I have been working through Julia Cameron's book
The Artist's Way
and this morning I decided to flip back through my
morning pages. I found this entry that I had written back in September last year. It is still something that I haven't been able to solve yet.
Saturday, 24 September 2005.
Sometimes I don't seem to know what is real and what is not. I spent a lot of today wishing for something else rather than being in the experience of today. I think that us humans tend to want all the good times - those times when we feel most alive and energised - without any of the ordinary times. Really, it's not the bad times - the real low lows - that are the worst for me; it is the blah ordinary times - the days with no highlights or lowlights, with no contrast, the days that are bathed in a murky grey, the days that seem to have no purpose to them. Those are the days when I only feel half alive, when I feel that I am going through the motions, but not actually being there at all. What makes these days like that? Are they predestined to be that way? Is it something in the way we wake up? Does it have something to do with our expectations for the day? I know that I feel lost if I don't have a clear purpose, but I also know that I need to take time out. How do I do that without it going bad?
No comments:
Post a Comment