Why do you run around looking for the truth? Be still, and there it is – in the mountain, in the pine, in yourself. – Lao Tzu
Painting by Cicely Mary Barker
There is a distinct loneliness that comes from finishing a particular kind of work – like a novel – that cannot be easily shared. It’s just there. No one can know it. You had it before you began, which is why you began, and then it comes back revisited about a million times on conclusion.
Very heavy, indeed.
It’s what you take on.
Dun gotta put this up on the Diary cos it was such an unexpected find…the recording…
We arrived at LAX after spending new year in San Fransisco, picked up our van, drove out to the Getty Museum and then into the Hollywood Hills to watch the gig of … A Genius, A True Star
How cool was that..?
(Wrote about it in ANSWER)
Pretty much the greatest moment in a writer’s life is when he/she finishes a novel.
When they’ve been working on it over an unintentionally extended period of time, it’s very special.
When it’s the tenth and final novel of a projected series covering a lifetime, it’s extra-special still.
That’s where this boy – or grown man – stands now: at the culmination of it all.
There’s this idea that if you could only be rid of Pompeo or Trump or Erdogan or whoever, everything would be hunky-dory – we’d all get on with our pleasant lives and so on and so forth.
While we are calibrated to launch into vindictiveness and violence at the drop of a hat – yes, even hatred and projected violence towards those we hold to blame for the continuing violence we very much say we are against – then it stands to reason that the actual behaviour that we assert we are against, will continue.
We remain in a losing argument.
The fact is that we are not ready to live in peace.
On the face of it, the human species will never rise above the level to which it has attained.
Why should it?
People quite clearly live the way they wish and society is structured accordingly. You’d have to be mad to say things are not as they should be.
Or an arrogant prick.
All the while the black lodge operates according to the way that most people view the world and the serpentine myth tries to mitigate the worst of their excesses.
If and when sufficient numbers have the true vision of universal harmony – a big ask, I’ll grant you – then the balance will change.
There is probably nothing more profound right now than being in the Santa Maria mountains along with each petal of blossom, each bud on every fruit tree, the golden opening oak leaves (the tree after which our village is named), the blazing dawns and cooling maroon sunsets – the logs on the woodstove, the local wine, the seeds planted in recently tilled ground, waiting, vibrating and preparing to erupt into the welcoming light.
We are here. We are still.
And that is probably reason enough to cease this Diary for a short while. A look back over its entries will reveal the highest attainment any individual human being might attain while here on earth.
When you’re mellow you don’t bother writing – at least not the kind of stuff I like to read and write.
More importantly, nobody wants to read the sort of stuff I write,
So that’s that.
A good thing.
Everything is mellow.
Everyone is mellow.
I’ve been dreaming in tens.
My tenth novel will be published in less than ten weeks.
Mellowness is the order of the day. Phew!
I never thought this day would happen.
What a waste of time it’s all been.
In the best sense.
The tenth of tenth sense.
The never could work it what’s all been about complete waste of time on earth sense.