creativity, energy, fiction, furnace, home, politics, potted plant, reading, Shogun, silence, writing
I’ve heard it said that one should be careful what they put their energy into. Perhaps you’ve seen the meme that cautions who you invite into your soul, or the reminder that Karma did, indeed, see what you did. “Be careful what you put your energy into tonight, darling,” I think to myself as I write. It doesn’t all have to be lofty and worthy, but is it worth the energy I believe it might? Yes. No. Maybe.
The silence of this place is more precious to me than the clean water that patters into the steel sink. Why not use the cliche of more precious than gold? Because you know me better than that. Only my fingertips tapping and my eardrum’s tinnitus breaks the silence. Here comes a helicopter (helo) beating its way over this little spit of land, soon to cross the bay and RTB. This helo sounds awful, one blade out of tune, I’ve never heard that before, and I wonder, and I wonder if my energy should care.
My plants are repotted. The floors smell of citrus. I dug this fuzzy sweater from the box that hides beneath my bed, baby blue that made me sweat when I took a little walk earlier this evening. Finding shelly treasures require extra scouting these days. All good use of my energy, but why should you care?
My little green oil burner fills this space with the scent of something vague but peaceful. It’s not the loud, spotlight-stealing scent of sage, or the typical pumpkin or vanilla stuff we’re “supposed” to be burning this time of year. I stare at the tea light flame and think of the advice I gave to a friend. She is struggling. So hard. She is a potted plant who hears a wild life calling in the distance. The energy I give her is not a waste of time. It’s just not the right time. I spent a lot of time thinking about this and conclude that I respect the woman she is, the woman she chooses to be, because to do otherwise would be harmful to us both.
I have used a great deal of energy reading two books of political non-fiction. I pat myself on the back for reading out of my comfort zone, for finishing what I began though in places I wanted to throw them across the room, and for recognizing that I am ready to stop using my energy on this quest now. I sought wisdom, some kind of understanding for the politics of our day trying to make sense of it all. The books were good, but they left me feeling like a little bit of knowledge is a dangerous thing. Who knew maybe it was a bad idea to take a bite from the fruit of that tree? My furnace is ready to burn for better things now.
What I’ve produced in my recent writings are for personal use, so much sorting, so many questions and no wrong answers. A good use of my energy, I believe. I’m ready to turn back to writing fictions, pleasures, dragons, warriors, to create a world I can understand, a world where I’m not being held hostage by my government. And I’m set to re-read “Shogun” because it’s been calling at me for quite some time.
PS: The refrigerator is running, breaking the silence, and that is just all right.