Exaltation

It takes practice for me to be alone, truly alone.  For that reason I've omitted clicking on "Mood," an option provided for writing journal entries.  Instead of specifying the music I'm listening to, another 'prompt,' I've put "Mind chatter." To be alone I must observe my own mind chatter.  So, no music, or any other electronic distraction. To avoid being alone the fastest way would be to switch on the TV to get the latest body count from the tsunami. I can do that later.

Exaltation. What is it? Let's check the dictionary. 

Main Entry: ex·al·ta·tion
Pronunciation: "eg-"zol-'tA-sh&n, "ek-"sol-
Function: noun
Date: 14th century
1 : an act of exalting : the state of being exalted
2 : an excessively intensified sense of well-being, power, or importance
3 : an increase in degree or intensity <exaltation of virulence of a virus>   

My goodness, just look how difficult it is to be alone! The dictionary tells me that to be exalted is to indulge in an "excessive sense of well-being." Rats! In the "mood" window, which I left blank, AOL insists I specify, and WILL NOT let me leave it blank, so, AOL has chosen a mood for me, at random.  (Later: I selected "Happy" by default. Still later: I picked "Happy" but AOL wouldn't allow that, and insisted on "Silly." Is that an AOL message?) See? There is a conspiracy in the world at large to impinge on us and tell us not only what to buy and think but also to tell us what our mood is.  AOL shove it!

Writers, serious career writers, especially career writers who teach writing to make a living, elevate great writers of the past in order to find inspiration for their own writing. I understand that because I've done it, but I know that such bowing down might be fun, and help strengthen our belief that fiction writing is a noble endeavor, but for me it doesn't do a thing to help me in the act of composing fiction. What does that is being alone with my lived life now and in the past, including rereading my thoughts about dreams recorded in my Dreams Journal.

Paintings and classical music, thinking about them, remembering them, can reignite feelings of exaltation, a state helpful in not only writing fiction but in living a meaningful life in obedience to duty. In the waiting room at our pediatrician's office there hangs a reproduction of Van Gogh's rural night scene filled with deepblue swirling circles in the sky. It's easy, simply remembering that oft-seen painting, to feel some of the painter's perhaps prayerful thanks to God for creating the night sky so beautiful it made him want to 'swirl' with joy, exalted.

I learned from talk on a classical music station conducting a fundraising drive that a new recording of Beethoven's 7th symphony had found in that work new heights of exaltation expressed by the composer. Then the symphony was played. I was in the car. It was almost unrecognizable, so filled was it with strength, passion, joy, and reconciliation, the latter coming at the end. Not the composer, nor the German conductor's new reading of the work, was, definitely was not, in their exaltation, not indulging in "excessively intensified sense of well-being, power, and importance." Shame on Webster's Dictionary for being so cynical, and oh so American 21st century. Quick, someone come to my aid, bring me back to the real world by trying to sell me something. Buying and selling. There's too much damnable buying and selling and not enough exaltation from looking at the night sky. I'm going back to the real world all right for the purpose of praying more survivors have been found in and around the Indian Ocean.

Barry