Wednesday, September 22, 2010
A thing I've noticed in my three-year habit of sitting outside for an hour a day paying attention to whatever comes, is that the first time one gives careful notice to anything is the time most surprising---and therefore most noteworthy. It is what nudges me to write. I may or may not have a previous peripheral awareness of the item that calls itself to my attention on any particular day, but the moment I focus on it with intention, a new clarity always arises.
Another thing noticed is that once learned in that way, the attended phenomenon becomes part of my repertoire of knowledge that is then, and only then, embedded in my organic fiber---meaning I will never not know that thing again. "That thing" somehow becomes ordinary, and later makes my response to my writings sometimes fit into the category of thinking characterized by the statement, "Well duh! You didn' t know that? Get a life, why don' t you?"
Such is the response I would guess careful observers of hummingirds might have if they read my recent elementary observations. So be it. It energizes me to describe it in graphite, both in the moment of the writing, and later, that I may read it and realize how far I've come. dkm