Fridays are always good, generally speaking, as they are harbingers of the weekend (which equals rest).
The cat has been very vocal lately. She awoke me this morning (quite early), plaintive mewling at my door.
She is restless. She wants to go out; I let her out; she wants to come in; she comes in; minutes later she is sitting at the door again, looking to be let out.
I understand her dilemma. I feel much the same way. I sit, I am restless, I want my creative energy to be released but when I sit down to let it out it does nothing and so I retreat again, back into that place of becoming but not quite being and wait, somewhat impatiently.
I’ve been working on a story. I had been really excited about it. Suddenly (probably when it became harder to write) my interest started to wane. The honeymoon phase was over and the hard work of making it work had begun, and instead of rolling up my sleeves and getting to the task, I gave up. Well, sort of. I felt I needed to distance myself from the story for a while, and reassess what I wanted to say with it. Frankly, I am still not sure what that is, but it’s time to open up the can of worms again and look inside, see what is teeming beneath the soil I had dropped in and let alone for a while.
I have also been thinking about story. About my creative process. About loss. About grief and grieving and about finding a way to transform it into something greater than our collective parts (me – the grief – loss).
I have also been thinking about honesty. What that means. And integrity. And values. And self-examination. And how not to become so inflexible that one can not see past our self-imposed rules and cause harm.
I have also been thinking about tikkun, and what that means.
I have also been thinking about tzedakah, and what that means (especially when there is little with which to give).
I have also been thinking about abundance. What that means. And wealth. And the value of having and not having. And trusting that I will have enough. And that enough doesn’t necessarily mean cutting it so close that enough and not enough is separated by twenty dollars. And that when enough is in place, that I will not feel the need to hoard and withhold.
It reminds me of the bags of flour and sugar that my father used to hoard in our basement, placed on the wooden shelving he built and would be ordered to clear out and organize at least once a year by my mum, who was one of the least sentimental people I have even known, ruthless in her purging.
I have also been thinking about how my parents continue to mystify me. I am a byproduct of their union, but I am also truly mystified by how I became who I am based on who each of them was individually. I also have been thinking about how great a role they (parents, in general) play in the formation of their offspring (or “us”/“me”), and how they clearly failed to foster or set appropriate examples for me to follow to fully evolve into my potential. I am also thinking that I have been doing the same thing with my own son – which is a very sad thing indeed.
I have also been thinking that where I didn’t obtain the fostering and example setting, I have endeavoured to fill in the gap on my own (I suppose we all do that) with whatever set of playing cards we have at our disposal. The idea is to keep upgrading the playing cards as we go along so we can continue to move forward. It’s time for a new deck, I think, I just haven’t figured out which one it is, yet.
And the waiting is excruciating.
Because I’m restless.