Musing

+10C, sunny, another beautiful day blossoms as Gusta & I sprint along our trail; I try to keep up, running most of the way behind hyper garbage-disposal dog who seems to get her roles mixed; retrieving is one thing, but who taught her to swallow ?
. . .
struck by the luck, randomness & mysterious way in which a set of words moves another person to an emotional, guttural response I try to peel away my bravado to search for the value in deeply emotional experiences – sometimes I do it by observing someone else share theirs
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for a special someone who includes me in their experience:
“Sorrows cannot all be explained away. In a life truly lived, grief and loss accumulate like possessions.” - Stephen Kanfer
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the more I read of writers, writing & striving to understand success/lack of success in their work together I find the angst descriptions all too familiar; Berton says: read, write, rewrite . . . repeat daily
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what seems to work best, is to write from my belly, write my angst, write my foibles – each day I fail to see enough, understand enough, empathize enough to feel like I am of any real value; but then someone reminds me that I do, then someone else chimes in to reinforce that or make another point
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my point – I have one – is that the agony, ecstatic moments & flavorless blahs each teach if we take the moments to listen & learn
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good morning . . . repeat daily !
. . .
Mark
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