The words slip through my mind. Decisive words. Other times, sentences. And once in a while, the entire piece arrives, just like a fax–while I’m picking raspberries and eating them by the handful, or driving the kids to karate. Or in a phase of rest, where I feel like my mind is submerged in murky water because it put itself in time out, away from the business of other work.
I used to fight it, and I always won, but that push took from me, and therefore from my daughter. And my son. And my husband. And my friends. Heavily trudging, for no apparent good, aside from the provision of service and all its accolades.
Now, I succumb. And when I succumb to rest, and slip into that cocoon, it’s quiet in my head. And then I can hear the words, and the writing. It never leaves me. So many sweet pieces downloading all the time, and sometimes they’re angry. Those, too, are sweet in their own way.
I can’t capture them all. I used to clamor to scratch them down on whatever I could find, scribbling in the margins of junk mail in the car, in the night, in the dark. Whenever and wherever.
Now I just nod when I know one’s going to slip through my grasp. I thank it, and I think, “Aw, that’s a good one,” and I keep munching raspberries. When my husband was a working artist, he stumbled upon a RadioLab episode which he shared with me. I’m forever grateful for this 15 minutes and 25 seconds: Me, Myself, and Muse.
Today, I found Elizabeth Gilbert’s excellent 19 minutes and 24 seconds here: http://www.npr.org/2014/10/03/351554044/where-does-creativity-come-from
There’s always so much to do. It’ll all get done. Murky is our friend. It quiets the noise, where there’s always something relevant we can’t quite grasp. The quiet, unbothered mind we run from isn’t so scary.
I’m going to make my newly kindergarten son a bookmark now, and listen to some music. Where can you fit a couple minutes of rest today?