Distance

The following was inspired by the reading for yesterday in this most interesting and insightful book.


A blind child
guided by his mother,
admires the cherry blossoms...
- Kikakou

Once – many years ago now, too many years – I would have identified with the mother, guiding and loving; loving and learning from those that walked at my side, while at the same time revelling in the discovery as a child myself, surrounded by the scents, and the softness and beauty of the blossom, and the darkness too. But an ungentle touch, a careless hand, can as easily crush the beauty of the blossoms as it can come to know them, and by such a grasp I was cast aside, exiled to the distance to watch – helplessly disempowered – as my past self moved on without me, still loving, still guiding, still child like and still beautiful as the blossoms and the perfume I sought to know.

I don't make New Year's resolutions. It's pointless as I rarely keep them for more than a month or so, and then only feel a terrible sense of failure when I finally admit to myself that I have broken them. I do usually set goals for myself though, and even though, technically, my New Year was months ago, I was not yet ready to undertake the goals I've set for myself. Am I ready now? I don’t know, but I feel that the universe is read for them to be a part of my path in the coming year. She has been ready for some time and I've just been trying to ignore her. It's come to the point now where I can't do so any more and remain healthy in spirit and mind as well as in body.

The distance, the exile I speak of in the opening paragraph of this entry is the fact that all those years ago, I lost myself. Worst of all, I've come to realise, I lost myself to an influence that I though had left my life – I thought that I had cast it aside and let it go. Yet… as I meditated for the first time in many, many years, I came to realise that I had fooled myself very well into believing that. The physical influence, in the shape of a person that was once an important part of my life, is gone, yes, but the emotional and spiritual one – the damage I allowed this person to cause in me – remains. I am weighed down by it, its chains still pull at my ankles, and with each struggling thrash against them that I have made, all I have succeeded in doing is pulling on the tree before me so that the blossoms fall around me and are trampled in my efforts for freedom from the darkness that I once happily embraced and did not fear.

Realising a fear, accepting it and taking into oneself is a part of growing; is a part of taking one step closer to where you need to be. Today, as I claim ownership of the fear that I have allowed to grow unchecked inside of myself, I feel that I have taken one step back toward the cherry blossoms. Mother turns a smile my way that I feel, but cannot see. It is a welcoming smile, a knowing smile… and I, still blind, can barely perceive the blossoms She teaches me to admire, yet now, at least, I know they are still there… as am I.

To Make Another List.

I have a veritable zoo already living inside my head... a zoo full of plot bunnies - they range from small, cute and fluffy, to those that are definitely not any of those things... and usually have great big fangs ready to sink into the depth of my very soul. Such, I have come to appreciate, is my lot. I need to sit down sooner or later and make a list of all these ideas, and keep them in a file.

Recently, a friend of mine and I decided that we would begin to do an little exercise where we would both write for a set amount of time per day to a prompt, gathered randomly from books or the internet or wherever the fancy took us.

The time was 15 minutes each day, and so today I decided to just let rip with a free write... and ended up with another cage full of plot bunnies for my sins. I am unashamedly a science fiction writer - with a smattering of fantasy thrown in for good measure. Sometimes keep both pure and sometimes blend the two. What I ended up with in this instance I think will be a blending, but my question is, when will I get the time to develop what I have? How does one keep the plot bunnies alive until it is their time to escape out into the world?

Anyway, as I look at what I've written, I think I will probably edit the original quote to death, which isn't necessarily a bad thing, because it just feels like it doesn't fit with the rest of the idea it spawned. I don't know if anyone else ever has that problem, but I often do.

Rebecca finds herself sitting, immobile at a kitchen table while a strange man prepares dinner for her. She's not happy, seems like she's been kidnapped by said individual, who claims to 'love dead people' and then asserts that she's dead. What came from there, as I was walking to Sainsbury's to get myself some gummy bears (which I usually need for when I'm writing some particular kinds of fiction), blossomed into nothing like its inception.

Showers, and walks to the local supermarket are usually transformational for the poor bunnies... like some kind of insidious retrovirus - but that quite another story.

Kicking Off 2011 With Intent

I've spent a lot of the evening working on getting my social networking and all that jazz up to date, and trying to start creating my author platform... such as it is right now. This has meant a lot of form filling and cross linking and all that jazz. It's been quite exhausting, and honestly, can I remember when and where I went to school and with whom? I've been to bed since then, as the saying goes.

I can understand why agents and publishers like an author to have one of these though, I suppose it helps to save a lot of leg work... and... not one to want to upset the apple cart or anything but, isn't there some kind of saying about having a dog and barking yourself? (BTW, those of you that have noticed more than a smattering of cliches in this post - just so you know - they're quite deliberate).

Anyway - this is the year in which things will move for me, I am not only sure of it, but I will go at it with intent... check back in a few months and see if I haven't got something out there - something all of my very own.