On abandoning process, briefly. Perhaps permanently.
I picture myself fashioning a calamitous, ramshackle setup with a motley collection of pots and skillets, distantly reminiscent of the ‘Saucepan Man’ from The Faraway Tree, adorning myself in them to make some kind of noise, something, anything to mark my movements and signal something to the world. The need arises from an abandonment of process, routine and habit that has saved me time and time over.
The journalling, the composition, the notes and the delicate web that weaves it all together unravels more and more, as life seems to demand more and more. So I sit here without my notes, my Rollerball pen with a medium nib, without journalling first, without Neil Young’s Dead Man soundtrack ringing out around me.
The lack of time is an illusion, of course. I don’t buy it. You shouldn’t either. Soon as you do you’ll excuse yourself all manner of crimes and abuses. I have fingers, and a keyboard, and I’m still here, and you’re still here, so what’s the problem?
I carry the toolkit with me… the guitar picks are always here. The pen. Yes, the notebooks, the planner, the index card for utterly random and impulsive ideas, scraps to be salvaged. I have browser profiles preloaded with my Substack admin pages, and Scrivener projects for the different flavours of my work. All wonderful, yes. But here, tonight, no. Unnecessary.
Here I am, with my house at slumber. There is a moment, which may last five minutes, or five hours, and for once I seize it with both hands to draw some kind of desperate confession from it, before it fades and dies. The relative peace and tumult of my life is measured and meted out in minutes, or hours. And all I have is gratitude. The kind of gratitude that sends me to my knees, and turns every work into a forlorn prayer, and an unexpected song.
I had the idea to take thirty three photos of our world, our home, our Bethlehem to use here on Wristwatches, and on Two Thieves. Snippets and glimpses into the spaces, corners, and expanses that fill my heart, and hold my beautiful family, my dream, my song. I’ll do it tomorrow when the sun is up. All to much is obscured by the blanket of night. I know that if I step outside though, the stars will be out, alive, stunning - God’s firmament, so still, but electric, in a silent harmony that fills my heart.
I never knew stars like this until we moved out here to Jindera. I remember a night, years ago, at a dear friend’s property, staring up at the majesty of the unblemished night sky, edging closer to morning as conversation came alive, given life and breathe by the grandeur above us. I never knew nights, and stars like these back in the city, where the hollow glow and glare of fickle lights bled the stars of their majesty.
But we left it all. We sold up, took off, in a leap of faith, to follow Christ to new horizons of hope, orthodoxy, community and fidelity. We abandoned all that we knew, with the innocent, trusting love of a child, and have been rewarded a thousandfold for that trust. It isn’t always easy, but little worth having is ever easy. And tonight, I set aside the trappings of creative routine, form, process, to simply create.
It may have to be like this, more and more now. And I’m ok with that. I hope you are too.