Friday Philosophy: Jump Shift?

Phase in.  Phase out.  Out of Phaze.

Phase shift.  

Some people shift paradigms.  I shift points of view.  Sometimes I have felt forced to do so.  Sometimes I choose to do so intentionally.  Sometimes I have taken a chance at shifting willingly.

I’ve come to the fork in the road, so to speak.  (Insert Slauson Cutoff joke here)  Do I step on the transporter or not?  Do I scatter my atoms across the universe?

Mitosis?  Cytokinesis?  Meiosis?  

Will these metaphors never cease?

Some people write prose.  Some people write poetry.  Some people write both.  I haven’t yet discovered how to write both simultaneously.

My life is an open book.  It used to be a closed book, filled with paragraphs, chapters, even volumes of unwritten prose.  Every novel I read was rewritten in my head to tell the story of the parts not written by the author.  Perhaps that’s how I kept my sanity.  Perhaps it was part of the insanity.  Sometimes one has to live in the fiction in order to survive visiting reality.  So I’ve lived hundreds of lives on thousands of planets.  

When reality is more insane than the fiction, I’ve chosen the fiction.  I became Gaby Plauget.  I  have been Qing-jao.  I was Reverdy Jian.  Perhaps I am India Carless, Trouble on the wire.

I’ve switched genres.  Damn have I switched genres.  The Me who lives inside my head has reached conclusions about life and identity and existence and had to change to understand the book that is this life.  The Writer writes the pages not written.  The pages say what the pages say.  The Reader is always the last to know.  And sometimes the Reader has resisted turning the page, in Fear of what the next chapter might bring, fearful of having to endure pain, totally aware of past scars.  But the Writer writes.

Art Link


Performance Art

A life is a play in many acts

each day a new scene

Sometimes one is the actor

and sometimes the script

but a life only attains

full measure or meaning

when one assumes

the role of director

–Robyn Elaine Serven

–November 30, 2005

Through life altering changes, I have done what the Writer has written.  The biggest change occurred when I figured out that I, the Director, was actually the person in charge, that I have the power to tell the Writer how the story goes, that I can rough out the next chapter before it is written.

From time to time, I have changed the delivery mechanism.  When I transitioned I began to share my story.  Sometimes prose, more rarely poetry.  One or the other, but almost never both.  Entering one room involves leaving the other.

Decisions, decisions.  What to do.  Is it time to take another plunge into the poetic portion of my brain?  Or at least make the attempt?  Do I turn the spigot, knowing full well that in the past experience has proved that turning on the poems quite likely turns off the prose?  Does Louis Wu use the stepping disk?

Do these metaphors ever cease?

Art Link

Inner Light

Personal Evolution

(an unfinished poem about a life not ended)

Brief moments of awareness…

like the immersion

of a skipping shell

in the liquid

of another life.




Coalescence of self…

the protecting shell

loses momentum,

ceases skipping,

and begins to sink.




Birth of identity…

the sinking of the shell

propels up a splash,

a pearl of dew,

which hangs suspended.




Examination of soul…

while gravity stops,

the revealing lens

zooms through the wet,

uncovering layers.




Assertion of gender…

Vibration of ego…

internal bonds break,

the mist that was dew

drifts on the wind,

scattering slowly.




Perusal of purpose…

catching an updraft

the mist attaches

to motes of dust

from other life paths.




Analysis of life…

shifting perspective

the damp dust

provides fertile ground

for germs of wisdom

. . .

dot dot dot

–Robyn Elaine Serven

–January 17, 1997

I know myself.    When it seems like I don’t know what I want, Fear lingers in the mist, perhaps a page or two in the future.

The Writer has yet to write what it is.  The Reader is in suspense.

Both are aware of the past.  My history indicates that when reality becomes insane, sometimes I head for greener pastures.  I have been a master of the jump discontinuity.

The one constant is change.


Skip to comment form

    • Robyn on January 26, 2008 at 00:05

    The lyrics that come to mind, for no apparent reason:

    a-muckin about with the angels above,

    Not lost but gone before.

  1. Sometimes one has to live in the fiction in order to survive visiting reality.  So I’ve lived hundreds of lives on thousands of planets.  

    When reality is more insane than the fiction, I’ve chosen the fiction.

    And always, always changing genres.

    • Edger on January 26, 2008 at 00:19



    • Viet71 on January 26, 2008 at 00:55

    is that there is one basic particle in an infinite universe, and because the particle can be anywhere and everywhere because of the uncertainty principle, this one particle creates all of reality.

    No need, therefore, to think about scattering your atoms across the universe.

    Already been done.

    • pfiore8 on January 26, 2008 at 01:19

    i just posted a pony with a few picasso pictures.  

    he was working his way to doing it all…

    re: the reader… once we read your words (however you formulate them or whatever you call the collection of them) those words and ideas and stories belong to us. each and every one of them. and we may find there things you never even dreamed were there.

    reading is incredibly personal. we step into what we read and become shadows, living those words and those moments…

    • Robyn on January 26, 2008 at 01:48

    …the Recent List at Daily Kos.

  3. … for your new groove, I see.

    This one flashes off the paragraphs in fragments and we readers get it all showered over us while you are sitting there thinking … well thinking never did anyone any good, lol.

    Madness afoot.  Nize.

    • Viet71 on January 26, 2008 at 02:06

    to think so many here are so thoughtful and critical.

    And not so of the assassination of John F. Kennedy.

    Yes, I’m a broken record.  An old broken record.

    • plf515 on January 26, 2008 at 03:57

    read an rserven diary on dailyKos; read a Robyn diary on docudharma.  Read the comments.  Jump shift.

    • kj on January 26, 2008 at 05:42

    struggle.  i’m so geared to short sentences, one thought (or metaphor) at a time, i have trouble expanding those out into stories. what stories i do write end up not being much more than a loosely stitched together series of poems.  it does feel very much like a choice needs to be made, but making that choice feels limiting.  how many rabbits can be chased?  certainly your artwork, Robyn, seems to be an essential ingredient to your poems here.  and some would call that two rabbits.  maybe we are meant to do it all, or at least feel we can do it all, and then do what want.

    ??   !!     🙂

Comments have been disabled.