End of Week Bliss
From today's journal entry:
My drive time over the past few weeks--since I've been writing Dusk and Ember again, and also since I've been listening to lectures on CD--have been especially creative times. Behind the wheel of my car my brain shifts into a lower gear to perform the menial and rote but somewhat inputting task of driving; and I sense a release, a letting go of another part in my brain. Controlled, these times are extraordinarily creative for me. I either write in my small notebook on the steering wheel, or I pull over to get the thoughts and words out. And now because I'm working on D&E, I sometimes pull out the manuscript itself and write directly there. So, the thing I wrote in the car this morning is this:
"The older I get the less I enjoy sitting down to watch TV and movies. I don't like TV and movies because they disrespect real life."
And my time is so precious to me now. We are all so very short lived here on this earth. I still mourn the years wasted in a toxic relationship; so that is a recognized driver of my attitude. But it's also age. I feel my mortality, and so I want to make the most of my time. I actually figured out recently that, by any calculation, I can only read X amount of books in my life remaining. So the question is: What will X be? What will I let into my mind? Consume my time? Because that's what these things do. You are not so much the consumer as you are the one being consumed. Maybe that's why we ask one another: "What's eating you?"
I had another thought on the drive in the other day. I did not write it down, which is a dangerous thing, I know. Ideas for poems, stories, and books are lost because I did not stop to write it down. But something about this thought--I knew it would keep. And it has. Here it is:
As you're driving in to the job, or driving to do your errands, look up from the cars in front of you, up to the tree line, and then beyond that, to the sky. Go to the sky. And then beyond that. Glance and look. Glance and look. And let seep into you a marvelous sense of wonderment and joy, for what is designed for you, and for the designer. We are all each one passengers travelling together at 66,600 miles per hour. That's awfully fast. Take the moment to glance and look, glance and look. Hold onto it. And revel in the marvels you've been given. Revel deep in the glory of your being.
My drive time over the past few weeks--since I've been writing Dusk and Ember again, and also since I've been listening to lectures on CD--have been especially creative times. Behind the wheel of my car my brain shifts into a lower gear to perform the menial and rote but somewhat inputting task of driving; and I sense a release, a letting go of another part in my brain. Controlled, these times are extraordinarily creative for me. I either write in my small notebook on the steering wheel, or I pull over to get the thoughts and words out. And now because I'm working on D&E, I sometimes pull out the manuscript itself and write directly there. So, the thing I wrote in the car this morning is this:
"The older I get the less I enjoy sitting down to watch TV and movies. I don't like TV and movies because they disrespect real life."
And my time is so precious to me now. We are all so very short lived here on this earth. I still mourn the years wasted in a toxic relationship; so that is a recognized driver of my attitude. But it's also age. I feel my mortality, and so I want to make the most of my time. I actually figured out recently that, by any calculation, I can only read X amount of books in my life remaining. So the question is: What will X be? What will I let into my mind? Consume my time? Because that's what these things do. You are not so much the consumer as you are the one being consumed. Maybe that's why we ask one another: "What's eating you?"
I had another thought on the drive in the other day. I did not write it down, which is a dangerous thing, I know. Ideas for poems, stories, and books are lost because I did not stop to write it down. But something about this thought--I knew it would keep. And it has. Here it is:
As you're driving in to the job, or driving to do your errands, look up from the cars in front of you, up to the tree line, and then beyond that, to the sky. Go to the sky. And then beyond that. Glance and look. Glance and look. And let seep into you a marvelous sense of wonderment and joy, for what is designed for you, and for the designer. We are all each one passengers travelling together at 66,600 miles per hour. That's awfully fast. Take the moment to glance and look, glance and look. Hold onto it. And revel in the marvels you've been given. Revel deep in the glory of your being.
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