View Original Handwritten Notes
Source over all else.
The pleasure of handwriting and creating upon the page and the play with words—again, here we come back to the practice, after having gone somewhere on a physical journey. And how do we integrate that and the daily action in our life? One word after another toppling out when my thoughts have run out of what to produce—where does the inertia stem from—does it matter?
The action itself of writing seems to reinforce and kick off the ability to write, which, if one is stuck in thought, action has trouble becoming a reality. Back to basics—breath, posture, light hand, loose grip, and uniformity of height and spacing—balanced with the need to also allow flow and step aside and go into wherever the source of these thoughts rest and see what is inside that box, and if these are stories to be discovered, possibly shared. This expedition on page and into my writing is a gateway into the working mind.
I often do not feel as if it is my thinking mind which is putting together these words, or aware of where they come from, in which order, and the process of choice for one over the other—or which language to think in and what comes next. That is the surfing part of it. The rawness. And yes, perhaps—oh you dirty lovely word—perhaps, speed may play a role in all of this and how the access works.
This is all information primarily in the hands of the sluice machine, which is responsible for driving and operating the machinery for capturing thoughts and making sure the basics like breath, penmanship, and posture are top of mind for pulling a quality product from the InkPilot G2 pen. Indeed, there is a rhythm and a dance to writing and letting the word pull the ink—
Letting consciousness drift, as the human being is set to record and works to interpret the experience of original thought creation and witness birth of words onto page—ah, the wonder of it.
Massive lodes to be picked up and recorded to find the very few strung-together gems that will be remembered. Overall, in search of those words which might shine bright for eternity.
Breathe. Posture. Loose moving pen.
If I lose my way, that is an easy ticket back into the game. Who doesn’t want to see a beautifully written line of text—as art—like graffiti on the written page?
How easily the loose creative mind wishes to write in its own hand and of its own volition—moving in novel new ways, creating new lines and loops from once well-worn titles, letting things fly and roll, keeping loose to see how it feels to be in the groove where a marathon would be a blink of the eye, and the training leading up to that shows how to truly write and generate content.
Completely my charge, if I should take more hold of the reins—dictate some direction—but often it is better to keep going, keep the flow, and see what neighborhoods we come across on this trip and journey and mining mission. Cruising through a vessel that is able to tune into human consciousness and how much can be leveraged to effect and color the water’s current, input like spices for flavoring and color for emotion.
Breathe and come back to the page. Focus on relaxing. Let the pen make its own journey and discovery. Breathe and record the experience.
When I become distracted—like in meditation—there is the priming, the pumps. Starting over and looking for the wave. So that means you have to be writing, and have motion, be trawling and pulling from life’s toothy consciousness. And as scribe, be quick to stay on top of the wave—else the entire structure and meaning be lost in the undertow of current. Foam washes away all memory of where the needle had been on the journey of this recorded life—
into the place from which ideas are made. And ride with it. Don’t force it to produce—but train the body, the hand, to have awareness for the practice of writing in order to keep up with the inertia of thinking and to stay at the crest, buoyed on by that power and inertia of movement and the pull of thoughts from the practice, as the trawl searches for gold nuggets in a wastebasket of consciousness.
But to return, time and again, seeking to sidestep self and have but a glimpse of deeper—and something on the inside yet unknown.
This is the same reason fishing and exploration are fun—and you don’t know what you’re going to get and don’t even want to spoil the action or pollute by thinking what you might stumble upon and find or decide will come out on whichever wave. The important part is learning how to catch waves, enjoying that ride in life and what you want to make with it.
Just know—you are caught as much as you try to be free. There are so many hooks and mirrors, leading to alternate truths. And the questions themselves require the same:
Breathe. Posture. Loose hand.
Keep it looking good. Let the flow move things forward.
There is no need to rush. And yet, action is always behind—finding the next greatest discovery or beautiful word, idea, story, or creation.
It can drive and motivate—and has to also be seen—and not let seep too much into the process or any part thereof from the reflective nature of the action.
Just keep on going—and the rest will come.
This is what have faith means. And it is testable. A provable phenomenon.
Have faith in yourself. Do the work. And just hope when it counts you’ve got enough practice racked up and the gods smile favorably on you for another day to pass.
Impermanence is everywhere.
Change and chaos—the rulers of the universe and the things we are made of.
The way of the warrior—the path runs along many lanes and can take the passenger down many vectors. All aboard—and you are off.
What works for one is likely not meant to apply to another. Strive to learn how to experiment and find what it is for you. Where you feel it is the right thing—and feel the right thing—then you know what you are meant for. And you are tapping into something much older, much greater, in search of that thing.
That tempting reward—and yet, along the way, trying to stay pure and virtuous—that alone is half the struggle. Of what is on the page, which through practice, like layers and the ability to go deeper and to new depths—I wish to find new ways with language. Words. The symbols of our present-day meaning.
I shall succumb to the cat meowing—
and trying to disturb and dissuade from the mining mission. Oh yes—and that of time. Goals to inspire the movement across the page. How important it is to finish and to break things up.
It is an incredible amount of work and takes effort and dedication—and muscles and stamina.
You work with what you’ve got. And sometimes you’ve got to make do. But always keep moving and stay creative and involved. Travel out of your comfort, and you will know more than ever what it means to be human.
There are places we can think of from our past—strong emotional connections to lower centers—where we want to be mining.
The mind, like the Universe, is more vast than can be understood. It has many levels and layers. And even knowing where to mine can save one from a lifetime of distraction to finding a piece of uniqueness.
What if all of the constructs of humanity everything we know and ever have done—reconstructing, recycled, mashed up, built on top of or around—can in so many ways not bother to ever see what newness can be erected and could have been born out of technology? AI possibly being introduced via chemical, biological processes. I should be so humble to ask—is it even possible to step away enough to allow mind-machine to produce without the life judgments of the recorder stepping in to color every frame of the roll?
Roll, roll, roll… life rolls on.
Ever-expanding. And we are forever meanderers on the cosmic scale—and a small part of something much greater. We are part of a time and season—but know there are paths a plenty. It is the explorers—the star surfers—who are truly living their greatest lives, by giving into that thing being produced at a depth and length which itself is the goal—to see the possibilities of what might be and to press on and let nothing dictate the pace, shape, meaning, or message.
What is produced is all we have. And if you can bottle energy or a moment in time—a path to a memory—an intense feeling—sun on new carpet—
Breathe. Loosen grip. Keep the flow going.
Life is beautiful, and so is living.
It’s all heaven and hell.
When I started today I had no idea where we might go, or for how long, or how much time I really had, or where I would end up—after my last page, I realized I’ve made it to the end of another notebook. Another month, another quarter, another season.
And I hope I’m a little more patient, wiser, smarter, kinder, and brighter from my efforts. And if I’ve helped anyone—someone—along the way with their journey—that alone is worth more than many things I might otherwise find and classify, as a rare finding, possible jewel, or the occasional gold vein that might give up some organic novel compound. But even then—it is easy to find the fake stuff and be fooled by common pyrite—and we don’t have much time.
You are in for the long haul now.
Just get comfortable.
Enjoy the ride—the bumpy ups and downs, the twists and turns, and the complete breakdowns and restarts.
Stay the course.
Find what it is for you.
And go deep—go all the way with it.
Today is the day.
Action is never late—it is in the present.
