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fallsong Why is it that life seems to tumble by so fast that much of it is gone before you realize it? I think part of me wants to write because part of me wants to reflect on what is racing by so fast. The big question is why I never seem to take the time to indulge that part of me. I have a few moments now, and I am just thinking of all the things that have happened this past year, and how I neglected to write down my thoughts much here, or anywhere. It's one thing to be all zen and living in the moment to the fullest -- which is really how all life should be lived anyway -- but that living in the moment doesn't really get appreciated unless there is some time taken to reflect on it. At least that's how it seems to me.
So I have to ask myself why it is I don't seem to take the time to reflect on things. Well, I guess I have to correct that statement somewhat. Because you see, I DO reflect on things. I just don't take the time to RECORD those reflections. And I guess that's where I am failing the part of me that wants to be a writer ... that wants to record things ... that wants to make observations ...
As if my observations matter. Well, they do. To me. And I guess maybe that's what counts most. Because really, when we tell a story, WHY do we tell it? There is something inside the story... the kernel of an observation about life... that we just feel obliged to express. We have to tell someone, even if the audience that makes up that "someone" is the disinterested Universe, to whom we effectively say, "Reflect on this, please."
So I need to write more. I need to take the time to put down those fleeting reflections that I need to put out to the Universe.
I'll try to do better.
So I have to ask myself why it is I don't seem to take the time to reflect on things. Well, I guess I have to correct that statement somewhat. Because you see, I DO reflect on things. I just don't take the time to RECORD those reflections. And I guess that's where I am failing the part of me that wants to be a writer ... that wants to record things ... that wants to make observations ...
As if my observations matter. Well, they do. To me. And I guess maybe that's what counts most. Because really, when we tell a story, WHY do we tell it? There is something inside the story... the kernel of an observation about life... that we just feel obliged to express. We have to tell someone, even if the audience that makes up that "someone" is the disinterested Universe, to whom we effectively say, "Reflect on this, please."
So I need to write more. I need to take the time to put down those fleeting reflections that I need to put out to the Universe.
I'll try to do better.
