An overwhelming swell of contentedness. A conviction that all is as it should be. They speak of blissful oblivion. This is peaceful self awareness – a much more satisfying state of joy.
A beautiful cup of coffee, a beautiful canal side view. This quaint little universe that holds my boundless elation. My soul is a self contained whole, buoyant, drifting on a river. Looking down into the water but not being submerged.
But with such wonder, there is also sadness, sadness that this feeling is mine alone and not for everyone.
A couple kissing on a wall, a pang of missing a certain someone. But happiness is resilient as I say, and sadness merely transitory. After all he’ll be back soon. And until then, my bubble remains afloat.
A post that might not make much sense in terms of a coherent message. It more reflects the pattern of my thoughts, how they stream through my mind like water – I wanted to capture this moment in my life. A happiness that I felt which was able to withstand little pangs of sadness, because happiness comes from the inside. Maybe not the work of the likes of James Joyce or Virginia Woolf, but all the same, there is something fun about stream of consciousness writing. There are less rules to be followed, more permissible senseless writing. Mapping thought patterns is so interesting – I challenge everyone to try it! Have a happy Saturday!
Every word is the wrong word. Every sentence built back to front. Every comma misplaced, every dash over the top dramatic. Each thought and idea incompletely explored, the message not properly set out. Why do sometimes our minds work seamlessly and at others it feels as if you are knocking at the door of an old friend who is refusing to come to the door – ‘Hello?’ – Nothing. Its feels as though my mind is not my own, my thoughts not mine to explore, rather they have ideas of their own about their willingness to be accessed. I hold my own writing hostage. But the ransom is not money, but time.
An accurate portrayal of writer’s block? I know they say that pushing through writer’s block is about discipline, but I have been sat behind my computer or with my notebook in hand for days now, and the words won’t come. Ideas I have, the power to convey them is what I am temporarily robbed of. And yet the setting for writing seems so perfect – the house is quiet, the weather is stormy, I am sat with a cup of fresh mint tea, inside in the warm – the pathetic fallacy is entirely in my favour. It seems though that today, my mind will not be commanded.
Writing for me is like swimming in the ocean. Drifting beneath the surface with my eyes closed, feeling the current beat against my body like the heart beat of the earth. Overwhelming peace, overwhelming complexity. A swell of colour and ideas forming into life and shape around me like a shining coral reef – the more I think the more I see. But then the sheer expanse of the picture grips me like a brutal rip tide: I can see everything surrounding me but nothing in detail, nothing sufficiently in focus. Then that terrible feeling as the words swimming around refuse to form fully enough to be written down. And so my dip beneath peaceful waves becomes a struggle against their power. I kick down one the ocean floor to propel myself upwards to the surface. Oxygen burns my lungs as I emerge and I put down my pen, resigned. Today will not be my day for writing then.
This piece is really about how sometimes I start writing and am overcome by the sheer detail of what I want to get down but don’t seem able to, and the corresponding confusion and dejection as I find myself giving up. I know it is a matter of discipline and concentration, but it is not a skill I have yet mastered.
I spent the day in Leiden today where I will be starting my masters degree in September. My best friend and I sheltered from the frequent rain in local cafes and shops, discovering the wonderful corners of the city. I wrote this while I waited for her in what I hope will become my new regular coffee house!