No turning back, Maybe.

(Continuing…)

"I woke with an itch under my chin and asked my wife to scratch it. I could've laid in bed all day long with the sun beaming through the window.

It would've been a prime time for shadow puppets along the closets, mornings were becoming brighter. Instead, things moved along. That was what the flow of life was all about it seemed.

Things kept moving, around us, beneath and beside, it all moved without ever ceasing. Sounds emerged from cell phones and laptops, the furnace needed to breathe and the tank of the toilet had to fill and the fan within the computer had to turn and on and on it moved, we moved endlessly."

There was a turning earth beneath him every day. The character he'd written about. The man's cat would wake him after the intensity of his jungle dreams.

Being with life and nothing else. It had its appeal. What a cat. What an image for life itself.

The writer and the character somehow joined forces to speak out a world that felt right and beautiful and interesting. He would give himself whatever necessary to support his own flow within the flow.

He read his books and drank his coffee. He gave intentional focus within his meditation to grieve more fully the loss of some old writing today in fact.

You had to let go sometimes. The old project sat in the folder. Six chapters worth and so much of it trying to keep pace and pour out like a documentary so as to "stay current" with his life day by day. To edit it now in any meaningful way would become more than arduous and feel less then creative. Imagine a starving man trimming the fat of his feast for so long that the meat got cold, became completely inedible.

The writer in his work already knew this. Holding onto old work could be operating as another form of fear from within. Best to keep writing and from time to time dip back leisurely into the old material for any useful nuggets. If the old writing really is as good as I think it is… the nuggets will surface. The point now is to stay in flow with what is here now.

Such as: Memories of five goals worth holding onto. Good thoughts. Read, write, pray, play and engage. Staying with these could even keep Zoe happy and she was Burmese and, most importantly, feline, so why would she even care about English fiction or Spirituality?

It is now nearly in the 40s and the breezes are blowing warm from the west against the side of the teepee. The skins flap widely every now and then as a gust stirs round throwing open the flaps which otherwise would give the appearance of complete closure. Midwinter's winds want in it seems.