Preconceived

So, interesting thought emerged as I sat in the blessed sun, soaking up the warmth and musing away in my journal.

I seem filled with this gaping hole of discontent and antsiness again the last few days. It is this great longing for something different, that I can neither quite define, nor manifest, the latter directly as a result of said inability to define what is I want to manifest. Now don’t get me wrong, this discontent does not indicate that I am unhappy… I mean, hell, I have at least a couple of weeks, probably four, yet to go of my three month sojourn in the land of no job, no great responsibility, no Scottish “summer”… how can I not be enjoying myself… I am. However, I came with the greatest of intentions, being to manifest afore-mentioned change afore I returned to Auld Reekie… and the closer cometh the time, the greater the realisation that it ain’t yet happened.

Belied by the previous paragraph, I have actually in some ways, kind of worked out what it is (in part) that would be good. I have been leather working again… and realising that I am so at peace… zen… empty while I am working on something, that I really would like to spend more of my time doing it… and making some part of my living from it… thus (obviously) allowing me the time to do it…

At the same time, this little part of my head/soul is crying out that while this is peacful, meditative, enjoyable and, best of all, creative… it is not what I’m (creatively) crying out for … I think of writing, and feel passion, fire, emotion… and this is ART! This is the baring of the soul, the tortured (or not) artiste, the connection to the great river of tales that runs through everything… whoa… ok man… whatever… freak… but the point is, that here I am with all these ideas about writing, about art, about what that is…

And then, I work the leather, I am zen, I am one with the moment. I work the leather, and the experience is as it is, because it is what it is, rather than what I think it should be, or want it to be. So why this great disctinction? Why these restricting notions about what writing is or should be like? Why not just allow it to be what it is, to write and allow it to come out as it will?

Perhaps this is why Haram’s Lament has given me so much fucking trouble for so long. I am trying so bloody hard to make it what I think it should be, to make it conform to certain preconceived ideas about where it should end up, who the characters are, etc, etc.

Having said that though, they are (if I do say so myself) fucking good ideas…

Happy Medium? Bears thinking about…. ooh… that’s where the whole fucking problem started isn’t it? Sometimes you just can’t fucking win.

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~ by Gethin A. Lynes on July 3rd, 2009.

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