There is a plethora of information coming at us, 24/7/365 if we let it. It becomes a wall of noise, a tidal wave of data ready to capsize the ramshackle rafts artist sail. We're on an endless journey to find an island of stillness in this raging sea. It's harder than it seems. We're not trained in it, most of us. In fact, we're trained to the opposite.
Lately, it seems as if there is so much energy at large in the ether that is a ravening maw ready to swallow us all whole. I'm learning as I go, with NaNoWriMo. It's an impressionistic map, this world I'm building. I haven't got the feel of it all yet. There are horrible things happening, everyday. Have I suddenly become more sensitive to them? Has the white noise of mundane distraction fallen away and left me raw in the face of the storm?
I don't know.
What I do know, is that there is a very weird sense like something is caught on the tip of my tongue.
There are swirling images just out of the corner of my eye.
Finding the stillness. Focusing the lens. It's a discipline I'm unused to. I'm used to an organic state of creation. It's going to take time to learn to sift through the stream of consciousness in a gestalt way that is productive instead of overwhelming.
The incredibly exciting thought is that I'm recognizing it so much more easily.