Most of the I-don’t-know-how-many words I read a day disappear into the ether, somewhere between memory and forgotten. Some get saved on my computer for possible Monday Motivators. A few get written down, and chanced upon when I look through a sketchbook.
This week I was re-aquainted with this snippet from a poem by Norman MacCaig (and discovered I’d blogged it almost exactly three years ago.):
“The sea makes a tired sound
That’s always stopping though it never stops.”
Always stopping but never stops sounds like painting and drawing and writing and living to me. Driven compulsively by the pull of [mental/inspiration/ muse] gravity, always stopping but never stopping until the final, irreversible stop.
Amen!
So true, I think we just wear out like an old car until one day, we just stop. But, it’s the wearing out part that’s the journey. Most days I wish I had the energy I had when I was 18 but those days are long gone. Still, I create and that part of me is more vibrant now than at 18 and I take a lot more risk. Life isn’t as scary and I have no one to please but myself. All in all, a good journey.