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  • Writer's pictureCamp Goldston Publishing, LLC


Always searching for rhyme or reason can be maddening. It’s like trying to make sense of the nonsensical or looking for the well-disguised blessing that you hope is somewhere inside every presumed curse. I tend to view life as somewhat poetic, seeing everything as a song – good, bad, happy, sad, meaningful, indifferent, blurry lines between fantasy and reality, ideas and imagination running wild into creative expression, or left unrequited to simply fizzle into the ether and take hold somewhere else, with someone else, to rinse and repeat in different versions.

But if there’s nothing new under the sun, then are ideas just a dime a dozen? Maybe. Still, my greatest release – a form of bloodletting for me – is writing, stringing words together, with or without intentional form. Words can be both cheap and expensive, both free and at a cost, for the giver and the receiver.

Sometimes as a writer, when I dig deep, I strike gold, or I find it unexpectedly and gratefully in the shallow. I especially love when the words seem to fall from the heavens without much effort, compensating for all those times when the struggle is real, and I come up empty. That’s when my best choice is to just give in instead of giving up and go with the flow, lest it dams me.

The magic in writing – as in life – can be found in the effort of trying, by being the participant who is seeking and ready to catch. More often than not, it’s found by digging deep. It’s as cliche as the journey vs. the destination or eliminating disappointment by detaching myself from grandiose expectations. It’s in being present, simply showing up, just doing it.

The truth is, I couldn’t think of a single thing to write about as my deadline for this article was closing in. I kept chasing ideas that I couldn’t outrun. So with determination, I sat outside on my porch, cleared my cluttered mind, and resolved to write whatever I could “catch” in whatever form. And by default, of course, a song (maybe a poem with a melody) emerged. I hope it means something to someone. Now I can rest my mind, if only for a little while.


Belinda J. Jackson © October 19, 2020

(First Verse) Sometimes when I’m digging deep For answers to my questions I get lost inside a rabbit hole Like a maze with no directions A crazy house of mirrors With kaleidoscope reflections More good than bad, more joy than sad A perfect world of imperfections

(Chorus) But sometimes I want to turn it off Go back to that blank canvas And slip into a simpler time Like Dorothy still in Kansas But I think, therefore I Am; Just a dreamer without sleep Always trying to break new ground Forever digging deep

(Second Verse) I paint a picture in my mind Where no one is in chains Where freedom, peace, and justice reign Where we’re different, but the same A Dalivision of mosaics Where brokenness is whole Where every stroke is more than luck Where eyes behold each soul

(Repeat Chorus) (Bridge) When fantasy becomes reality I’ll lay me down to sleep But until my work on Earth is done I’ll keep digging deep

(Repeat Chorus)


—Belinda Jackson

Belinda is currently a freelance writer and resides in her hometown in The Shoals Area of Northwest Alabama. Leaving the rat race of several demanding careers behind, she’s making the most of the quarantine and enjoying the slowdown. Belinda worked on Nashville’s Music Row throughout the ’90s as a songwriter, publisher, and songplugger, focusing on helping her staff of songwriters get their songs recorded, including some #1 hits. These days, whether she’s writing songs or articles, creating handmade jewelry for local shops, crocheting, or exploring nature for treasures, as long as she’s doing something creative, she’s happy. Her daughters Sydney and Hali and her grandson Marshall are the light of her life.

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