In that curiously synchronous way in which these things happen.
Yesterday I received two communications that made a reference to the Reluctant Illustrator.
Encouraging and inquisitive
in that buoyant and uplifting way in which these things happen.
They each came from different parts of my world, and both arrived on the same day. Both asked about the Reluctant Illustrator (uh...are you still there?)
Why so hard when we do, to then get back to it?
I read a wonderful post recently on Maria Popova's delightful The Marginalian – It was about the path... and losing one's way and finding one's way back. Of course I lost the link (I'll find that post again.) Paraphrasing poorly – as we get regularly distracted, waylaid, and drawn endlessly away from our good endeavours - perhaps the act of bringing our attention back, is actually what matters most.
This resonated for me - a recognition that the repeated practice of bringing ourselves back from the distractions - and once again focusing on our endeavours - IS the path. A bit like a meditation practice. I know there is much more to it than that, and yet it's...
Strangely analogous to the awareness of breathing
in that simple yet profound way in which these things happen.
So no time like the present to take an in-breath
Thank you for that eternally blooming heart dear M & the welcome nudge dear N – and for the unexpected and lovely serendipitous convergence! Thank you for the nudges, the patience, the love, and for bringing me back to my path – and M, thank you for...
The Tail That Wags the Dog
See the tail that wags the dog.
Language is speaking the man.
Look, the shovel is making a hole in the grave digger!
Brushes paint artists into the walls!
The hip is wagging the dancer, see?
That oar is rowing every person in the boat.
Don’t you see it? Here is a head that thinks a man into a man.
trans. Katie Farris and Ilya Kaminsky (2022)
FWD: from Pome by Matthew Ogle