Observations

When life becomes too confused or complicated for meditative time, it’s probably when I most need to pull back, and for a variety of reasons cannot. Then, come dry spells. For me that means I have lost contact with the cascade of thoughts or observations that usually catapult like a waterfall from sub-conscious to conscious. No matter that I carry about a small pad to jot down the occasional word or phrase that may spark a poem. The thought lies like the dark before the dawn. So what are the so busy, too busy acts of life that spell a pause in my waterfall? Driving, cooking, waiting. Yes, waiting could open the floodgates, but waiting in doctor’s offices (either for my own or another’s impending appointment) should be opportune. But, I suppose in reality, the lack of knowledge of just when one may be called, or the door will open and one will be summoned, banishes inspiration.

Thinking about that, it most likely reflects a lack of discipline. Even a moment to scratch down a line could in time lead to a rhyme or two. Instead, I seize that spare moment to peruse a New Yorker cartoon, or read the current book I cannot be without. Books, it is true, are often sources for sardonic wit. As long as dry is not drought I can live with it.

Now go back and take a look, and if I rearranged the above into verse and began to employ iambic pentameter I might indeed have wrought what I sought.