliddy.blogspot.com/2017/10/octoberthankfulnesschallenge.html

Verses referenced:
Mathew 10:8, 16, 22, 32, 39, Isaiah 6:8, John 4:34, 17:18, 20:21, Romans 10:14, Isaiah 55:11, 12, 28:19

Domino Duel

Elemis:  *Facing her desk.  Head phones on.  Pretending to be productive.  She swivels in her chair, and jolts.*  "Domino?  What are you doing here?"

Domino:  *Sitting on the bed facing her.  Hands in hoodie pockets*  "You forgot about me."

Elemis:  "Haha!  I did not forget about you.  I just actively choose not to think about you."

Domino:  "It kinda hurts."

Elemis:  "Well maybe you could suck it up and see it through my socks for once."

Domino:  "I'm still here."

Elemis:  "I know.  Could you quit haunting me?  You're a writer too, you should understand.  I can't write you right now.  Maybe later.  It doesn't mean I don't care about you-"

Domino:  *interrupting*   "You left us."

Elemis:  "No.  YOU left ME."

Domino:  "I'm right here."

Elemis:  "No, no, no you're not.  Your a dead kid in my dead story, buried in an extensive abyss of deleted files.  So why can't you just leave me alone?"

Domino:  "Well I guess that's the thing about dead people.  And stories.  They don't just leave you in peace."

Elemis:  *Covers face with hands.*  "Do you know how much I put into you?"

Domino:  "Then don't give up on us."

Elemis:  "I just want to have someone to blame besides myself.  Don't you get it?  I'm not writing you any more because I'm scared you're going to get lost on me again.  This isn't the first time I've lost a story."

Domino:  "Did you ever think you may have lost me for a reason?"

Elemis:  "Yes.  And I can find no reason.  Just a blurb that says, 'sorry, this file is corrupted" And I'm trying to find you but I can't.  I can't rewrite you.  Not after all we've been through."

Domino:  "Okay, forget about my story, now start thinking about your own story.  Now look at me.  There are things I never told you about myself.  I was waiting to speak to you because you didn't understand, but now I think you do.  Now I think I can tell you more about my story.  And now you'll know how to write it."

Elemis:  "Nooo, that doesn't work.  My imagination.  I'm in charge."

Domino:  "My story.  I'm in charge.  I never told you some things because I didn't think you would write it very well."

Elemis:  "Well zeesh, thanks."

Domino:  "Now I think you can.  Now I think you understand.  You had to wait."

Elemis:  "I don't have the energy."

Domino:  "Think about Savy.  Think about Qym.  Think about me.  Now keep writing our story.  Don't give up on us."

  

Susan

This poem is based on the Susan from the Chronicles of Narnia.  I grew up with Narnia.  Being in the play (The Lion the Witch and the Wardrobe) I've been thinking about it a lot more.  In the book series, you find out in the last book that Susan stops believing in Narnia.  I always wondered why.  Something that the actress of Susan told us really stuck with me.  She said, "Susan thought so much about what other people thought of her, that Narnia didn't matter any more."

I never thought of it that way.  I think about my own faith, I live it and breathe it, I can't imagine life without God.  

I also can't imagine a day going by that I don't think about what other people think of me, and what I can do to be better accepted.

She thought so much about what others thought of her, that Narnia didn't matter anymore. 
Susan is a fictional character.  Unfortunately there are a lot (all) of the characters in Narnia I have a hard time accepting as fictional.  Because I feel like I've met them all before.  Aslan.  Edmund.  Puddle Glum.  Jill.  Peter.  And Susan.  Weak willed Susan's, like me.

I'm a little sibling with a perfect older sister or two, so I found it easy to write this poem though Lucy's point of view.  (No, I'm not playing Lucy in the play.  I'm playing the evil minion dwarf.  So I shouldn't be so sentimental.  It takes some effort to keep myself from crying while Aslan is being killed).  

Susan 

Susan, 

My sister, 

Lucy here.

Remember that time,

We were filled with fear?

You covered my eyes, 

And held me tight, 

And sang me a song 

About wrong and right.

Susan, 

Remember, 

That touch of snow,

When your eyes were opened,

To what you didn't know.

That my magical world

Was actually real.

One you could touch, 

Taste

And feel.

And together we laughed,

Like you could care less,

About your looks, 

Your hair, 

Or your dress.

I captured that moment,

And held it that way

To hang on my wall 

For another day.

Susan,

Remember 

When the dark one's came,

And slaughtered our hope, 

As we watched in vain?

And we knew that nothing

Would be the same.

Then the stone table broke,

We jumped at the sound,

We saw the dark

Crumble to the ground.

When our hope arose

By the break of day,

Alive from the dead,

And evil fled away.

Susan,

Don't you remember our joy?

Why don't you remember the light?

We fought,

We danced, 

We smiled again, 

All in our perfect sight.

Susan, 

Susan, 

Where have you gone?

What are you trying to find?

In the Wardrobe between

What you believe,
And you left Narnia behind.

Susan,

You left it all behind.

Lost in the pleasure of things.

When you look in the mirror,

And then you find,

What these shallow joy's will bring.

Susan, 

My sister, 

Lucy here, 

And I don't know what to do

Without my Susan.

But I'm still right here.

I'm in Narnia waiting for you.

At Last

At Last 

The ground is gone,

So why look down?

We wither away,

But why do we frown?

This is the end.

So why don't we sing?

Music is life,

But it's life that we cling.

The world is fading,

We're fading fast.

I see it in your eyes, 

It's over at last.

But why do you cry,

As if we failed?

Come to the boat,

Together we'll sail.

Tonight we die,

So get up and dance.

Pick up your music,

This is our last chance.

Then sit down beside me,

Under the stars.

We'll raise up our coffee,

For the horizon's not far.

I think I'm quite ready for another adventure

-Bilbo 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6HHnCQModx8

(Stones under Rushing Water; Neetobreathe).

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2fngvQS_PmQ

(I See Fire; Ed Sheeran) 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=shdiTRxTJb4 

(Into the West; Lord of the Rings, Return of the King) 

Addings and Endings

First thing in the morning; I attack my journal.
I need to scribble everything down, all my anger and anxiety and embarrassment and worry.  I'm afraid.  I'm afraid because I'm too stupid for the world, because I'm too short and homely, because my future is a big blank peace of paper, because I'm not good enough or smart enough or pretty enough to survive in the acting world.

I write faster and faster, I'm on a roll, and just then I flip my journal over and I hit the back cover.  Right in mid sentence, my pen hovers over the dead end.  I didn't realize that that was the last page of my journal.
You may wonder why this is such a catastrophe.  Well, imagine that you're driving to Chick-fill-a and your starving and you see the sign in the distance and your so pumped for a chicken sandwich, just to get there and realize that it's Sunday.
Not only did my journal just while I was on a roll, but it also gave me a very lame ending.  Even if the middle of my journals are dirt, if it has a lovely opening and a lovely closing, then I feel satisfied before I tuck it away with the other Chronicles of my life.  But no.  This was the worst way to end a journal.  No redemption.  No hopeful comment.  Just some dumb rambling and complaining over some meaningless things.
I toss the journal and go scrounging about my basement like a scrappy ally cat, looking for a notebook.
I'm so angry at myself for not anticipating the journals end.  I was so busy worrying that I didn't bother to look ahead.

I think I got a glimpse of death.  No, no, I don't care that much about my journals, but isn't this kinda like how death works?

I recently watched the movie 'A Beautiful Mind' and one part in particular stuck with me.  When John is sitting there, and he asks what is there to do with his life.  And his wife answers that you can find anything to do, just add meaning.

When I come to the end of my journal, my life, I don't want to be worrying and complaining about all the things I listed above.
I have hands for writing.  Eye's for art.  A voice for people.
When people ask me what my dream car is, I reply, "Anything as long as it's simple, it takes me places, and has it's own weird look so I can find it in a parking lot."  Only recently have I figured out that I was describing me.
Careers.  Colleges.  Jobs.  Dreams.  Goals.  Hopes.  Adulting.  These things are kind of like the dream car I was talking about.  Passions, goals, they're your Tardis.  Your suit case.  You don't go anywhere without them.  But what's the point of a suit case if it's empty?  Because, friends, our journals are coming up on their last pages and we don't realize it.