Do-land

I tapped a note on my phone and sent it to myself.

"feb21"

My next writing group meeting.

I don't know if I can write anymore or even what I could write about.

I stopped writing a year ago.

Writing in the sense of writing essays, narratives, stories....things that might be submitted for publication.

I put my children's book manuscript, the one I wrote about Africa, in a plastic bag and hid it under a skirted table in my bedroom.

I deleted a file of erotic fiction.

I went back to the safety of not creating.

I do now.

I do the bills. I do my work. I do my job. I do the house. I do what I'm supposed to do.

Writing and art never come from "do."

They come from a different place.... a place that needs passion and light.

To write well you have to turn on a spotlight and shine it in your head and heart and guts.

You have to shine it in dark places and hope exposing something...a feeling ....an event...an idea ...creates something new.

It's a strange land..... because you're constantly absorbing....a piece of dialogue in a restaurant, the way something looks in the sunlight, the way you feel when you hear certain words or see the ordinary acts of life play in front of you.

It's a land that's also not totally in this dimension. If you're writing well....you flow out of yourself and flow in something else....something universal....which rises above the normal barriers of culture and language.

For reasons too personal to explain here, I woke up one morning, shut off the light.....and walked into "do" land.

The only times I leave do-land is during religious services....when I watch a man sway and sing and close his eyes in prayer at the podium. I sense he's in that universal and I try, briefly, to hitch a ride.

I can't decide if I want to leave do-land or even if I can.

I don't have any stories.....I don't have perceptions begging to be released.... I don't have anything to say.

I'm a mute in do-land and now I have a date to speak.

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Sometimes it's just too hot and humid to have creative thoughts.

To sleep, perchance to dream.......

I had to visit the cemetery this morning. This was a pre-planned trip. Fortunately, not for services. I have to write a small article accompanied by a picture for an anthology.

I hoped early morning light would be soft enough for great photos...and of course I would sit on some bench and think cliche thoughts about death...then remind myself ....the purpose of writing is to find fresh thoughts on cliche situations.

After a nice spot of coffee from a nearby cafe....I head over to the cemetery.

I 'm not happy. By 8:15AM, the light and the sun were so intense the gray-white granite statues and headstones were faded. Damn.

I walked down row after row of very old worn headstones and statues....conscious of looking for the right angle....when I felt a small rivulet of sweat trickle down my back. Oh....It's going to be hot today.

I stop to photograph a statue of a cherub...saying to myself this is too cliche.......but if I didn't start taking some pics....I wouldn't be able to warm up and shoot anything.

I knelt down...tried this angle and that angle...and it was just okay. When I stood up.....I felt like my own personal hot springs....as multiple streams of sweat rolled down me and even dripped off my nose. I realized by the greenness of the grass.... this historic cemetery watered its grass regularly....and the hot sun was creating an open air sauna.

I find an interesting fat cherub holding a globe....but ..they are going to start funeral services soon....a small thought says this might be an interesting photo...but I don't want to be a jerk.

Giving up on the pictures....I decide to give contemplation a try.....

Here's my thoughts:

1) It's hot.
2) It's humid.
3) Wow, my capri pants are so wet it's like I showered in them.
4) I hope I don't come home full of chigger bites.
5) Death. Oh Death. Death. People dead. Dead people dead. All over. All over dead people dead for a long time. Historically dead people in a historic cemetery.

Let's try new perspective:

1) I'm gonna die. Blah blah....regrets....renewed lust for life. Blah Blah. Forget it.

2) Man, I am so happy I'm going to get cremated...who would want to lay here and sweat for eternity?


Looking around.

See huge white towering obelisk hidden in big oak tree...Get up to see what family could be so obvious. Ohhhh. Local Bank family. Look up....and see....huge downtown bank building with competitor's name on it. Awesome shot...one bank family's monument...in line with another bank family's monument....Telephoto jammed. Great. Forget it...it's probably too ironic for story.

Tourists stop by and chat with me. Am I a traveling cemetery fan?

Watch these sweaty Californians (dedicated cemetery fans ) get in their big suburban and knock over a small marker when they turn their monster car down the small lane built for carriages....not SUV's.

Blouse and pants drenched. Hair curled. Telephoto jammed. Sauna on full. Not a creative shot or a creative thought anywhere. Time to go home.

Getting in your car....and aiming your air conditioner vents right at your face.

Priceless.

Oh....my brain is obviously stewed.

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