Had the opportunity to write with a few friends the other day. It was a rather spontaneous event, but a fun and enlightening one as well. We only had a few minutes together but we decided to do a 3-minute writing exercise where we each picked something in the room to write about for 3-minutes and then we read them to each other. What was most fascinating was the depth of the content. I couldn’t believe how nervous I was…but then when we started, it just happened.
I thought I would include a sample of each of our thoughts, just to show you how profound and also, perhaps give you something to think about today. Hoping to do it again and maybe you could join us…
In the simplicity of a few minutes there are perhaps deep, integrative thoughts here:
My arms are full of flowers, which is probably better than the alternative. Alternatives. What do you carry? Would it be best if the answer was a pencil? Or an apple? Or nothing at all? Or bricks – for strength? Or books – for wisdom? Or a child – for remembrance? I choose to carry flowers. It is always a choice.
JEB wrote about this very sad plant that I am even embarrassed to photograph, but here it is:
“Reaching, reaching further, stretching, stretching higher, striving, striving harder. It’s what I do, all day, every day. But look at you. You seem so…so relaxed… content almost. Just resting there…not reaching…not striving…just…slacking, I guess.”
“Slacking? Slacking? Is that how you see me? How can you see me at all when all of your attention is focused upward? I don’t know why you are so intent on doing whatever it is you are doing. But hey…I’m not trying to judge you? I’m just wondering, ‘Are you happy?’.”
“Happy? Hmmm…hell if I know what that even means.”
I wrote about one of my favorite clown paintings…unlike many, I don’t think there is so much sadness in this one:
I am at peace. Here I sit…posing, being, breathing, a portrait of me. The façade of red adorns my face; eyes highlighted; whiteness painted in disguise…but there is peace concealed. I am me and here I sit. There she sits painting me; painting the façade of me – painting me with her perceptions – perceptions both within and from within. She sees me. She sees my smile. She sees my eyes and she paints me through her experience. Her experience sees me. Her experience guides her every stroke.
I know some of you reading this blog are writing. If you would like to join us, would you please send me an e-mail so I can contact you.
Happy pondering today. Take time to enjoy you. Take time to celebrate you. Take time to be with you. You might even try writing for a few minutes.