Quiet inside

Silent Monks

Clever video. I laughed and laughed.

Sort of in stall mode. Doing mundane things, laundry, some reading, mostly moving from spot to spot, a kind of low key restlessness. I imagine the DSM IV (V? VI?) could become the largest book ever in its  efforts to describe and label all of the oddities we humans demonstrate. It's laughable and ridiculous. However, we are a curious species, as are all animals I think. It seems instinctive to learn, to know, rooted in enhancing survival but also as with everything else rooted in survival, desires can get twisted and misshapen into an unrecognizable state, and/or the roots lost in time.

I imagine that many behaviours are intended as positives, as kindnesses - I believe this. Of course the outcome is a crapshoot. We barely know what motivates ourselves let alone others.

Some people seem very connected, very comfortable in their bodies. Can name, point to exact locations of turmoil in their bodies. Their bodies really speak, or rather, they can listen and hear what their body tells them. I think we give ourselves away all of the time. Sometimes it is obvious to others what we are about, and we are blind to it. Other times, people really know themselves. I know my body speaks to me, gives me clues, shows me things, tells me things, most often I am oblivious to its 'withinput'.

Sometimes I'm just not present in my body, I think pretty much everyone has experienced this. Being on autopilot. Sometimes it's about escaping sometimes it's just autopilot.

Just kind of quiet inside, watchful. My body wants to move. Yesterday I was in the garden again, trimming, raking. Lots of large maple leaves around. Windy today some rain. A fall day. Our fall and winter seamless.

I am worried though about the dearth of ideas artwise. I am working on a couple different pieces, some with merit, but overall it feels lackluster, aimless, going through the motions. Yeah, so stalled. Yesterday, sitting in the garden, pulling grass out of the plant whose name currently escapes me (euonymous??) and it occurred to me:  I am 47 yrs old. The first (I remember anyway) time sort of being struck with the fact of my age and wondering what my life is about? It's never too late, it is said. I hope I am on the right track, even though I feel slightly derailed (someone put a penny on my track). I am not really too excited about anything right now. I do not feel driven by any ideas. Probably time just to look at lots and lots of art and walk.

We are getting a puppy, this is good news. I am terrified at the prospect as well. Doubting my ability to care for something other than myself. Fearing failure, fearing to taint, poison a life. I know there will be challenges, and overall I feel I can manage, and I won't be alone. There are just times where there is no self-faith. But today is okay. I'll go get some pumpkins, try and carve some weirdness.