The Art of Longing
Sitting at my work desk, I suddenly felt an overwhelming need to write...or type, as it may be. I feel so many things right now, a bit lost mostly, and I'm trying to make sense of what exactly I feel and how I'm feeling it. There is something I am reaching for...a sense of satisfaction, completeness, something solid. This is related to many things and yet no one thing going on in my life right now. This isn't something anyone can give me (nor would I want them to). It's mine to figure out. It's mine to become. Right now it feels like my life work.
And it's right there.
I feel it like you feel the warmth of a hand just before it's put on your shoulder. Or the way a cool breeze and a stacked deck of thunderheads let you know a storm is a-coming. Whatever this feeling or sense is, I feel the dual-edged electricity and comfort of it. Driving me crazy.
I ask myself "when, when, when?" and "how?" and "what?" What work should I do to bridge this gap, make the connection, understand who I am becoming? The answer is just beyond these questions. The hard part for me is knowing that the questions don't bring the answer. The state of becoming something and the art of longing for that "becoming" don't begin with a question. They simply are. In my figuring, the only way to bridge the gap is to smear it with a big pasty goo of...stillness. Stop the questions. Stop the searching. Point my feet downstream and let the water carry me.
It's harder than it sounds. And if you doubt this, try it.
And it's right there.
I feel it like you feel the warmth of a hand just before it's put on your shoulder. Or the way a cool breeze and a stacked deck of thunderheads let you know a storm is a-coming. Whatever this feeling or sense is, I feel the dual-edged electricity and comfort of it. Driving me crazy.
I ask myself "when, when, when?" and "how?" and "what?" What work should I do to bridge this gap, make the connection, understand who I am becoming? The answer is just beyond these questions. The hard part for me is knowing that the questions don't bring the answer. The state of becoming something and the art of longing for that "becoming" don't begin with a question. They simply are. In my figuring, the only way to bridge the gap is to smear it with a big pasty goo of...stillness. Stop the questions. Stop the searching. Point my feet downstream and let the water carry me.
It's harder than it sounds. And if you doubt this, try it.