(no subject)
What is expectation? What is a word? What is the meaning behind the word which I am using? Tonight, I am going to crawl into an unmade bed (I kept repeating to myself as I donned my pajamas, "I am crawling into a naked bed, a naked bed, a naked bed. An unmade bed is a naked bed." Why I did this, I do not know.) and am going to feel my shoulder sink into the mattress pillow's fabric and wonder at how this day went.
I was productive. I learned, I taught, and, at moments, I slipped-up. I made mistakes, I didn't see a need, I flew through a task, I answered before I thought.
Tonight I contemplate expectations, in the midst of deep breaths and winding down for the last twenty pages of my book. How will I meet my destiny? What purpose am I filling in all the things I am filling my life with. Does the word 'filling' imply an emptiness or an openness? Again, the meaning I put behind the word can transform how it translates into someone's listening, even into my own listening of the word when I use it in my head. What is the relationship between expectation and filling, between what I am expected to do and what I do? I miss writing, I yearn to find some giant topic to tackle, some question to pursue. I sense my own research project coming on, something that is central to my life and that will, perhaps, be something I can somehow contribute elsewhere in the world.
There is an email in my inbox, that has been sitting there now for well over a week, titled with the subject header, "life." A broad sweeping gesture that makes me stop, because it requires some sort of focus for me, I need to be clear about what I want to write back in an email titled, "RE: life." An excellent title, indeed. It even looks appealing with its lines and curves. "RE: life." Life is equal, no capitalization, it's simple with no embellishments. Curious, indeed.
My eyes wonder and I realize: I've forgotten to change my calendars; I realize that there are birthdays coming up, I realize so much that needs to happen. And then I wonder, how does all that needs to happen have to do with my destiny? What small rivulets of thought and to dos must I follow or create before I come to this place of meeting? And who, or what, will I meet there? And now, in a sudden strange rush of it all, my grandmother's grave in Trenton, Missouri comes to mind. I saw it six years ago, its granite surface dust-covered, an edge of one of her husbands' neighboring graves cracked and broken off to reveal the deep hole beneath it. I shuddered then when my imagination filled in what lay beneath that gravemarker. I shudder now, and my heart skips a beat as my desk creeks with a weariness from the day's burden of papers shuffling across its surface and tapping fingers bounding away at its grain.
Freewriting can be uplifting, but I feel as though I am only freewriting my thoughts, as though I am moving towards something, somewhere. The images and sensations, the thoughts which come out through my fingertips are simply reverberations of the questions I seek to further understand:
1. What is my experience of my purpose in this lifetime?
2. How do I contribute of my gifts to the world?
3. What are my observations of the relationship between human and nature in the world around me?
So I mull. I observe my experiences and I share them, conscious of the balance between contribution and taking, between me meeting my destiny and fulfilling my purpose. Those two, in this moment, are different things. Those two, in this moment, keep me going.
I was productive. I learned, I taught, and, at moments, I slipped-up. I made mistakes, I didn't see a need, I flew through a task, I answered before I thought.
Tonight I contemplate expectations, in the midst of deep breaths and winding down for the last twenty pages of my book. How will I meet my destiny? What purpose am I filling in all the things I am filling my life with. Does the word 'filling' imply an emptiness or an openness? Again, the meaning I put behind the word can transform how it translates into someone's listening, even into my own listening of the word when I use it in my head. What is the relationship between expectation and filling, between what I am expected to do and what I do? I miss writing, I yearn to find some giant topic to tackle, some question to pursue. I sense my own research project coming on, something that is central to my life and that will, perhaps, be something I can somehow contribute elsewhere in the world.
There is an email in my inbox, that has been sitting there now for well over a week, titled with the subject header, "life." A broad sweeping gesture that makes me stop, because it requires some sort of focus for me, I need to be clear about what I want to write back in an email titled, "RE: life." An excellent title, indeed. It even looks appealing with its lines and curves. "RE: life." Life is equal, no capitalization, it's simple with no embellishments. Curious, indeed.
My eyes wonder and I realize: I've forgotten to change my calendars; I realize that there are birthdays coming up, I realize so much that needs to happen. And then I wonder, how does all that needs to happen have to do with my destiny? What small rivulets of thought and to dos must I follow or create before I come to this place of meeting? And who, or what, will I meet there? And now, in a sudden strange rush of it all, my grandmother's grave in Trenton, Missouri comes to mind. I saw it six years ago, its granite surface dust-covered, an edge of one of her husbands' neighboring graves cracked and broken off to reveal the deep hole beneath it. I shuddered then when my imagination filled in what lay beneath that gravemarker. I shudder now, and my heart skips a beat as my desk creeks with a weariness from the day's burden of papers shuffling across its surface and tapping fingers bounding away at its grain.
Freewriting can be uplifting, but I feel as though I am only freewriting my thoughts, as though I am moving towards something, somewhere. The images and sensations, the thoughts which come out through my fingertips are simply reverberations of the questions I seek to further understand:
1. What is my experience of my purpose in this lifetime?
2. How do I contribute of my gifts to the world?
3. What are my observations of the relationship between human and nature in the world around me?
So I mull. I observe my experiences and I share them, conscious of the balance between contribution and taking, between me meeting my destiny and fulfilling my purpose. Those two, in this moment, are different things. Those two, in this moment, keep me going.