Ruth

Emily Ralph was one of my best friends growing up. She lived on the other side of the University Campus, and was the only Jewish girl I knew. Emily was adventurous, creative, fun, and knew how to cook for herself. Her grandmother survived the Holocaust and I remember seeing VHS tapes of interviews with her. Emily’s mom was a social worker whose office was across from a corn field.

I liked Emily because her family was tranched like mine. I have 3 sisters, and the oldest has a different father than myself. Emily’s older sister had a different father too; he was a concert pianist, taught at the University and lived around the corner. Greencastle was very conservative, and in spite of small town expectations, it was nice to know that families could have layers.

Emily’s mom was a petit woman with knee-jerk empathy and a strong sense of right and wrong. I always admired how Emily got along with her mom. They seemed to be friends.

I came across the word ‘ruth’ recently. I was more familiar with ‘ruthless.’ There is comfort in the existence of that word’s antithesis; showing empathy, compassion. It’s as though the power of ruthless is balanced and ultimately overcome by its own root; the root is its absolution.

I remember vaguely those VHS tapes; an old woman, a grandmother, with a heavy accent, describing a very personal horror she survived. Only later did I realize how sublimely beautiful it was for her to name her daughter, “Ruth.”

Afflatus

Divine inspiration.

I was casually studying for the GRE and found a book of big words with a cover that appealed to my sense of graphic design. I thumbed the pages and delighted in how many words I actually knew; then I read the chapter heading, "words you probably know." It was followed with other chapters of varying interest and difficulty...I was hooked.

I have been writing monologues inspired by words that don't exist, and there's a satisfaction that comes from finding something that is yet unnamed. What I didn't expect was just how satisfying coming across new and existing words could be. Going through this book, I rolled the definitions of words around in my head, and some of them are truly captivating.

That's when I came across the word, "Afflatus."

The root of the word is 'afflare' which means, "to blow upon." The idea was that, for an artist, writer, scientist, poet, or anyone really, there's that moment when you are seized with inspiration so profound, that it must be divinely attributed; the brush of an angel's wings.

It reminds me of how, in ancient Greece, muses inspired artists; true creative impulse came from without. Then, as the gods waned, and celebrity took over, the curious origin of creative impulse was buried in the psyche of the artist.

I have taken to this word so much, because I love the idea that profound inspiration might be a spiritual experience. I don't subscribe to any faith, but I find that allowing a spiritual component in my creative endeavors is generally advantageous.

I stood in the bookstore with my new prize in hand. The pages fanned close and the sweet smell of a new book brushed my face. "I should make a note of all words I find beautiful and inspiring. List them, (in a blog?), and allow them to guide me towards something creative, profound. Catalogue them like treasured recipes."

So that's where I am now. My excitement about the definitions of beautiful words might not tell me where this will lead, but afflatus isn't concerned with outcomes, just inspiration.