When I asked for ideas for a hundredth blog post, a friend thought I should have my hundredth on New Year’s Day. Sounds like a good plan, even though it means seriously kicking up my blogging habits. After all, I’ve been at it four years this month and only have ninety-three—now ninety-four—to my name.
But, as my previous post mentions, now is a time of reflection.
One of the changes in me this year has been vocalizing my opinions. This could be seen as good or bad, depending on your own ideals, but for me it has been freeing. If I merely listen to or read other people’s thoughts, I tend to obsess over the situation. But if I share my side, I am able to move on. It’s not about converting others to my way of thinking—the act of giving voice is empowering in itself. I’m shy and have held my tongue for most of my life but this year I found my strength. What I have to say is important—even if just to me. The people around me don’t have to agree, nor I agree with them, but each of our opinions is valid.
I’d like to apologize if I’ve come across as rude over any given topic, in person or in writing. I’m the first to admit my social graces are lacking, so please forgive me because I never mean offense. Discussion is open, so please tread respectfully. After all, differences make the world what it is—varied and beautiful.
On my July 6th blog I coined the term “fantabutitus” and spoke of my always pleasant encounters with those I admire. Amid the telling I said: I’m a dedicated fan, loyal to those who speak to me even when the spotlight has moved on to newer faces. (Speak to me? Yes, speak to me. I shall blog about that next time.) And the next blog happened weeks later, recapping my month spent hiding among literature while the house was over-run with nephews and nieces. Of which I need to add:
And then I posted a blog tag question game. Fluffy fun.
If you haven’t before, take a look at my profile and see the listing of my favorite authors/books, musicians, actors/movies, etc. Not the standard answers!
So, without further ado, I shall describe the Wonderlonian philosophy of what creates the fantabulous connection to the brilliant artists I esteem.
It’s my belief that each individual was born as a spirit child of a Heavenly Father and Mother before being born on earth. As such, we had a pre-mortal life, which is how I believe memories of “past lives” occur. If we were angels, for lack of a better term, watching over those already on Earth, then we might recall glimpses of events that occurred before we were born. Maybe we were even assigned people to watch over—only time will tell.
But as spirits waiting around in heaven to be born to Earthly parents, wouldn’t we have had friendships? We had to pass the time somehow. Maybe there were cloud bands and theater guilds and painting-by-star clubs or something. Suppose some of us were sent down to whisper muse-like into the ears of philosophers and writers. The possibilities are endless.
When I see a piece of art, hear a song, read something, or see a performance it either speaks to me or it doesn’t. Some voices and melodies are so familiar, I know I’ve heard them before. Some paintings I feel like I’ve lived in the landscapes of, in some other-worldly time.
There isn’t much in this world that I will say I “hate” or even “dislike”. My favorite response is “it’s okay, but it doesn’t speak to me.” I can’t say “it’s not my style” because my style (some will swear I have none) is all over the place musically, literary, artistically.
What better way to describe a connection to another soul than by feeling that you were friends before? The ultimate kindred spirits.
What’s your philosophy?