Old Entries, New Gate

I find it surprisingly comforting to look back on old journals and see that, even in the past when I thought I wasn’t a writing or wasn’t thinking or working enough, I was. In fact, I was flying! Recently, I wrote a journal entry about how this frustrated me at the moment. Because, back then, I didn’t even realize what a real dry spell was, I didn’t realize the exhaughstion that comes with 50 hours of work a week and being so drained that you can’t even think about how you can’t think. But the advantage is that now, I have faith that no matter what, it has not gone too far. I will write and sing and fly again. So, I wanted to write down and give the tired little journal entries a little sunshine and air that they deserve, from the past. I look back tenderly on a woman I guess I was, but is beautifully walking through my door today, singing hello and smiling and declaring that she is, in fact, the past-me.

17 June 2009

Work has been crazy, but I’m trying to train my brain to put it away when I’m not doing it. So many people streaming in and out, the voices pile up at the door, jammed.

Something about the flow of things — calling, wanting to embrace the grip along the sides of your shoes, your hand against my head at night while I sleep, whispering, The body is no more an agent than a star, no more a name than grass, or what it feels like to leap into things.

And I wake dusting older sails off the eyes, ones used to get somewhere closer to the center, without being aware—it is already the gift I circle around in 24 hours, like the joy of where we last spoke, the atoms before sunset, top up, guessing on your moods, guessing the chorus will keep singing.

And we sway, back and forth to the leaning bookshelves, heavy with the only things I have forgotten to write down.

Am I just gazing into a lake? So the voices pile up at the door, and

My heart aches. I try to open up to God. Where is my attention?

No, I try too hard to acquire something–do I need to prove myself each day? I should read more, try and take in what others say, is this correct?

Feel walls moving in. Like all I’d rather do is go somewhere and be silent. Still. I like sitting in my room, thinking. God is always waiting for us, pursuing us. What keeps me from encountering? I kept reading tonight in my neuroscience book about volition and attention. Loved when they quote William James. I need to read more of him. Other voices mirror what we would have thought but haven’t given enough attention to it yet.

I want to record another poem–I sang in my last recording. I liked letting whatever I want, come up. As though coals are always form ing, and it takes some third element, spiritual volition, to ignite the coal.


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