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January 1, 2016

Lauren Eden: OfYesterYear

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by: Samuel Connelly

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​​​​This Beautiful 3Some: Artist, Muse & Bookworm

As many of you know, I'm fairly new when it comes to freely sharing any of my poetry or shorts. However, after several professional friends and my lit. agent talked me into sharing some micro works on my Instagram, I realized just how many amazing poets post their words. 


A few of these poets really move me. And I've decided to start giving shout outs to these people. The last I checked on this site, I have a little over 60,000 'fan-friends' which I am crazy grateful for. I'm hoping that now I'm using Instagram to share my micro thoughts, that you'll follow me there, but even more so, follow these poets, because they are truely amazing. 


As you have supported and followed my literary and physical journies, I hope that you will check theirs out as well. 


Cheers to you, dearest friends. 

When We Have To Fight: Freeing The NOW To Save TOMORROW. 


There’s a romance in the realm of art that goes much deeper than that of only the Muse and Artist. The romance is not a two-way fling, but a life-long romantic three-way, it’s true. Isn’t that what you were hoping I’d say?

As artists, we find ourselves inspired by this beautiful (and many times tragic) creative force that seems to send—or possibly pull—us along many journeys of experimental exploration; causing us to discover both the mysteries and treasuries that lie within the deepest caverns of our own souls; while, in simultania, sharing with us a collection of new spectacles through which we observe the world and humanity around us with foreign, albeit human eyes.

And for what? To create, of course.

And we do, us artists. We do it well. We do it with pen and ink, paint and canvas, needle and flesh, carving utensil and stone, clay, or wood—and even with board against ocean or pavement or snowy, powder-packed mountain side. What can we not use, in this vast expanse of relativity, to paint portraits with and upon? Nothing. Because, for us artists, there’s nothing off limits—however limited we may find ourselves by our own hesitation to simply leap forward.

And so the future is nothing more than a collage of Moments. Moments that we, the artists, do our best not to miss. Miss, as most of humanity misses in their blind passing, while hurriedly rushing headlong without compass into the vain search of that empty city of bones called Success, and her sister, Happiness. We artists, sooner or later, come to realize that happiness and success were never future locations to spend most of our lives slaving away to arrive at, but places that are always present within these Moments.

As artists, the deeper we’re drawn toward that eternal Something—having in its essence the aroma of life and truth—we’re consistently made to pause. We’re brought to stand within different frozen fragments of time, that we call ‘Present’; our feet finding firm placement within Moments, so that when we’ve stood there, within this magically bizarre twilight zone of the In Between—tasted, touched and experienced all of the beauty and pain filling each fragment of existence—we may step back out, as it fades into the hungry nothing of the past, and erect a work that will make the Moment last forever.

These timeless material monuments that we fashion by own skill, special abilities, blood, sweat, tears, and finances are the stories, poems, books, songs, speeches, music, films, dances, portraits, tattoos, sketches, dramas, plays, etc., which immortalize the Moments wherein happiness, joy, love, life, peace, adventure, romance, beauty, and magic wait for whomever would enter—with arms wide open.  

Seldom do we, the artists, consider the third party in this epic romance: The Bookworm. Most, if not all artists and writers, would be placed within this category because we feed on, and are encouraged by, the works of our peers as well as those artists of the past whose works still move us;  Those who, did not blaze the trails or pave the paths before us, but, have given us courage, and have passed down the knowledge we’d  need to forge new trails into the future ourselves.

When I speak of the Bookworm, I speak from the perspective of the writer; however, I mean to cover all of those amazing lovers and connoisseurs of art. Those incredible lovers who frequent art museums. Those who’re always vacationing between the covers of our books. The ones who buy our songs and fill stadiums to dance to our poetry; pack out film festivals to be entertained by our stories. These are the bookworms. These are possibly the most beautiful one-third part of this romance.

I know that every artist is different with how they react towards ‘fans’. My favorite writer, the late Ray Bradbury, in 2010 while at a Q&A session, said that for most of his career he read every single piece of fan mail he received and answered many of them. I love that. What better way to connect with those who are keeping your works alive and dancing. I’ve never understood those who want nothing to do with the ones who appreciate their work so much.

These bookworms—as I call them—take our words to places beyond our reach. They fall in love with our verses and sentences. They share our tears and joys with would-be lovers; measuring emotional and literary compatibility. They ink our lines into their skin, giving a piece of our soul a tender home above their ribs. How humbling it is to see a photo of a page from your book posted to their social media; defaced with the passion marks of ink, highlighter and pencil scratch: a most beautiful and sacred compliment.

While I was visiting a local university, a young woman whom I’d never personally met before, came up to me and said, “Hey, you’re Sam the writer; would you mind if I put the poem ‘Beautiful We’ on a t-shirt?” My reply was utterly stupid; “Are you kidding? How could I say ‘no’ to someone wanting to give my words wings and make my a king?” She smiled and hugged me, and told me that I’d made her happy.

How funny, I thought. I made her happy. It was she, who had adored my words. And yet she thanked me for giving her the permission to labor—with her own time and money—to make them a banner upon her chest. I’ll never get use to this beautiful enigma. I’ve recieved pages and pages of wonderful comments and notes from people who appreciate what I pen. It never gets old. And this, dear artist, is only a small portion of the magic within this three-way-romance.

When my muse has moved upon my soul, and I find myself locked up in the basement pounding the keyboard, trying to properly express the Moment I’ve tasted, it never crosses my mind that someone will awaken that story or poem hundreds of miles away. When, in the cold of the night, my heart is breaking and the ink is flowing thick and warm from these wrists, it never dawns on me that someone—in some other time and, at some other place—will fix their eyes on my work and allow their heart to break with mine: a million tiny fragments of two hearts falling upon the same lines, embracing each other beyond relative time and space. My god, that’s magic.

I have many wonderful artist friends: Authors, poets, musicians, filmmakers, dancers, photographers, models, baristas, videographers, editors, and fighters. All beautifully creative in their craft. All passionate about life and different aspects of life. All having ‘fans’ and, at the same time, all being fans of others themselves. And in every case, I see clearly, the powerful magic of this three-way relationship.

I see this crazy amazing relationship we’re in, with that creative spirit I call ‘Muse’—how the Muse works with us to create and showcase Moments for the happiness and momentary escapes for humanity. And I see, and am humbled by, those Bookworks (lovers and connoisseurs of the arts) who romance our works, finance and share our creative monuments.

Sure, not all artists become rich and famous—as most of us experience quite the opposite; herein lies the birthplace of that constantly grumbled term ‘starving artist’—but because of this artful and literary threeway we are given a measure of immortality. How beautiful these bookworms are. How they keep us alive. How they make us kings and queens. How they give us beautiful wings and cause us to become immortal.

It’s a funny thing how the deeds and words of billionaires are forgotten while the scribbles of sages are repeated throughout history, and yet, society tells us that the former is something to spend all our energy, hope, and years to ‘try’ and obtain, while the latter is looked down upon until we die.

I would rather romance the muse and live within my means, while peering through the magical spectacles of the world, at the wonder of humanity; enjoying the happiness within each Moment with this miraculous operational threesome, than to be a slave my whole life, and then die with unfulfilled and unrealized experiences with creation.

Once you allow the popular media, the void-of-any-practical-knowledge ‘talkers’, and the socially illiterate-but-acceptable creators of mindless ‘trends’ to plant their de-evolutionary seeds of ‘adult expectations’ into you brain, it becomes too easy to forget the way to Neverland; to forget your muse, to walk away from those who you’ve inspired and, worst of all, lose that special magic, that is: the unique individual called You.   

Instead, keep diving in, discovering, capturing, expressing and loving the planet with the wonderful gifts that are alive inside of you. Never stop exploring. Never allow yourself to devolve from the kind of human being who sees existence through eyes of wonder and awe.

Because we are the artists, and the world needs the monuments that we erect.

Cheers to you; Artist, Friend, Bookworm, Lover, and dear Muse.

- SamTheWriter  

Lauren's words captured me quick and deep. One of her micro-poems slapped me in the face in the most beautiful way a week or so ago. Since then, I've found myself frozen on several occasions just reading and re-reading her posts in my timeline. She's the only poet I've ever subscribed to notifications from. Her words are works of poetic perfection. Lauren weaves words and emotions with the skill of a surgeon. So beautiful. 


Poetry should carry all the elements of joy, happiness, tragedy, loss, hope, and discovery of self; meanwhile, the honesty bled into the lines should capture readers and move them to some kind of action, mentally or physically -- yet always emotionally. Lauren Eden accomplishes this over and over. I've laughed at a few of her poems, and I've also been struck in the gut so sharply by some of her words that I've literally had to get up and hide my eyes. 


She is a wondrous poet. Perfect for my first Insta-Poet ShoutOut. 


Lauren Eden has a book to be released sometime this year, which makes me very happy. 


Follow this beautiful poet HERE. 


Lauren Eden:     OFYESTERYEAR 

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