[Slideshow: “An Ecstasy of Redwoods,” by John E. Simpson. (Swipe left/right to alternate between desaturated and full-color versions of the photograph.)]
Turns out that our anonymous whiskey river friend has actually had pneumonia, not flu and certainly not the suspected “ordinary, everyday, common” flu. But this week they’ve managed, even so, to offer us one tidbit “oddly relevant” to that context (it helps that the original source is tagged as a journal entry from the “End of November”):
Whenever I get ready again to write really sincere notes in this notebook, I shall have to undertake such a disentangling in my cluttered brain that, to stir up all that dust, I am waiting for a series of vast empty hours, a long cold, a convalescence, during which my constantly reawakened curiosities will lie at rest; during which my sole care will be to rediscover myself.
(André Gide [source])
This resonates nicely with a passage I first read yesterday — a meditation on, and repudiation of, the notion that productivity requires motivation, drive:
What might change if we understood meaningful action to be something we could let happen, simply by standing out of the way? On such an account, actions are always flowing through you anyway, unless you actively impede them. Your only job is to direct the flow a bit, so that you end up focusing more on the things that matter to you.
The Zen teacher Kosho Uchiyama once wrote: “Life completely unhindered by anything manifests as pure activity.” Orient yourself to the world in this way, and the question is no longer “How can I get myself to do things?”, with its implicit and unwelcome answer: “By putting in more effort, you lazy jerk!” Instead, the question is something a bit more like “What’s seeking to be done through me, right now?” And then, whatever the response, all you really have to do is to allow it to happen.
(Oliver Burkeman [source])
In these terms, I welcome whiskey river‘s unsolicited break in routine — and very much look forward to seeing whatever emerges from this fallow spot in their calendar!
At the moment, not really by choice — but nor by necessity — I’m kinda wallowing fallow myself.
It’s not unusual of course for me to go a week or two without a photo session somewhere or other; my rhythm, generally, calls for a photo shoot of a day or maybe two, followed by a week-plus of “clearing the deck.” (This involves transferring photos to a computer, which I then cull and organize — eliminating (near-)dups, categorizing one way or another, and touching up with software for what passes for “publication.”)
As for writing, well, outwardly the years-long stasis on that front remains in place. Emphasis on “outwardly,” though — and this represents progress. There’s no major writing project in the offing, but I’m toying with a few ideas — especially now that The Missus and I are “planted” for a few months and minding our own schedule. Last week I submitted a haiku (“come out of nowhere,” much???) to a contest, and am reworking a short story slightly to meet the requirements of another, due next week. Downstream, once we’re really settled, and once I again have a real honest-to-gods computer at my disposal, I have a short-story anthology project I’d like to tackle…
So real progress, I think, lurks behind the scrim of everyday life. Premature still to announce a Grand Opening. But the crew behind my eyes seems very busy, and I hope you’ll excuse me if I seem distracted — it’s just hard to pay attention with all the hammering and sawing in there!
Froog says
The Danes, I believe, have an idiom for being hungover: “I have carpenters in my head.!
I hope your mental agitation isn’t as fractious as that.
And I hope you and the Mrs are enjoying being ‘settled’ again, after so long in motion.
I just got back from nearly 4 months of cheap hotels, and am very much enjoying the comfort of ‘home’ again.
John says
“Carpenters in my head”: haha, no, not like that at ALL. It’s more like a percolator: no hammering and sawing, just bubbling.
Four months in cheap hotels must have given you plenty of time to log some mileage. Dare I ask where this was? Are you still in Southeast Asia, and is that where the four months went by???
You know I am always gladdened by seeing you here. Thank you!
Froog says
Yes, indeed, Iohn. For such a restless soul as mine, it had grown quite oppressive to be trapped in one country – and mostly in one city, the Lao capital, Vientiane – for well over two years. As soon as travel restrictions started to melt away this summer, I planned a long trip to revisit some other favourite places around the region.
You remember that I was living in Cambodia a few years ago? In fact, it is still ‘home’ in some sense: all my worldly goods, such as they are, are still stored in a small apartment I’ve kept on there in the north-western city of Battambang. That was my principall destination – wanted to make sure my stuff was OK, negotiatie a futher extension of my ridiculously cheap lease, investigate the possibility of moving back there (or moving my things here) next year…. and just enjoy being able to live ‘rent-free’ somewhere for a short while.
But that was just a couple of fairly brief stops. I spent two months in the country, and went all over: Phnom Penh, Kep, Kampot, Kampong Cham, Siem Reap. And I spent a couple of weeks or so either side of that in Vietnam (air travel within that country is almost back to normal; much better than it is between Lao and anywhere else): Hanoi, Hoi An, Saigon.
I was aware of a sense of ingratitude (and unthriftiness) in embarking on such an odyssey, though, as I’d only just started renting a lovely big house in the rural outskirts of Luang Prabang – one of the most ridiculously pretty little towns in the world.
It’s the first time I’ve lived in a house since university days, over 30 years ago. And I have a yard as well, with several small fruit trees and dozens of potted plants to try to keep in health. I’ve also semi-adopted a neighbour’s somewhat neglected dog. So, lots of unaccustomed ‘domesticity’ in my life all of a sudden!
I’m loving your photographs, by the way. We seem to have a similar obsession with form, pattern. I wonder if this is something that grows in the mind over time, and tends to assert itself more in maturer people?