Taking time to write…
Taking time to write, between moments of feeling distracted by the sense of “must do…”
Even now, my mind has not settled restfully on the page. Searching, searching, searching, was there something I forgot?
The purpose of putting these words here today is really as a placeholder. I mean to be working on a book now, but after a late start and a few important tasks, the day got a bit more away from me, than in hand.
I mean to set some time apart and begin to heap words onto the page. Having never focused on the actual writing of a book, my best guess is to begin to pour out words and to sort through them. Books, being made of words, must certainly be found there; or so my thinking goes.
I had thought I might begin the process today, but as I said, things got away from me.
There is a parallel purpose which I hope we will find together in these words here. I hope to craft some semblance of an apology for those who found themselves wading through my last public offering.
Fortunately for them, and due to some apparent and enormous grace on my part, I have a taskmaster who keeps me accountable to infections such as this. In reply to my last piece, he wrote:
“Good piece, Kabir.
Except for a couple of lapses….'rich smell of earth and sap’. Why must it always be ‘rich’ which conveys nothing. Instead, if you could really differentiate between earth smell and sap smell, that would be worth saying, especially as it was apparently ‘intoxicating' which is an $10 corporate word substituting for an actual description.
And the ranger truck (driver) was not lonely. You weren’t lonely, on the contrary, so why assume the truck was lonely? Actually, the guy has 5 kids, 4 in their teens and an unplanned 18-month old, plus he has recently taken on another mistress and is troubled with lust in a nice way, and guilt in a not nice way. Lonely? He should be so lucky.
Who notices these things that are lapses from authenticity into the bland false world of the corporation and the careless writer who nonetheless wants others to read his stuff?”
I was horrified. When I first started publishing (on the regular), I did so simply to cast a storyline, like assembling sculpture of natural materials in the forest as we pass. As the work progressed, it came to be of greater importance to me to leave a frame of words worth having written; not just some raw collection of artifact, but at the very least something with a bit of care for the eye that may come later.
I could not of done so were not for the careful feedback of those who wish to see my application of the craft appreciate with time (and of course a little discipline perhaps. 😉
So to those who may have suffered affront to the delicate aesthetic sensibilities of their soul, which is of course to say anyone who read more than a few words without physically recoiling and retreating from a healthy sense of self preservation, to you I say, “I’m sorry.”
I will strive to do better.
Of course I’m not so pure of heart as to take down the offending material, delete, and burn all copies. No, the record of this offense will remain as a reminder to me of just how close I can come to the murder of an art, and a warning to others on the roadside to stay vigilant and careful, and not to say horrible things which mean nothing.
In mid August of this year, I dreamt of a book proposal, something that has been stewing me for some years now. I mentioned this to my friend Daniel, whom I just so happened to have been in correspondence with at the time. I have not done nothing on the project since, but the very little that I have done, is all that has been done for now.
Of course there is doing that is done to us and not so much by us that also must come to pass if these things are to arise in the world.
I have been drinking in the grace and creative offerings of others, through books (in audio) and interviews in pursuit of some insight or generative dialogue, and the sense grows deeper in me each day of the importance of letting the enormous love I feel inside find its way more materially into the world.
This sense is not without contrast, as I often feel with an equal passion, that it is by turning inward, facing with my awareness directly that love so that the distance between “me” or “I” and the profound depths of loving, compassionate, gratitude, wisdom, and care might dissolve completely.
“Let the beauty we love, be what we do.” Said the poet Rumi.
So I walk this thin line between a small self that seeks to serve, seeks to offer some “thing,”, and an opening of boundless depth and timeless reach that might shine some small rays of light through these eyes if only their busyness can rest for a moment and make free themselves as an instrument of that song.
Some form of attention lately has been at a premium. The last two days have been the first in some time where I felt well and strong enough to relax and focus on the work at hand. This morning broke again that theme and it took five hours between waking and rising to weave my way through the path of suffering to reach the place of outer work.
This ocean of a world has certainly seen turbulent storms of late, and this little eddy of a life has been no exception; and so I meet these motions, as patiently as I may, remembering when I can to stop and turn my awareness to face that boundless beauty of awareness, and from there, and when I don’t remember, to honor, admire, and respect what is being and what can be done.
So today with some discomfort settled in for the journey, I made less time to write than I had imagined. I wrote a different set of words than those I had thought I might write. But here we are nonetheless, the leading edge of the moment, some tiny bud of new life, creativity, generosity of eternity winding our way forward into the light.
God gets to know things, we just get to ask questions…