There are days when I wish I could just let everything go; empty my mind of all worries, thoughts, desires, and fantasies. Being empty allows me to fill myself up with whatever I want. A clean slate to write on. I wish to be a blank page.
I want to be clean. To stand in a rain storm and scrape away my cares. To unearth my stress and toss it over my shoulder–discarded–not to be seen again.
I want to drive fast down a highway with the windows open, looking forward to the horizon with no destination.
I want to sink to the bottom of the pool, unbreathing, weightless, peaceful.
I want to meditate. To drift off into the ether; to become one with the universe, and there, commune with spirits of those unliving. To join in their stories.
I want nothingness. With nothing inside me, I can fill myself with what I need.
Everywhere you look, the snowbanks, though dirty from the mixture of sand and salt, have melted partially and become delicate lacy formations, much like coral.
It’s difficult to get a good picture of it. It’s very pretty though. If you click on the picture you can see the detail.
Music has a place in the hearts of many—one might even say the majority of people; it’s what we listen to in our cars when we’re driving as fast as we can (legally of course 😉 ); it’s what we employ to escape the doldrums of life; it’s our background noise; it’s the panacea that allows our souls to heal.
But what of the artists who create it? We treat them these days as though the owe us. We steal from them, and the internet allows us to without reserve. Think about that…
That’s not what this post is about, however. I want to talk about the quality of the recordings we hear in this age of digital everything. Have you ever heard anything on vinyl? Do you remember why it is preferable, even though you want to preserve the cover, to take off the plastic wrap from the outer sleeve of a 33 and a third record?
I am so happy I kept all my records. I have here, in my house, the very first rock album I ever received–Christmas of 1977–“Frampton Comes Alive.” I have many of the CD versions of the old albums I still possess–“Equinox” by Styx, “A Night at the Opera” by Queen” (which I most gratefully received for Christmas last year as a limited edition vinyl copy)
and I’m able to do a direct A to B comparison. Believe me when I say that if listening to a CD is great, experiencing the same on vinyl, is like being in the same room as the band as they record it. Where digital is a flat wall of sound, vinyl surrounds you like you’re standing inside the music. It penetrates. It removes all other thoughts. It allows you to be fully in the moment, where no cares can invade. It is healing.
If you ever have the opportunity to listen to vinyl, do. If you ever have the chance to buy a turntable, do. Vinyl is coming back. Embrace it.
Check out this picture. Seriously, this is so cool.
click on the photo to see the detail
Gazing out the window as I was eating my breakfast this morning, I noticed that the way the sun was positioned, it caused the shadow of the two twisted-around-each-other trees in the foreground to line up perfectly with the one behind it. You can see the hole the two produce in the shadow, even though it’s about ten feet above where the trunks actually part. What’s more stunning than that, is, the higher branch is at the exact angle to go up the offshoot of the background tree.
Playing around with my camera while I was waiting for Alex’s bus to arrive, I found a few interesting things:
A feather trapped in the branches of my hedge.
Leaves glued to the ice, so transparent that their skeletons are showing.
I liked the way the lens focused on the twigs, rendering the house in the background an afterthought.
Now that I have a memory card for the camera I bought before Christmas, I’ll start taking it out more often. My phone takes decent pictures, but it can’t beat 16.1 megapixels. I just have to learn how to use it to its full advantage.
I need organisation. First, I must state that this post was inspired by our lovely Belinda at Idiot Writing. (You can find the post here: http://idiotwriting.wordpress.com/2014/03/14/organisation/ .) In it, she tells how much more organised she is than I.
When I do finally get a moment to myself to sit and write, I invariably get comfortable with my laptop and, before I begin, I look around the room. It’s a mess. I think to myself, “I need to be more organised,” but do I do anything about it? Of course not! I just got comfortable.
So I write, but in the back of my mind there is the mess I should be cleaning up. I’m unable to fully relax and enjoy myself. Why don’t I just clean it up? Because it will take hours–hours that I could be spending writing. And what’s the use when my darling children will just mess it up again anyway? Doing a little bit at a time is useless. I’ll just end up doing the same little bit again the next day.
It’s a vicious circle of discomfort for me.
I did, actually find something that worked for me once. When I was selling my house back in Gatineau, Quebec, I had to clean up the place to show it to perspective buyers. So I took a picture of the mess, one room at a time. I then worked my ass off, non-stop, until I was ready to take an “after” picture. I was truly amazed at the progress I was able to make, and I had a reward at the end to boot–a picture of my immaculate room.
Before
After
I swore I would do that again when I moved. I made a New Year’s resolution, four years ago, to make and keep this place clean. I did it again three years ago, two, one, and this year as well. HA! The difference? First, I’m not selling, and second, back then I wasn’t writing.
One of these days…
How do you deal with organisation? Or do you? I’d love some suggestions.
There are worse things in the world than getting motivation from a fortune cookie, I suppose. But then, I think I can win the lottery. Will I? I guess I can if I buy a ticket.
While the statement on this tiny slip of paper is true, to a certain extent, it’s vague at best. Where is the trying? What do we get out of life if we just sit and imagine we can, without making an attempt? We get nothing, most of the time.
Case in point: I think I can make something out of this post. Am I giving it a half-hearted effort? Yes. Was I motivated by the piece of paper I found in a fortune cookie? Yes.
All this to say that, just because you think you can, doesn’t mean you’re going to be good at it. And there’s my de-motivational post for the day.
Chew on it.
Okay, but seriously. To be creative–to create something out of my own mind that is brand new–I have to be in the right frame of mind. No amount of external motivation is going to change that. It may help, but in the end nothing is going to inspire me quite like, well, me. When that spark fires in my brain that tells me I have something to write about, or I fall on something I’m passionate about, it’s like I’m a ball of energy, rolling down a hill, unable to stop. I can zing through a paragraph as though I was propelled by an elastic band, my fingers flying around the keyboard, unable to keep up with my brain. That’s when I would say to myself, “Yes I can!” except that I’m too busy creating to think such a thing.
So is the fortune cookie wrong? Personally, I think it’s possible to think too much.
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