The Non-Facebook Post #120

I need to write. I need to write when the cacophony of my thoughts whirring about in my head gets deafening. I need to write when the Creative Genius (ala Elizabeth Gilbert's talk) swoops in on me for a fleeting visit. I need to write when I need to think straight - to organize my thoughts, line them up and consider each turn by turn.

It's not you, it's Murphy - you only begin seeing the value of stuff when you no longer have it or have access to it. Back in the day, walking to the grocery lady's corner outdoor stall, walking to the bus stop to hop onto a bus that could connect you to practically any urban location in the city, walking to the neighbour's home were all precisely what I didn't want. It was a yearning for car ownership and driving abilities.
Now, I would happily give up car ownership to be in a place that afforded mass-transit connectivity.

That's just one of the realizing-I-wanted-it-after-I-lost-it instances. There are so many more - things, places, people. I forget half of them until life reminds me of one of them. There are also those that are too personal and too hurtful to willingly want to remember.

I haven't written in a very long time. It takes inspiration to want to write. It also takes courage to want to write and bare once more the soul behind your person. And to accept the dichotomy that you're writing for yourself as well as for another to read. It's meditation and performance all at the same time.

There. It all comes down to Rilke's 'living in the questions' but also some Zen 'living in the now.'

Like Kerouac always guides me, "if you don't say what you want, what is the sense of writing?" I've said all I want, for now.