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OUTERWORLD,INNERDISCOVERYChad GrivetteF A L L 2 0 2 2

Introduction- *1-2Included WorksTrees (Haiku Poem)-*3Breath (Haiku Poem)-*3 Green (Definition Poem)-*4Jasper’s Click (Short Story)-*5-7The Peace of Midday(Nonfiction Short Story)-*8-10My Thoughts (100-wordpoem)-*11Where is my Good “Self”?(Sestina Poem)-12-14Letter to the “I Am” (SonnetPoem)-*15(Nature)(Reflections)

Creative Writing“Creative people can stimulate creativity, in others, by osmosis.” – AlanWattsI’ve always found a home with my creative side. Painting, learning music,writing songs, drawing portraits, or otherwise, just having fun. What I’vediscovered with writing is that it is no different. It is still tapping into thatmysterious realm of creativity that lies latent in mind. Except with writing,the goal is to bring the reader into that realm with you as well. Meeting in aplace where words become images, adventures can be had, and emotions canbe explored.This semester I feel this class has pushed me to grow in many ways as a writer.Not only do I feel more confident with the quality of my work, but I also feelmuch more confident in taking risks and experimenting with different topicsand forms. Topics and layouts of writing which I could never have imaginedmyself writing about. Such as the topic of one of my included works: “ThePeace of Midday.” This work is a short nonfiction story about exactly what thetitle states. I talk about normal aspects of a day in my life that I’m sure havehappened to many people, but I try to bring an extra emphasis to the imageryfactor. This is a 11

factor that I’ve learned can make the topics that sound boring onpaper blossom into an entirely gripping world full of lessons andemotions. Explicitly exploring the forms of poetry this semester has allowed meto open up to many possibilities that writing can offer for expressingmoods, themes, and emotions. These assignments were the ones thatreally pushed me to think like I never had before and open my eyesto experimentation. Throughout this process, I’ve gained a new love for writing, in theway that it can create so much intrigue from the most simplistic ofbeginnings. That is a vast theme that I try to convey in some wayswith some of the pieces I’ve included here. There is no goal of theseworks, but if there was it would be to display the depth that thesimple can hold, as well as the ability that writing offers to tacklesome more serious and intimate topics in our lives. There are two subsections: Nature and Reflections. The first comesfrom the ease of inspiration that I’ve pulled from Mother Natureover the course of this semester. The latter is inspired from the innerquestions and experiences that many of the works I’ve included hintat in some way or another. To conclude, I’d like to thank anyone who reads and relates to anypart of these works. I feel like it has been a pleasure to explore manyof these forms and I’m excited to share a glimpse at what thissemester of writing has been like for me.22

Nature

TreesTrees are like people,they grow and they wither. Both are takers and givers.breathA breath is needed,so, you can find me breathing.This moment stress is leaving.33

G•reen\\ n. 1. The leaves of the bamboo plant onthe edge of the windowsill that is accompaniedwith frequent thoughts of getting away fromhome. 2. Grass beneath living, breathing thingsthat continues to grow even though it isfrequently trampled on. A marked sign of growth,though sometimes it could be envy for some. Inthat case it be the splinter of one’s being, jealousyimpeding in every thought and action. Still atother times it hints at newness, a fresh perspectiveor inexperience. It has a sort of music for mewhen I encounter it overhanging in the branchesof my yard. A favored color, / a sign that life isplenty, / a gift from Mother Nature, / a particularglow to savor, / this expression I see in trees, / thatleaves in autumn, / but always returns in spring.44

ReflectionsReflections

Jasper's ClickJasper's ClickJasper's Click Mr. Ferneti had been testing the same calculations for quite some time. Jasper watchedhim avidly as he prepared to pour the next vial. If this experiment proved fruitful, thenthose afflicted with Alzheimer’s disease could have an opportunity at damage reductionand even possibly a cure. Jasper clicked his pen in anticipation as he watched. He countedthe clicks: “One-two-three, one-two-three, one-two-three.” His eyes darted to Mr.Ferneti, then at the vial, then back to Mr. Ferneti. Jasper kept clicking. Finally, Mr.Ferneti broke through the clicking and called for Jasper’s attention.“I am about to pour the next sample. Jasper, set the timer.” Said Mr. Ferneti from acrossthe clunkily arranged laboratory table.“Okay, got it.” Jasper had the timer just to his right beside the notepad he kept for all the importantinformation Mr. Ferneti wanted to remember. Jasper grabbed the timer and cranked itcarefully back. He noted the rounds of clicks, something like the spin and click of a slotmachine, except this time, people’s lives hung in the air. He stopped at the fifteen-minutemarker, the time Mr. Ferneti had used across the entire experiment. The timer began itsautonomous clicking that would continue for Jasper’s foreseeable future. “Click, click,click. Click, click, click...” the timer rattled with Jasper’s attention fully locked. “Got it set. Did you notice anything different about this one while cooking it up?” Jasperasked as his attention clicked back to the experiment. The timer continued in thebackground. The vial had a notable palish green hue this time. It almost looked like it held a glow to itas well. Jasper thought he was beginning to lose it a little. The nervousness was gettingto him. So, 55

he continued clicking his pen, in synchronous fashion with the timer, as he waited for Mr.Ferneti’s response. “Clickity, clickity, click. Clickity, clickity, click.” He took turns with hispen in rhythm with the timer as he waited, growing more nervous with each click.“You see young boy...” Mr. Ferneti’s voice seemed to carry such weight it shook the room.This only made Jasper speed up his clicking. “... this is my golden child. This is the most confident I have felt in one of these samples yet,and there is a real chance that this could be it.”Jasper at once ceased his clicking. He couldn’t believe it. There was no way what Mr.Ferneti just said could be true. “Could they really be on the cusp of the cure forAlzheimer’s?” he thought. “There’s no way.” Jasper’s over-rational mind quickly shut downthe possibility, and Jasper at once returned to clicking his pen, this time in a distinct one-twofashion. “One-two. One-two. One-two.” His pen was like his heartbeat. Steadily atattention, Jasper waited for further explanation from Mr. Ferneti. Mr. Ferneti moved closer to Jasper, locking eyes with him in an almost intimate way. Butthis was not a romantic type of intimacy. This was about their feelings for their work andwhat it could mean for humanity. Jasper’s pen clicked in its one-two pattern bouncing fromthe beat of his heart to the click of the timer. His attention couldn’t be more accentuatedtowards Mr. Ferneti.“It was an error in my judgment and calculations. I made it time and time again. Experimentafter experiment, after experiment”, said Mr. Ferneti. “An Error!” Jasper’s excitation seemed to echo across the lab as his heart, the timer, and thepen, which all had been monotonously clicking for so long, finally stopped. 66

“Before, I had failed to realize that the sample would be unstable due to the use of syntheticelements. Now I have corrected all the seemingly wrong math. If our testing on the ratsshows no harm, we will be able to move towards human trials.” Jasper watched as Mr. Ferneti took the green vial from the complex machinery that made itactive. Mr. Ferneti clicked the door open very slowly and removed the vial from the machine.He clicked open the vial that held the green liquid and loaded it into the needle that would gointo the poor rat who would be its tester. Mr. Ferneti approached the pale-looking albinorat, punctured the needle into his skin, and he and Jasper waited. After some time, Mr. Ferneti looked back up at Jasper with a smile and double-clicked hisown pen as he grabbed the chart that lay beside the rat’s cage. His click of the pen was withpurpose and confidence, so unlike the way Jasper always nervously clicked his. Mr. Fernetimade one swift mark across the paper, double-clicking the pen again to finish: “ONE-TWO.”“Now, young boy, we move to human trials,” Mr. Ferneti said, smiling with the biggest smileJasper thought he’d ever seen. 77

The Peace ofMidday The smell of freshly made coffee lingers in my nostrils as I look through my slidingglass door, peering into the fresh beauty of the luscious green backyard I’ve grownso accustomed to loving. I pour my freshly made cup of joe and look down at myfeet. Dancing around my ankles is my family’s black and white Boston terrierpuppy named Adrian. We’ve grown close together lately, and she often frequentswith me in the backyard on days like these. We start our way outside as I grab ourpicnic blanket and my copy of the Upanishads, a treatise and collection of texts onIndian philosophy. A perfect thing to pair with my coffee and a perfect way toengross myself in nature. I find myself in a prime spot in the middle of the baking sun, laying down myblanket and coming into a comfortable seat with my legs crossed. It is still earlyenough that the sun is not cooking me too hotly, but the heat provides a pleasantkiss of warmth to the skin. I see the light glistening through the branches andpeering down towards the ground. I see a few of the critters who find their home inthe grass start to crawl on my legs. I open my book and begin to find myselfteleported into a world of my deepest thoughts about life and the mysteries behindit. Three words stand out on the page: “That thou art.” I have always had a fascination with life and consciousness, and this text hasproved only to grow that intrigue more as I find myself deeper and deeper into therealm of the subtle. I hear the branches of the trees and how they dance in thewind. I hear the wind itself and the way the movement of the air breaks upon myskin. I hear the air rush in my body as I inhale my next breath. Maybe this is the artthe words on the page of my book mention. There is art in the simple, and thesedays allow me a much-welcomed reminder and experience of that. 88

Adrian is currently engaged in a stare-down with a squirrel who rests at the endof a nimble branch. I can tell that the squirrel beckons her, and he may regret thetaunting should it fall or find itself near Adrian on the ground. They take turnsexchanging barks, squeaks, and grunts with each other. I can’t tell if it is a realconversation or if it is some type of chaotic call-and-response music that they arecreating together. Several moments pass as I turn page after page, progressing through my book. Allis well, and the day seems to be reaching a prime type of relaxation. All until I seethe dreaded rope. The rope, which I notice, is not a rope at all, as it moves in awave-like motion. This could only be one thing, a snake. The snake appears to be inching closer to me as it goes from rapid wave motion toeerie stillness in unpredictable bursts. My anxiety slightly awakens as I realize thisrope could very well bite me eventually. I rise from my comfortable seated positionand start to back away from the snake. It comes closer. Closer. Ever stilldecreasing the separation between us. Now the anxiety has transmuted into asubtle overhanging fear, like a storm cloud over a sports game, my plans forrelaxation have been canceled for sure. Just as the courage I need to act rises upwithin me, the snake decides to lose interest and completely abandon its plightwith me exiting through the gap in the wood fence of our backyard. I return to my cross-legged seat without much second thought to the fear I was justwholly enveloped in. Life is like that sometimes. Like a snake, which looks as if itwere a rope. But I guess that is part of the art too. Like an optical illusion or a typeof surprise twist ending at the close of a film. What we think to be a rope can, attimes, turn out to be a snake, and what we perceive as dangerous could very wellbe not a threat at all. Just like the snake who exited, just as 99

I managed the courage to disturb it. I sat for a few more moments soaking up mygratitude for the snake and what it taught me. The midday sun reaching a primeposition in the sky. 1010

MyMyMyThoughtsThoughtsThoughts They come in waves, waves like the kind that move through the ocean, or the kind of wavesthat move through the air that light the surface of this page.Here and gone.Here and gone.Both real and unreal until I commit them to manifestation.Until they use me to become tangible.Then they try to find escape. Escape from the prison of my head, where my discernment is chief warden to what thoughts receive birth into the world of man. Trouble or benefit they bring with them,let the weight rest on my discernment which allows them birth. 1111

I had always tried to remain awarebut reflection can be so elusive,trying and obsessive to do correctly. Comparesomeone like me to someone who’s self-aware. You couldn’t imagine. It couldn’t be simpleeven if it were woven in my nature. The pursuit of desire has been my nature. For what I want and my selfishness I’ve always been awareand for what my desires were they had always been simpleand hedonistic. Often making my goodness elusiveI focused on one thing, myself.For I lacked any model saint to compare. Where is my Good "Self"? 1212

Only bad influences available to compare for me. Lost in the whims of naturelooking for what everyone calls their “self”,I had never found any “self”. That I was awareof. That I knew. For me, hope was elusiveI wasn’t a good person and that was simple. Perhaps, people are not good though. That’s simple.People are only good and bad if we compare and my wants for comparison grow elusive.Tired I am of constantly fighting nature, I accept I’m not a good person, and cherish those awareenough to admit neither good nor bad describe their self. For me, selfishness is the perfect word describing my “self”.But to limit it to one word may be too simpleno person could be described by one word, that I am aware.So, I’d rather leave it up to others to compareand choose who I am, rather than define my own naturewhen the reality is much more elusive. 1313

For me, life itself remains elusivelet alone the existence of my “self”and maybe these questions lie in my naturethat may be the only thing simple.A good and bad self I could not comparebecause to neither I could remain aware. But who is aware, who is ever elusivebeyond capability to compare, and synonymous with Self?No answer is simple, to these questions of nature. 1414

The unknown was always your own, quietstill, and at peace. I imagine at least. Sometimes you were dark, sometimes you were lightyou are living still, so still, your deceased.Deceased to passions and pain we sufferand deceased to a thought of existence.True you manifest for every loverBut are you a lover’s own repentance?If these ways of love are covered in sinwho can you really call of your own?Is your form masculine or feminine,and is perfection a state of alone?Either way, I don’t know if it mattersto question and ask, insult or flatter. LETTER TOTHE "I AM"1515

Thankyou forreading- C H A D