(no subject)
I was reading the TED conversation based off this talk
And while the conversation is based around Sarah's mention of 'Things I Know To Be True', the thing that resonated with me more than lists was the concept of working through an issue using a poem.
I don't write poetry, or put many words on paper that aren't letters to friends anymore. But I have pressure building in my head, ideas that need a place to escape to while they're still mine.
Ideas start as bubbles, floating and catching the light in that iridescent way bubbles have - they're potential in its most brilliant, gorgeous form. But if you don't let them free to float off, they turn into angry bubbles. They take up the same amount of bubble space in your head that they did before, but now they're crowded, all crammed into a head that's too small to hold them all at once.
They stop floating. They start getting grimy and distorted, and instead of making you happy to see them they start to hold an insubstantial, intangible weight. The pressure of the nothingness inside your head, as empty of form and substance as a bubble, starts to press against the inside of your head and weigh you down until you can't sleep.
Sleep is the time for dreaming, and making new ideas. Can't sleep if there's no space left for new dreams to grow.
So I'm having trouble sleeping, and I thought what the hell. These things are meant to be making me happy. Let's let them go.
And while the conversation is based around Sarah's mention of 'Things I Know To Be True', the thing that resonated with me more than lists was the concept of working through an issue using a poem.
I don't write poetry, or put many words on paper that aren't letters to friends anymore. But I have pressure building in my head, ideas that need a place to escape to while they're still mine.
Ideas start as bubbles, floating and catching the light in that iridescent way bubbles have - they're potential in its most brilliant, gorgeous form. But if you don't let them free to float off, they turn into angry bubbles. They take up the same amount of bubble space in your head that they did before, but now they're crowded, all crammed into a head that's too small to hold them all at once.
They stop floating. They start getting grimy and distorted, and instead of making you happy to see them they start to hold an insubstantial, intangible weight. The pressure of the nothingness inside your head, as empty of form and substance as a bubble, starts to press against the inside of your head and weigh you down until you can't sleep.
Sleep is the time for dreaming, and making new ideas. Can't sleep if there's no space left for new dreams to grow.
So I'm having trouble sleeping, and I thought what the hell. These things are meant to be making me happy. Let's let them go.