It's amazing how we can forget about, even the things we hold so dear, so quickly. I'm guilty, that's surely true. But even worse than that, when we ignore the things we hold close, that's the real sin. Forgetfulness is part of the human condition. Blatantly ignoring a passion, is just stupid. "If you're not busy being born, you're busy dying." I feel like I need to tattoo that on my forehead so whenever I look at my self in a mirror I can kick myself in the ass and get going.
Sometimes inspiration to do even the smallest of tasks is gone in a flash. The inspiration to do great things is also fleeting, unfortunately.
This is all sounding a bit too despondent, I apologize. Lately I've felt like I've needed a place to spill the rattlings upstairs. And I always loose little scraps of paper and all of my pocket journals just end up full of thoughtless doodles and grocery lists.
Sometimes you've gotta stop watching other people do things and expect to get inspired. You've just gotta do it yourself. At least that's what I need to do. Some people seem to be able to draw on others words and actions for motivation, but not this farcical, bipedal nematode.
Lately I've been reflecting on some Whitminian hoodoo: "I exist as I am, that is enough." I don't know, Walt... Is that enough? I'm not sure he's validating a non-growing, reflection-less life or a lazy, sluggish one even... But maybe thats his game! He jotted this down to make people realize that being as we are currently isn't enough.
I wrote a little poem recently about a friend of mine, unfinished of course like many things I start:
Like an Owl in the night, white feathery beard in flight.
On electric wheels, head on swivel, no time for Kerouacian drivel.
To the cafe for warm libation, a brief needed vacation.
Cor-ta-go, tiny macchiato,
all part of the day's subtle flow.
Thought the door, ride those wheels some more.
Back to the nest, Buddha already present.
Caffeinated shaking incessant.
I was just especially chuffed with the "Kerouacian drivel" bit.