I've thought about posting to the blog here about a million times, but when I think about what to post, I find I am completely out of ideas. All the writing classes I took in college suggest that I shouldn't really worry about what to write and just start writing. Free writing they call it. It's good advice I guess, but something holds me back. The last few months have really brought home the difference between intellectual knowledge and emotional ability. Knowing what to do, and mustering the will to do it are two different things.And, of course, while I felt a little lacking in creativity when it comes to writing, my dreams have apparently taken up the slack. I've been on a train, part of an early 20th century comedy team much like Laurel and Hardy, a tour guide on a small ocean trawler, and an antique dealer in a bizarre musical instruments. In one memorable dream, I lived in an ocean-front town, bright and summery, will several million people (including myself) milling around a large cliff-side estuary. An impossibly gigantic wave would occasionally sweep up the estuary and take a few of the happy people out to sea. Most everyone, however, was unconcerned about this seeming tragedy as it was an apparently normal everyday occurrence. I've had a couple of dreams that take place in ocean-front towns. In one, I lived in a small apartment that housed a few people who were part of an artist community. I'm not sure if any of this means anything.
I think I've been in a rut for the past few weeks. Other than school and television, I haven't done anything of note--except, perhaps, attend the funeral of an old friend. I hadn't seen him in over 15 years, and of course, I thought I had at least several more years to make a visit. His death was a little bit of a surprise. I made a special effort to attend his commemoration. Although he was not an Indian, he had a lot of Native friends to whom he meant a lot. I arrived just as things were beginning to start with a drum circle and singing, much like a pow-wow. Towards the end, they passed around an eagle feather fan with the idea that whoever was holding the fan could say a few words about the departed. I enjoyed hearing about my friend from the people he touched, but it also made me regret not having made the effort to have visited him earlier. Every once in a while, I find I'm thinking about him and his spirit and the stuff he had to deal with in his life.
As for myself, I am hoping to overcome my rut soon. I just need to work a little harder at it. I might be thinking about the past and the future too much rather than living in the present, but then again, I don't like that thought either. I can think about whatever the hell I like as long as I get what I need accomplished, right? It's a complicated balance that I guess I am still searching for. Maybe things will look better in the next few weeks.