Some days I feel like writing, but cannot seem to sit tight, hold my thoughts, and begin the process. The flow is still there within, and I can feel this urge to write, but let it go and become preoccupied with other entities in life. The urgency to express myself doesn’t seem to sustain itself as it once did, but I know that has to do with my lack of concentrated effort.
I have been reading O’Donohue’s Anam Cara, again, which always makes me curious about life–my own and the big general picture. His many allusions in this classic little book to other writers makes me want to go read their stories and poems, live inside of their ideas, and when I do that–feel that desire coming on to go explore the written words of others–I suddenly am finding my own writing brain turned on and eager to say something. Whether I talk to myself, or with myself, or work at words I might want to share with others, the writing instinct suddenly jumps out at me and becomes more alive.
I see that I have written no journal entries since May 20th, and not much in the way of poetry either. The work on the garden construction caused me to drift from that line of focus. I am not complaining. I needed a garden. The day-in and day-out of talking with my helper guy absorbed all of my energy. I felt talked out and a little exhausted. I think there is some parallel between my physical and my mental activity. It is either one or the other, which is probably why I feel winter time is an easier time to write. I am then indoors more of the time, less active, and the sitting spells I find I can easily and pleasantly interrupt with word smithing.
This morning I am rambling some to fill up some blank paper. This computer just has an infinite amount of blank paper, and, given time, I might find myself filled with an infinite amount of rambling. But I will not do that today, ramble along so recklessly, because I have other things to do. It is summer, the days are warm and long, and being outside with sun striking my skin for hours at a time, feels plenty good to me.
I would make a note or two about the peripheral neuropathy, which I have endured now for I think at least eight or ten years. In this last year, in fact just a month or two ago, when walking across the parking lot at Home Depot to grab a shopping cart to lean on while walking, one foot began to go into spasms and felt quite weak and unable to hold me up. I had to stop walking, stand still, and ask a passer-by to grab me a shopping cart, only some 30 or 40 feet away. It was humbling, or perhaps humiliating, to be so badly disabled, and appeared to me to be a new level of disability. So I did some research when I got home to try to fix this problem.
It seems that my ankles have become weak, probably from lack of much exercise, and were hardly strong enough to hold me up. So I looked into how to strengthen them, because weak ankles also seem to be a cause of imbalance. I have since begun jogging in place in my bedroom, while standing in front of a mirror. The visual feedback of me watching myself helps improve the balance, and I can walk or lightly jog while standing at the chest of drawers without fear off falling because I can grab onto the chest if need be. I walk or run 30 minutes while listening to music and it has given me back lost strength. It appears that I will be running in front of my chest of drawers for a long time to come
And the other thing I am doing for the neuropathy is giving my legs and feet a deep massage, a method I found on youtube videos that has to do with reflexology. I put no credence in the reflexology aspect of the massage, but the deep rubbing of muscle tissue and working out kinks or “trigger points” in my feet and legs seems to make my feet more aware, alive, and responsive. I bought some little massage tools that allow me to press harder into the muscles without tiring my own fingers and thumbs. This all seems to be working toward making the neuropathy more manageable.
Well, that is nearly enough writing for one session after being away from the journal for so long and so sparingly. I have more to say, and perhaps will drift back into this introspection real soon.
Last night I had a dream that I have had several–perhaps many–times, but this time I was able to recall some of it. My parents had sold their house that they had purchased in 1968 (the one that they lived in when they died). In my dream, rather than die and leave that house, they had simply sold the house and moved into another house in a different part of the same town–San Jose. They did not buy this other house, I do not think, and so were always telling me that they might have to move out of it too, but were frustrated that they could not move back into their old house because it was no longer theirs and somebody else was now living in it. The new house was quite comfortable. Large, close to a park on a park-like street, and fairly new, with lots of room to spread out all of their things, but there was always a nagging thought that they might have to leave this one too.
I’m not sure if I need to do any further dream analysis on this dream. It seems obvious that part of the enigma of the dream is them telling me how they miss the old house–literally their old home, and the planet earth. And the new house is comfortable, but is not theirs seems to mean that their new life in the life beyond this one is, in my sleep-like impression–one in which they serve another master, whereas on earth they could be themselves and have better control over their own destiny.
Now that I have some conscious recognition of this dream and have briefly described it here, I may understand more of what all this means the next time I might hapen to dream it. Of course, this is my dream, not theirs, so it is really not about them at all, as it might appear, but is about me. Some dark understanding in my soul wants to tell me something, and by writing down the parts that I am conscious of, I may be able to learn more.
And this afternoon I am listening to Martha Argerich play Rachmaninov Piano Concerto No. 3 on youtube:
at the suggestion of John O’Donohue in his book Anam Cara.
He says of her the following:
We need a new way of understanding and integrating the negative. The negative is one of the closest friends of your destiny. It contains essential energies that you need and that you cannot find elsewhere. This is where art can be so illuminating. Art is full of intimations of the negative in ways that allow you to participate imaginatively in their possibility. The experience of art can help you build a creative friendship with the negative. When you stand before a painting by Kandinsky, you enter the church of color where the liturgy of contradiction is fluent and glorious. When you listen to Martha Argerich play Rachmaninov’s Piano Concerto No. 3 in D Minor, Op. 30, you experience the liberation of contradictory forces that at every point threaten and test the magnificent symmetry of form that holds them.
O’Donohue, John (2009-03-17). Anam Cara: A Book of Celtic Wisdom (p. 116). HarperCollins. Kindle Edition.