Journal to the Other Side

4. A Sense of Living 2/22

2003.02.22

It's 3:00-4:00 in the morning. I'm feeling better , but still trying to clear my head. I'm writing without contacts because I'm getting an eye exam and ordering glasses tomorrow / today ... when the sun comes up. :-)

I'm brewing coffee and letting my oatmeal cool. I like this feeling; being up before anyone else, my own space in the universe, my own sense of purpose and direction and my connection to that person within. I expressed as much in my poem "Being There". Perhaps I should submit it to a reputable contest or magazine? Maybe.

I'm starting to understand and get the idea that a little writing – whatever it is – each day goes along way. Since I started these morning pages, I've been writing and editing more than I have in a long time. I forgot how it felt. I'm getting brainstorms about stories I have locked up and haven't worked on in years. It feels good. It feels vital and like life itself is coursing through me. Yes. When I'm writing about anything I feel alive! When I'm living life, I'm writing about it, and with it, in my head. Sometimes I'll turn off the internal dialogue and just BE in the moment; to truly live it for a moment. Then, I'm describing the experience inside my head again. :-) I find it amusing for me! (Ah! I can breathe!)

I start writing, and forget all else. Truly, life itself courses through my veins and my very being when I write. I do not take for granted that I'm alive. On the contrary, I'm well acquainted with the fact that we are all a part of death. So, to enjoy a sense of living – and that's all it really is – to enjoy that is a most pleasurable thing! To feel alive, to create and produce – ecstasy! To be and share with another in a mutual experience of living – heaven. Absolute heaven. So, we do indeed create our own heaven and hell. Each moment we can choose to create a new experience or re-create a prior experience. I do both, consciously and otherwise.

I'm sitting before my pad eating my delicious oatmeal, listening to the soft snoring from TM behind me and thinking about getting a cup of coffee. I guess I'm satisfying the body so it can be quiet for my mind to roam and hand to write.

The activity of writing longhand is truly enjoyable. At least this morning. (Cough, blow) Some mornings, some weeks and months even, the art and task of handwriting is so arduous - mentally. But when, like on this occasion, I am enraptured by my internal dialogue and my body is relatively quiet and I feel like I have the world to myself for a stitch - ahh- then hand writing is an expression of life and living itself! I love it. My hand is like the mower moving across the lawn of the page, in a trance almost, knowing instinctively where to go and what to do at each moment; when to rest and when to continue. Just as I enjoy cutting a lawn, I love writing; freehand at times and other times with the keyboard. Goodbye! :-)