I am struggling to get at something. The thing is important, undiminished by my fuzziness as to exactly what it is. It has to do with what is important in this world.
Not what we are told should be important. But, for me, what is, in fact, important.
The triggering event: I was sitting in writing group listening to the writers read their work while staring out the door into the sunlight bouncing off the green leaves beneath the blue sky and thought: this is it.
What is it?
Or, it is what?
Peace, a word I’m not too keen on because it implies lethargy, when this “it” thing is dynamic. An active state of being inside a state of being.
I told you I was struggling.
Whatever “it” is, it’s taking place in moments. Like at writing group. Or when I’m listening to a man I really don’t know tell me something so important to him. During those moments, something physical changes. A different place breaks through.
Quietly, no fanfare, just—if I stretch out my pointing finger I can almost touch it—there. While I sit and stare out the door into the sunlight waving on green leaves beneath the bright blue sky.
here’s to creative synthesis . . .