It runs deep, the soul moving forward without seeing. At times this year of thorns and roses, I’d step out one door and not know where I was headed. Where was I living, for instance, was I to turn right or left? Which side, over whose floor?
It was a long story about an accident, the speaker asked the audience many questions. When could she work again? When could she walk again? The annual conference of the national day of remembrance for victims of traffic accidents was recently held and, along with my duo partner, I performed a few songs for the occasion. Memory, the experienced speaker, said, is captive to trauma. I believe her.
What did I mean to write about this week for this blog? I had a juicy topic and I can’t remember it. Now I walk not yet out of blind routine to my apartment from my work, but with some consciousness that the path I am walking is one I have tread before, and I watch the passing gables not with astonishment but greet them as friends, the swan, the cherub, the two clocks. It amuses me walking to work in the morning moving towards both the Westerkerk tower clock and the clock on the Eerstes Hollands Levensverzekering Building. The payout on the Insurance building’s clock is a near ten minutes slower than that of the protestant prompting.
It’s time to slow down a bit and re-sort priorities. This year has provided many, and I mean to take the next steps towards the…mindfulness is what they call it. I hadn’t much faith in the concept as a whole. I started using the office calendar function to prioritize issues that were still up in the air. This is not my genius, I stole it from a colleague. The calendar is filled with phantom appointments for ideas that might have flapped in or are still circulating someplace out there in the wide world. Let’s check and color coordinate all those notions!
I decided to learn to read again, tired of misunderstanding the texts that swam before my eyes these past eleven months. Usually on the third time I got the message. In order to avoid miscalculations, I’ve taken up the habit of waiting to react, allowing the branding iron to cool.
It’s a bit like a family, the riding stables. After a months of waiting for a spot, I got the call telling me that I would get on the Tuesday morning roll call for lessons. I could barely decipher the Amsterdam accent on the phone, but the message reached me. The rule of thumb to be accepted and ride is: Do not be wishy-washy. Do not cancel lessons, make sure you call to tell them that you will or will not be there, etc. They take you to task. “She has to come and discuss her decision with us face to face.” Stated the riding instructor this week to the group. You’re not allowed to leave the group without an explanation in the flesh. It’s a basic here and now situation. “She’s autistic as a car door.” Threw in one rider. Doesn’t matter, she’s going to have to show up, even one large horse bite, two tee-shirts and a few antibiotic tablets later, and stand her ground.
Seems reasonable in the long term.
Seems reasonable in the long term to start thinking of other situations in which I can explore creative writing more. I will be writing less blogs and more Other Things. I am aiming for two blogs per month now, instead of four, giving me a bit more time to read and reflect, and space to compose longer thoughts. I’m feeling just about up to the task at hand, although no accident has occurred.