Lifted and Held

There is so much mystery, but also consistency in creation. The answers come mysteriously, but the process is becoming solid. I love the way Rick Rubin writes about it. I am finding my way - these are the writings through that.

It came through the window, lifting the pages with its breath. They floated softly, what was that space they left?

Upheaval and time and personal things all thrown together; I feel myself standing in the center of a tornado as the world spins around me. I grew up in a big family, I gave myself a big family. My tolerance for chaos is extensive. Yet, here I am surrounded and clueless.

Our lives are creatures of our making but when they run away with us all we can do is hang on or let go.

Naive childish thoughts often spring forth in times like these. Thoughts of why or how or when. A stack required to write the mystery. In this case we cannot know the ending from the beginning. Did Agatha Christie write that last chapter first? What would it be to know the ending while in the middle?

It came to me while driving, most good things do. It was quiet and still and rested in the back of my mind until I gave it my full attention.