I am indubitably delighted at the recognition, and look forward to maintaining the acknowledged spirit of scribbility into the present.
- The Editor, et al.
That thread of story of your life that starts by taking hold and ends with letting go.
For me, the most powerful thing to be learned from meditation is how to, at least momentarily, let go.
Holding on knots up something in the nape of my neck, and at the crux of my shoulders and where my jaw hinges, pushing it forward, defiance.
Letting go feels like breathing freely and seeing, for real, the color your eyes turn when you, also, exhale deeply.
For me, the hardest thing is to remember to forget.
It started off with me thinking that sooner or later you would fall down a well.
After a while, I started looking for a well to throw myself down.
(Dreams last night of royalty, replicating chickpea composed boogie men, an unanticipated trip to Tennessee, getting lost souvenir shopping, escapes in dark allies, a highway bridge drive over the city in the hot dusty summer of south of the equator in a crowded, old VW beetle. The bridge had no end in sight but plenty of traffic. No soundtrack, just the whine of 100 idling engines and rush of the wind at 1000ft up.
Carnaval vem logo, meu)
I expect this to be an evolving list. At this point, this is based on 17 days of (direct, hands on!) experience.
Not to dither about, here's a list of things I've noticed thus far:
Cloud strewn skies are far more elegant and colorful than clear days.
A full cloud cover makes for very dull photos.
Getting the timing right is hard. Sunsets are more beautiful after the sun dips below the horizon. Sunrises I'm still exploring*, though intuitively I'd expect them also to be more interesting pre-horizon.
There isn't a single moment of a sunrise or sunset. They're constantly evolving.
That being said, there's definitely a point when they're over, and it's obvious.
The best way to describe it is as a crescendo and diminuendo, with intensity of color being the sliding scale.
Finding a good angle on or clear unobstructed view of the horizon is difficult where I live. Especially sunrises.
Sun events are too big to fit into one frame. They involve the whole sky.
Capturing the whole thing is not the point.
Sometimes the other horizon is more interesting than the one with the sun.
*I tend to wake up as its rising, and catch it after.
I repeat myself a lot, sometimes. Especially if you disagree. The clarity and correctness of my thought is self evident, clearly you didn't hear me, goes the logic. They must not have heard me, not clearly.
As a child, I mumbled a lot. My mother asked me to repeat myself regularly. Important things, especially, never came out right, not the first time. I was never a full blown lisper but I had enough trouble speaking that eventually I ended up meeting with a speech therapist, just as a consultation, once in second grade. It didn't turn into a lasting relationship.
I loathed repeating things. It was embarrassing. Shameful, to be told to speak up. When I finally did speak out, my words never seemed to move the mountains that I hoped they would. Especially after all that effort.
I've tried to explain this to myself, why it happens. I've concluded that I get caught in my head. A screen goes up between my thoughts and the world, and I am trapped behind it. You, on the other side, get two copies of the same, strange, frizzly energetic message, with garbled contents.
I'm still working on Hannah Arendt's The Origins of Totalitarianism . It's dense and a great read and I'd also very much li...