Going Crazy

coyright2010 Codekas

The only thing that seems to be moving along this week is the fact the my brain is reaching for something new and has not yet figured out what it is. 

The development of new ideas seems to take a certain amount of patience, on my part, and I hate the waiting. Patience may be a virtue, for some, however I believe patience is an out of control train heading somewhere, that is not on the current train I was just about to board.

In the past few weeks a lot of ways about changing my daily life have popped up, and so far making them operational is still in the cosmic, planning stages. 

Not sure what is going on with the rest of the universe, although the cosmos does seem to be speeding up in the amount of information it is sending our way, since there is so much change going on, in the world now, that we are privy too, due to the elegant communication systems we have in hand. 

Finding the time to think is easy. Thinking through the possibilities takes time. It never fails to amaze me that whenever some important change is about to come take over my life path, everyone, or at least, one other person is having the same experience. Copasetic parallelism is what I call it. Since I am a communications sociologist, earning my stripes at Berkeley, I developed the theory in the past few days, and have decided to include a few lines about it in the current book, which I am still working on.

copyright2010 Codekas

The interesting thing about writing a book comes about when I realize how much the book changes the writer, me, as it goes along. Like sub-atomic physics, or in the Bhagavagita, the interaction of writer and written word, both changes the other, and there is no use trying to think that once the words are all in the book, and the final period or elliptical is placed, on the last sentence of the last chapter, that is where it, the writing or book, ends.

That is where the next word or book begins.

The transforming becomes the transformed, and rises to a new level of evolution, as a writer and a new book begin to observe each other. 

All the little ideas, experiences, and emotions garnered during the nurturing and birthing of a book, become transformed through the paragraphs and edits, as mind meets transformative, cognitive understanding of my life's beliefs and mission(s).

Anyone who writes has a mission. It may not be evident, except, in the fact, that I believe I am a writer, and have since I was a very young child. Not a single doubt in my mind about my life's purpose. There were other dreams I had about my life's path, across the challenging landscape of my time here on earth, however, never, not once, did the label, Writer, ever take second place. 

It might have been subsumed for a while, in order to earn money, however, those adventures are only ever ways for the soul to challenge old beliefs, create new opportunities for change, and embed a teaching into the physical and spirit, that the soul will  imprint across all DNA microbes.

None of it means anything, other than the soul needs to remind me, that there is a purpose for my coming to earth; that there is no one on the planet, who is more or less than I am; and that if love and grace are what makes me a better person, and therefore affect the rest of humanity, then writing is the way to work through the meaning of life and experiences and many relationships for me. 

Some do it through different professions or avocations, however, I think that we all, in some deep part of the soul, know exactly what we were sent here to do, eventually. At least in last breath, I believe everyone does. 

My writing is leading me somewhere, and away from something that no longer is present in current time. Memories, sure, they reside inside my heart and brain, however, being in present time is how I write, isn't it? Even the process of writing, with misplaced commas, misused participles, even the occasionally misapplied word, all have their place, in my development, as a writer.

It is how I learn, and it how you learn who I am. You can criticize, edit, scoff at my thoughts, however, the one thing you can never do is write for me. That I must do alone. In a way, we all do our work alone, don't we? That is how we learn about who we are, what we love or need to correct. 

I had not intended to write about this today, since, when I sat down to begin the blog today, I was pushed by some latent fear, about something, that has no basis other than a slight feeling of a disturbance in my force field. FEAR, false experience appearing real, is such a useless and useful prodder.

It is just life and things that affect me, as yours, do you. That niggling feeling that something needs to get done, something is coming that you were not prepared for, or simply that I have not paid attention to something that needs to be resolved come into play during creating. 

In any case, whatever it was that got me to sit down and write, I feel better now. Maybe it was that I had to write. I get like that sometimes. Just need to get to a keyboard or a pen and a notebook and write.  What do you need to express today? When was the last time you wrote, or drew or sang a song?