The words aren’t flowing though my mind woke me before 7:00 ticking – startling me awake to remember all the things left undone. Would that be despite or because of having gone to bed feeling satisfied? I wonder.
I’ve been thinking about the satisfaction I get from collections, bodies of work. Yesterday working on these cards brought me such joy and satisfaction. Feelings I’d love to sustain or repeat.
Yesterday I made the trek out to Curry’s and bought a portfolio to hold my weekly attempts at art with Rachel – or at least some of them. And that too brought me satisfaction.
This morning I’ve been making my way through some loose pieces of paper and ended up better archiving my reading notes from this year. Again, satisfying.
As I continue to touch all of these things pulled out of the studio in order to set it up as a light, bright, inviting and inspiring space, I pull more tautly on the tension of not wanting the weight and distraction of this accumulation but finding such satisfaction in the collection of my life.
And I need the reminders. Who was it that said “We need reminders more than we need instruction.”?
(apparently it was Dr. Samuel Johnson, “Men more frequently require to be reminded than informed”, as quoted by CS Lewis in Mere Christianity, which would be where I came across it)
The reminders piece is the loose thread from my reflection for Sunday. “Please keep telling me…” hmmmmm.
I’m not sure where it is pointing me, where it will take me, but it feels like progress.
My morning is mostly gone and my laptop battery closing in on flatlining. Will I be able to hold onto this progress, this satisfaction, as the day progresses and the time and energy to accomplish diminishes?
Part of my progress was finding the two missing pieces of my Anam Cara notes, one paper, one digital, and this poem came up, and I love it. Its tension pulled taught. Its polarity.
PRESENTS by Norman MacCaig
I give you an emptiness,
I give you a plenitude.
Unwrap them carefully –
one’s as fragile as the other –
and when you thank me
I’ll pretend not to notice the doubt in your voice
when you say they’re just what you wanted.
Put them on the table by your bed.
When you wake in the morning
they’ll have gone through the door of sleep
into your head. Wherever you go
they’ll go with you and
wherever you are you’ll wonder,
smiling, about the fullness
you can’t add to and the emptiness
that you can fill.
And I love the idea that maybe sometimes when that feeling of emptiness comes, maybe it’s an invitation. An invitation to create, rather than stuff.