Sunday, September 12, 2010
I had the day to myself. So I wasn’t influenced by the thoughts and ideas of other people. I went for a walk where I wanted to. Saw the pictures I wanted to take and took them. Followed a bumble bee through purple flowers, stood on the edge of the river bank and wished I had sneakers on so I could climb down. I listened to the music I wanted to. I was caught in the rain and was indifferent.
I ran harder and faster than I’ve run before. Started a new book by Philippa Gregory, which is very different than a Cormac McCarthy novel, but I wanted to read something different.
I’ve been avoiding my writing, my poetry. Right now it's hard.
I’m writing from a different place. I’m not floating in the clouds. I’m kind of grounded, writing what is around me and what I’m really feeling there’s no confusing images that are pretty but rooted in a riddle, it’s solid and there are experiences and feelings that I’m aware of. It’s just what it is. There are no images of rivers and dragons and unicorns. I don’t go into a trance and write what comes out. I’m aware of what’s going on around me. I don’t doubt that I will get those images back, but they will present themselves in a new way.
Yesterday there were memories of what I lived like in the city; very different than here.