Isn’t Ethan Cute?
Just testing out Windows Live Writer. Check out Google Chrome for an awesome browser.
Saturday, April 24, 2010
Monday, April 19, 2010
What happens now...
Writing, the simple act of taking my laptop out on the town or, travelling, always with a pen and a notebook, has often been my refuge.
Words arrive in my head and stay with me like mosaic tiles, shining in their individuality and waiting to be part of a whole, on numerous occasions I have carried sentence fragments in my head or on the tip of my tongue for years, before knowing where the "whole" is that they fit into.
I have written in bars and on transatlantic flights, written on all manner of public transport all over the world...
So, here's the question- Why then, when I have the time and the space and the emotional support to tell my stories, to play with words in a way that I don't often have in my life and which may in fact be fleeting, do I have such a hard time actually making the time to write?
It is not writers block, it isn't fear.
It is a and expectation I have of myself, a series of would haves and should haves that of course I would love to be immune to but, again of course, am not.
So my words chase their own tales and wait.
I suppose I wait too.
I wait for daily inspiration.
I wait until I can hear the voice in my head that says, "forget that you didn't write yesterday, forget what could have been. Think about what is and where you are..." and believe it. Or at least listen.
I am listening today.
I will start with this blank slate, here...
What happens now is anyone's guess.
Words arrive in my head and stay with me like mosaic tiles, shining in their individuality and waiting to be part of a whole, on numerous occasions I have carried sentence fragments in my head or on the tip of my tongue for years, before knowing where the "whole" is that they fit into.
I have written in bars and on transatlantic flights, written on all manner of public transport all over the world...
So, here's the question- Why then, when I have the time and the space and the emotional support to tell my stories, to play with words in a way that I don't often have in my life and which may in fact be fleeting, do I have such a hard time actually making the time to write?
It is not writers block, it isn't fear.
It is a and expectation I have of myself, a series of would haves and should haves that of course I would love to be immune to but, again of course, am not.
So my words chase their own tales and wait.
I suppose I wait too.
I wait for daily inspiration.
I wait until I can hear the voice in my head that says, "forget that you didn't write yesterday, forget what could have been. Think about what is and where you are..." and believe it. Or at least listen.
I am listening today.
I will start with this blank slate, here...
What happens now is anyone's guess.
Monday, April 12, 2010
3:33
Sometimes, I have the most clarity during this amber, pink hued space between falling asleep and being awake. Sometimes not. This is the time when the grammar and the pretense of knowing what I'm doing fall away. I live with that.
I once had an acupuncturist tell me that your liver replenishes itself between 2 and 4 in the morning, that in chinese medicine your liver is the place of transition and process and pulling yourself back into the circle of being that is you.
It follows then that those of us often awake during these are working towards something, working something out, engaging in some kind of personal process or praxis- moving always forward into tomorrow.
Certainly this has been, and continues to be a time of deep transition in my life and the lives of those I love vehemently enough to call family. This is not a negative, it just is.
There is a sort of undulating mantra of my own making, I return to again and again, it always goes something like this: This is what I know- I know that I am loved and that those I love know it, everyday. I know beyond the trappings of Western constructs, beyond the idea(l) of productivity that I am worth it and that knowing who you are and what you believe is not an end point, it is a state of being, of endless circular, self-perpetuating movement and a practice of acceptance. It is something I, and I believe most of us cannot endeavor to tackle alone, who are we anyway, without the people that matter to us?
I could list again the many tangible ways in which the past year or so have been about completion, transition, adjustment, the pursuit of love... But we know that already.
Right now, I am choosing just to accept the process and to continue living in all of those moments, whatever and whomever they bring me, whatever and whomever I find in myself.
I will continue to know that I am complete, that I am here and that there will never be a point when I arrive at a finite destination, a place of "doneness" where I have nothing left to learn, nothing left to want, no more love to give to myself, no more love to give anyone else- no, those feelings will only continue to grow exponentially.
I will continue to love those I love with fervor, with my whole self. I will endeavor everyday to embrace the process, to grow more and give more and be.
I once had an acupuncturist tell me that your liver replenishes itself between 2 and 4 in the morning, that in chinese medicine your liver is the place of transition and process and pulling yourself back into the circle of being that is you.
It follows then that those of us often awake during these are working towards something, working something out, engaging in some kind of personal process or praxis- moving always forward into tomorrow.
Certainly this has been, and continues to be a time of deep transition in my life and the lives of those I love vehemently enough to call family. This is not a negative, it just is.
There is a sort of undulating mantra of my own making, I return to again and again, it always goes something like this: This is what I know- I know that I am loved and that those I love know it, everyday. I know beyond the trappings of Western constructs, beyond the idea(l) of productivity that I am worth it and that knowing who you are and what you believe is not an end point, it is a state of being, of endless circular, self-perpetuating movement and a practice of acceptance. It is something I, and I believe most of us cannot endeavor to tackle alone, who are we anyway, without the people that matter to us?
I could list again the many tangible ways in which the past year or so have been about completion, transition, adjustment, the pursuit of love... But we know that already.
Right now, I am choosing just to accept the process and to continue living in all of those moments, whatever and whomever they bring me, whatever and whomever I find in myself.
I will continue to know that I am complete, that I am here and that there will never be a point when I arrive at a finite destination, a place of "doneness" where I have nothing left to learn, nothing left to want, no more love to give to myself, no more love to give anyone else- no, those feelings will only continue to grow exponentially.
I will continue to love those I love with fervor, with my whole self. I will endeavor everyday to embrace the process, to grow more and give more and be.
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