Blog Post #22
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| Fresco: Sappho from Pompeii, about 60 C.E |
I haven’t
written for a while. Nor have I taken time to notice anything. Only when my
mind is alert to subtle (and not so subtle) connections existing in the world around me, am I able
to find inspiration to write. Too much stimulation can overwhelm a quiet,
introverted spirit (such as mine). What is the result? My mind’s vision narrows,
becoming more focused, or blurred; tuning out, instead of taking in. Some stimulation
is desirable, of course, but a surge creating too much stimulation, can overpower,
perhaps destroy, tender and underdeveloped thoughts, causing my brain’s
circuitry to spark and short out.
It’s the steady stream of routine flowing in and out of every day, intermittently switching-off for restful periods at night, I find most productive. Small sparks of stimulation are welcome, provided they spread themselves over days or weeks.
Sadly, my brain
ground to a dull and listless halt back in about November. Now that the
speeding locomotive of holiday commotion has passed, I find myself scrambling
to clean up the confusion left in its wake. Gradually, as one day rolls into
the next, the dust of confusion settles into a sense of calm and predictability.
My train of thoughts begins gathering momentum, chugging into action again.
Slowly
at first, the gears begin to creak and turn. Fueled by the beautiful, bright, warm
weather, that—like an old friend—dropped by to sit a spell, my creative engine
begins creeping along. Sporadic wanderings outdoors and idle walks through the
neighborhood commence anew. I wander the backyard, looking at new growth fresh
from winter rains. I touch the earth, prune the rose bushes, and pull up poor,
brittle plants that failed to survive my neglect during earlier seasons. I
rearrange my workroom, “The Studio,” for the first time in years. I tackle a long overdue project. I’m feeling
invigorated, moving more swiftly down the tracks. I blow the whistle to
announce the one or two goals I’ve already checked off my list. Pressing
forward. Picking up speed. Thoughts are churning into words and images.
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| "The Thinker," by Auguste Rodin |
Maybe I still
have something to write about, after all. I was beginning to doubt. It’s been
so long. Like Michelangelo’s sculptures desperately struggling to immerge from
the stone, thoughts long imprisoned in that dark, forgotten fold of my brain
fight to get out. Writing is the chisel and hammer that will free the captives.
I am their Michelangelo. I am the sculptor. A blank page is the marble.
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| Michelangelo's "Young Slave" (unfinished sculpture) Accademia Gallery in Florence |
Today is a
beginning.
Even if tomorrow
doesn’t reveal a masterpiece, it will reveal a little bit of my soul.
I welcome the New
Year and I welcome you!
© January 16, 2015
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