Inexplicable

I don't quite know what it is – this inescapable compulsion to write. Somehow, it grabs a hold of me and won't let go until I put myself through a painstaking process to produce something. In earnest, I continually attempt to heed my Sussex professor, J.P. Rosenberg's good advice – to delight in the writing process, and to be proud of what comes out of it – but truth be told, the resultant reality doesn't necessarily measure up to this line of philosophy, or even run parallel to it. In all actuality, if I were to emotionally graph my moods throughout any of my compositional follies, rest-assured, it would jaggedly skyrocket and plummet in unpredictable and patternless scrawl.

Sometimes I wonder, do all writers wrestle with themselves like I do? Is it as difficult for them, as it is for me, to commit to a consistent discipline? Do they feel like they spend more time preparing to write, and then staying on task, than actively involved in the creative process? In her book, If You Want to Write: A Book about Art, Independence and Spirit, Minnesota author Brenda Ueland instructs, idleness is an intrinsic part of the creative process, and that it is inherently valuable. After all, she asks, how can someone write reflectively without taking time to reflect?

While listening to National Public Radio this morning, a gentleman's British accent caught my attention – not only because I'm naturally drawn toward the dulcet articulations of your average Brit (Birmingham's throaty nasal dialect may be an exception), but also, because I appreciated what he had to say about authorship. A writer's duty, he advises, is to pose – and not necessarily even attempt to answer – life's multitudinous questions within the context of a wider scope. Taking this into account, I might then suppose that a reader's duty, is to openly interact with an author's message, both through the unique scope of personal interpretation, and (hopefully), with an intent to broaden his or her own understanding of the world – its infinite spectrum of intricacies – in looking through the lens of another.

And so, as I sit myself down to read and write, this is what I seek to both accept and embrace – faithfully connecting as an ever-curious questioner, allowing time and space for creative idleness, and, open-mindfully engaging with wonderful words in front of and within me - which continually keep me wondering, and wandering. This is Elise, signing out with love from Dillingham, Alaska.

"Gribble"

I sometimes read books randomly – opening to a nondescript page, and plunking my curiosity down upon it. This is how I came to learn about “gribble” in a textbook on Crustaceans – which, altogether, outnumber the constituents within other classifications of animals. The author, Edward Ricciuti, explains that gribble (which is about the same size as a peewee ant) can really wreck havoc on waterfront development. It is lured to shorelines to feed off of plants and fungi growing on and within wooden constructs, which then compromises the stability of its structure. This is interesting information – especially for aquatic aficionados – and, what I find especially intriguing, is that gribble proliferates in clean waters; in other words, pollution is a deterrent for this puny pest.

So this presents a compelling topic for discussion, where environmentalists, marine biologists and developers may be more likely to be tossed around in a conundrum than to all agree on a unified answer. What do we do with what we know about gribble? And on a larger philosophical scale, what do we do with what we know about anything? What are the individual and collective roles we expectantly and unexpectedly play in every day life?

This whole scenario yields a certain sentiment of déjà vu – of something we’ve experienced time and again in its innumerable forms, but perhaps, haven’t always recognized the connecting links. It is yet another illustration of life interaction – of cause and effect, but mixed in with a lot more complexity than I may be able to entirely grasp. How do we determine what is “right”, and, what is “wrong”? I mean, how exactly do we do this given the fact that our knowledge set may only be a fraction of the whole? Are we even meant to be determiners of “right” and “wrong”? Hypothetically, what if we aren’t?

I wonder what this would look like? If instead of instantaneously formulating opinions – categorically criticizing or extolling, stereotyping or drawing conclusions about someone or something – what would happen if we paused to take stock of a situation? What might we experience if we became more conscious, more aware of what is going on in our heads and hearts?

Internal processing is something I find myself doing more and more often. I seem to be always asking myself the question “Why? What? How?” Why am I feeling or responding this way? Why do I yearn for this or wish for that? What possibilities exist outside myself? How can I better understand life from another’s perspective? Becoming active inquirers in life not only allows us to better understand ourselves, and our relationship to the world, it also enables us to step outside of our own framework and into another. It enriches and diversifies living – strengthening our unique spirits and cultivating compassion for all life. So thank you, dearest Mum, for always telling me to live out my questions. This is Elise, signing out from Dillingham, Alaska.

Aleknagik's "school bus"