There’s been a slight change in title, you may notice.
As a lover of words, I always savor language that is well spoken and well written. I’m also one who appreciates the subtle differences between similar words, whether in their meaning or sound. Closely related words each have their own personality and inflection of meaning. (Consider, for example, abundance versus affluence; spirit versus soul; loathe versus hate; or me versus I.) And then there’s the fact that certain words—entire languages, even—simply sound more melodic and harmonious than others (French, for one).
It’s all about sound, really. Everything in the Universe has a frequency, an energy, and vibration—which is essentially sound, whether we can hear it or not. I’m dabbling in realms of the invisible here (nothing new), but within the sonic vibration there exists an energy in every word—the sound it creates, whether spoken aloud or simply read silently and heard in the mind.
Words, as with the intentions behind them, are powerful. Matter vibrates and vibrations matter.
“I’ve never really cared for the word ‘blog’: the sound, texture, energy of it seems all wrong to me, stuck somewhere between ‘blah’ and ‘log’. Not exactly inspiring. It’s sort of like ‘turd’.”
While my entire relationship with this regular post has shifted over the last year—transforming into something that I truly enjoy rather than merely something I was doing to build an author’s platform—my dislike of the word ‘blog’ has continued. Like a bird who swallowed a stone or something undigestible, it stuck in my craw. For some time, I’ve been loosely playing with the idea of calling this something else. Serendipitously, I came across a nice little website—a woman who sells fabulous French provincial housewares and goodies for the garden—and noticed that she terms her blog a “postcard.” I liked that (and it seemed quite appropriate coming from France). Briefly I considered calling my own offering a postcard but then decided against it. Trying out different words that I might substitute, the one I alighted upon was “journal.”
Perhaps I’m being self important but I like to think that this isn’t a typical blog, anyway. With its self-reflective nature, journal suits it nicely (at least if we employ the word as a personal diary rather than a newspaper). The sound, feeling, and general implication of it feel right to me.
So, welcome to the Soul Artist Journal.
It’s a trivial detail, perhaps, but if you know me, then you also know the close attention I pay to little particulars that others would consider insignificant. The garnish on tonight’s entrée. The stripes of the caterpillar I found in the garden. The blue sheen on the obsidian crow’s wing as it flies past in the sunlight. A nuanced depth of flavor in a dish. The cluster of golden pollen on the honeybee’s rear legs. The color of the linen and flowers on the table. The chorus of voices on the wind. The feeling evoked by the pause and stillness in a good poem. A mindfulness of touch. And the ‘right’ word.
The more that we open to our senses and feelings, as we become attuned to our surroundings as Soul Artists, the more acutely we feel/sense when something is off or not quite right. We grow more sensitive to what is in our environment—the level of noise, the feel of a space or room, the sort of music that nourishes the soul, the look and feel of items, textiles, light and shadow, the power of scent, etc. Things that seem unimportant or easily overlooked by others matter a great deal to the individual who is expansive through his or her senses and paying attention.
Years ago I changed my name (middle name and surname) because I simply did not resonate with the one I had been given. For those who navigate the world through heart and feelings, things like names and words—and colors, tastes, sensations, and sounds—have relevance, largely because of the energy behind them, because of the way they make us feel (even if that is on a very subtle level in the bodysoul).
A thought to consider: if everything in the Universe is really light and sound (it is, by the way), what if our souls are actually just a frequency? What if soul is a frequency that we detect and feel most strongly when it vibrates in harmony with its surroundings and nature, or engaged in creative activity—generally perceived in the body as an expansive resonance and openness. Alternatively, when our environment (place, work, relationship, etc) is a discordant one, we feel it as a sense of disharmony: a somatic sense of dis-ease, constriction, dullness, heaviness, anxiety or agitation.
I’m always asking, what nourishes the soul. The same question could be asked in a slightly different way: what creates harmony in our bodysoul? In our daily lives, in our interwoven relationships with place, people, and non-humans, do we exist as harmony or discord?
Soul Artists place great value on the little sensory minutia in life: the energy of words they use; the food they eat and way it’s arranged on the plates for dinner; the clothes they choose and the tools they use; the objects selected for the home (along with where and how they are placed); the plants in the garden; the environment in which they live. They honor the feeling sense and the subtle (or not so subtle) somatic messages when something seems not quite right—whether it creates resonance or dissonance in our own bodysoul. Soul Artists are deeply attuned to nourishment and harmony, and creating both in their life.
As one who threads his way through the world almost entirely by a feeling sense, the energy and feeling of a thing/place/person matters to me. I know, I know, it’s only a word. But now, each time I view my website or catch sight of the weekly posting when it goes out via email, my eye flows across the title with ease. There’s no glitch in the energy, the sound, or in my body. It feels right. The fly has been removed from the soup.
Vibrations matter. (Bumper sticker, anyone?)
Gentle reader, here’s hoping that you begin placing your awareness upon things and feeling them. Deciding whether they create harmony within your being or not.
Even if it’s only a word.