Poetry is not something that simply spills from the mind unbidden.
No, Poetry is an essence that travels from one being to the next; it is shared by ingestion of life.
A life absent from the poetic expressions found in the trees, the fall colors, the simple poetry of life will never give birth to anything more than a crusty paper of a lie.
One who lives on a steady diet of hard truth, dipped deep in the stone well of natural poetry will become suffused with the stuff until it weeps from the very pores, and spills dark ink upon the page already stained with tears.
I am enamored with my new pen: the Kuretake Letter Pen.
It has a really fine point that allows for heavier lines when pressed hard, it makes really beautiful lettering, and gives my normal handwriting a bit of pretty flair.
I just loooove it!
(BTW: I got it from www.jetpens.com )
My Moleskine is a vital part of my life, it serves as a permanent record of the daily thoughts and ideas of my life. I hope to one day pass on all of my accumulated journals to the fire of forgetfulness.
In the pocket, I keep a $20 bill for emergencies, and a couple of Moo cards for interactions with new people.
I never go anywhere without my Mole!
Inspiration rarely gives warning; so I must be ready!
When I suddenly get the urge to make art; I dig into the dark depths of my messenger bag, and pull out my trusty Moleskine Watercolor Notebook and my Winsor & Newton Bijou Box.
Then, I search for the soft brown wrapped Ple Ple Pen Case, and unwrap my tools: Pilot Parallel Pen, Sakura Waterbrush, Cross Triple Pen, Lamy Safari with EF Nib, Tasche Fine Black Pen, and the prize: a fine Sable Brush Pen.
All of these objects, I arrange neatly on the bench beside me, and then Open my Bijou box filled with richly pigmented watercolors, I then snap the elastic from the Moleskine, and seizing my water-brush, I dive into a different world: one that I create upon the virginal page.
What colors will flow from the bristles today? What pigment of very thought, will I bleed upon the page?
I never know.
‘Lucidity’ is an absolute clarity and understanding. As if all the shadows have been cleared away, and all that remains are hard truths. In average existence, our minds are busy with the details and routines of everyday life; we often exist almost as machines. As if the conscious mind stays just behind the present, and reacts on delay.
I used to work cutting tires for a disposal service; the job was repetitive in the extreme. Pick up a tire, throw it on the table, pull the lever for the ram, reverse the ram, rotate the tire 1/3rd turn, and repeat, throw the cut piece and then rotate again, cut and throw. Then repeat the same process once again. In the mornings I would see my huge pile of tires to cut and it would seem an impossible task because my mind was too aware of time and of my own existence. But after the first 10 minutes I would begin to lose the present and become more detached from what I was doing. Time would then begin to move much more quickly and aside from interludes of clarity (or lucidity) I was just as unthinking as the machine I worked with.
Much as sleep is an existence where the conscious mind loses it’s grip and in effect dies to time for a while, only to be re-joined again upon waking, so it was for me in working that repetitive job. All those hours were lost never to come again. And what did I gain for them? Nothing but a few dollars spent on bills and items long lost to memory.
So I ask you, how many of your waking hours do you spend in lucidity? How much of your life have you really lived, not just existed?
Think back on your life, what are the moments that stand out? The seconds or hours that have defined your life?
Live in Lucidity