I was out to my favorite writing café and the academic bookstore this morning, finally buying the book of poetry by Tomas Tranströmer that I’ve been ogling for months. Coming back to Hakaniemi, I saw these birds perched on a street lamp. They were clearly watching us morning people passing by, discussing whatever it may be that birds discuss about human beings. So I stopped for a while, dug out my thought book, craned my neck and drew some.
What I love about being creatively active, is how awareness opens and I start seeing everything, both in a wider and more focused way. That is the everyday connecting with imagination, bringing vitality in its wake.
I feel like I’m trying to fit a truck through my eye
This energy, of the book, is so huge that I am overwhelmed at times, just
trying to connect at it
The story is there, it is all so THERE
and I manage it every now and then.
I guess that is the writer’s life
and the practice of showing up.
I guess that is what I am doing right now
and it is something, more than nothing.
Inside outside in a bubble of creation,
as if I’m in a shuttle,
orbiting the world where other people live.
calling myself beloved on the earth.