~12-1AM, 11 April, 2020

I’m always imagining a moment when I will be more sober, when I’ll have better judgement. I put off publishing any of my work, sending off the messages I’ve written to people, thinking that there’ll be sometime when I know better, when I’m thinking clearer, and will be able to edit it into something better, something ‘finished.’ 

It’s difficult to allow myself to publish mere ‘notes,’ but it is what I’ve come to realise, is necessary. I don’t know if anything I’ve ever done felt ‘finished,’ or if it was simply a matter of deadline – an externally imposed cut-off that marked out a project’s edges – a necessary container.

The mind is boundless and everything connected, and I feel that in a very intense way sometimes. I sense it completely, and struggle to find language adequate enough to express it – to map it.

I am fine with simply experiencing – allowing myself to be moved, to let what will, move through me. I also wish to communicate, I wish to feel traction. My task is to realise holistically, that these are not opposing forces. 

I must allow what comes to me, to be shared. 

I have struggled with the urge to protect the sacred by not speaking of it – by witnessing, listening, feeling, letting go – not wanting to impose any limitations through language.

It’s a practice of care, to dare hold a container up to the boundless.

I need to change my thinking about the frame. I think of its edges as so finite. I feel them like blades. When I hear the shutter go off in a room, I feel it as an attack on the sacred.

I must reimagine the lines in the viewfinder, as something light, something passing. As I’m writing this I’m watching the high and fast winds carry wisps. I think once again about how much this ever-present ocean has to teach me. I think about the shore. I think about brief meetings. I think about living with open hands.