…When out in the blogosphere there rose such a clatter, I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter!
Seriously, folks, I have severe blogging issues.
First, as a preamble, let me explain how lovely it’s been to cease blogging on Lake Superior Spirit since last Wednesday. A magnificent little break.
Quiet spaces of word-less being.
No written sentences. No turns of phrase. No opulent paragraphs.
You watch the squirrel munch on spruce cones. You watch the chickadees flit from branch to branch. You carefully wash dishes. You carry in logs to fill your woodroom.
It’s been a lovely non-blogging life here, indeed.
Until 4:30 a.m. the last two days.
That’s when you start dreaming.
“Ma in her kerchief and I in my cap had just settled down for a long winter’s nap…”
You dream that you’re writing a blog.
You write your blog for an hour in your sleep. (I kid you not!)
You do this every morning for the last two mornings…even though you have no intention of writing a blog.
You wake up at 5:30 a.m.
Now you start writing a blog in your half-awake state. You watch yourself writing words, sentences, paragraphs, entire blogs!
You finally drag yourself from your blog-induced sleep at 6:30 a.m.
Your husband has dragged himself home from a musical gig sometime in the middle of the night.
“How was your blog?” you ask, sleepily. “I mean, how was your gig?”
You sit on the couch and sip coffee with the bass player.
You talk. You sip. You watch your mind humming in the background–and you know what it’s doing, right?
This mind has severe blogging issues.
You excuse yourself to check your blog. See if anything exciting’s happened since last night when you last checked. Nope.
OK, something exciting has happened here since last Wednesday. This was the “clamor” in the blogosphere, in case anyone was still scratching their head about that crazy sentence up above. Eighty-eight people googled “Yin Yang” this week and discovered your Yin Yang and in Pajamas Until Noon blog.
You think–I should write a real Yin Yang blog. Your mind complies. It starts writing words.
“This has got to stop,” you mutter to yourself, “what kind of blogging break is this?”
“Are you writing a blog today?” the bass player asks. “Didn’t you say you’d be blogging a couple of times a week?”
“I am meditating,” the blogger replies and heads down the basement.
You do know what meditating involved, don’t you?
It involved watching the errant blog-writing mind write blogs. It writes ’em without any provocation. It writes ’em because it likes words.
Who knows why the mind loves writing so much? Why does it so often feel wildly passionately in love with words? Why is it so often amused by the way words play with one another, the way they play hop-scotch and jump rope and twirl together?
Finally, in resignation, the meditator heads back upstairs.
“If I let you write a blog, will you be satisfied?” the meditator asks the mind. “Because you’re not getting another chance for a few days.”
The internal writer just smiles. The typing fingers begin their clamoring on the keyboard.
It’s a quiet day in the north woods.
I mean–it’s going to be a quiet day in the north woods–once this blog is written.