Once upon a time there was a king.
The king wanted a painting. He'd heard about a famous painter in a distant village. "I don't care how much it costs," said the king. He sent a messenger to the painter.
"My king wants a painting," said the messenger. "Ok," said the painter, "give me two million gold coins and come back later." The messenger paid.
The messanger came back a year later. "It's not finished yet," said the painter. "Come back later."
Ten years passed.
The messenger returned. "Where is the painting for the king?"
The painter grabbed a canvas and painted a painting. "Here, give this to the king."
"What, you just made it!" said the messenger.
"Yes," said the painter, "but I've been thinking about it for ten years."
A week of absence make the heart grow fonder.
What have you been doing, asked Elf.
I've been red-lining a manuscript, said Orphan. I printed it out and did a line-by-line edit.
Been spilling red ink like blood for a week.
How short is it?
550 pages.
If I had more time I'd make it shorter.
Rewriting is the party. Dance like nobody's looking.
"We work in the dark — we do what we can — we give what we have. Our doubt is our passion, and our passion is our task. The rest is the madness of art." - Henry James
A Zen monk related a story.
“Before becoming a monk I was an English teacher in an Experimental High School near Chengdu in Southwestern China. One day I held up a walnut.
“What is this?”
They answered in Chinese.
I wrote “walnut” and “metaphor” on the board.
“This walnut is like a person I know, very hard on the outside. They are very safe and secure inside their shell. Nothing can happen to them. What is inside this shell?”
“Some food,” said a boy.
“How do you know?”
“My mother told me.”
“Do you believe everything your mother tells you?”
“Yes, my mother always tells the truth.”
“Really?”
“Yes.”
“Well, that’s good, but I wonder if mothers always tell their children the truth. Why? Because mothers and fathers like to protect their children and keep them safe. Especially young children. Now you are in high school and developing as a more complete and mature human being. It’s good to question things and find out the truth for yourself. Do you understand?”
Some said “yes,” others nodded passively.
“This walnut is a metaphor for the self. A symbol. The self that is afraid to take risks because they are “protected” by their shell. Maybe the reality is that the shell is empty. How do we really know what is inside.”
“It’s a mystery,” said another boy.
“That’s right, it’s a mystery. How will we find out what’s inside?”
“You have to break it open,” said a boy with poetic aspirations.
“Yes, you or I will have to break open the shell, our shell, break free from the shell to know what is inside. That can be a little scary when we are conditioned and comfortable carrying around the shell every day isn’t it?”
“It’s our self,” whispered a girl in the front row.
“Very good. Exactly. It’s our self, this shell and the mystery. We have to take risks and know nothing terrible is going to happen, like trying to speak English in class.”
“If we don’t break the shell we’ll never feel anything,” said another boy.
A girl in the back of the room said, “it means it’s hard to open our heart. It’s hard to know another person and what they are thinking, how they are feeling.”
“You got it,” I said. “We’ll never experience all the feelings of joy, love, pain, sorrow, or friendship and miss out on life.”
This idea floated around the room as I juggled the shell in my hand.
“I know people who grow very tired every day from putting on their shell before they leave home. It gets heavier and heavier, day by day. Some even carry their shell into adulthood. They look alive but inside they are dead. But eventually, maybe, something important happens to them at the heart-mind level and they decide to break free from their shell and see what’s inside. They say to themselves, ‘This shell is getting really heavy and I’m so tired of putting it on and carrying it around. I’m going to risk it.’”
I smashed the shell on the table with my hand. It splintered into pieces. Students jumped with shock.
“There, I’ve done it! I smashed my shell. Can it be put back together?”
“No,” they said.
“Right, it’s changed forever. The shell is gone.”
I fingered small pieces of shell, removing them from the nut.
“See, it’s ok. Wow! Now it’s just an old useless shell. It doesn’t exist anymore. It’s history. I know it will take time to remove pieces of my old shell. Maybe it’s fair and accurate to say the old parts represent my old habits, behaviors, and attitudes. It happened and now I will make choices using my free will accepting responsibility for my actions and behavior. And, I know nothing terrible will happen to me. I feel lighter. Now I can be real.
“That’s the walnut story.”
Once upon a time and such a wonderful time it was I wore a BIG watch.
Living in the past is time consuming.
Small wrist. Bone, skin, vein.
All the weight. Shake time. Wake up!
This BIG watch was not huge never ending gigantic e normal mouse time. Rather small time. I thought time was big. Life is big. Time is short and small. Time is a mass of white seagulls pirouetting in a pitch black sky. White light fragments flutter by and by.
A woman's long face studies sorrow at her feet.
Another read Turkish coffee grounds. You will experience a personal earthquake. I see a child. You travel many roads. A bird has a good message.
I see a spirit place in the mountains, said another reader. Many people are praying. There is a holy man. It is a Buddhist place. There are many rivers and mountains. I see a man and woman. You will meet a cat. It is a woman. She is a potential enemy. Be careful.
Miracles Revealed! Faith, hope and alienation.
A Trabzon bus lot director in shiny black shoes, orange tie, and white hair with hands behind his back sings Italian opera. His voice is a long distance trans carrier between Georgia and Greece.
Here we go, I stutter.
Language of what I don't know is big. Bigger than time. Longer than tomorrow, a faceless facet of time's ticking, sweeping a hand around a dial. Knowing and understanding tried to communicate without speaking. Zap. Down, done, did, do the do.
I know but cannot say. Others say but do not know. Babbling tongues.
After escaping Persians, 10,000 Greek warriors ran down mountains layered with leaves yelling, THE SEA! THE SEA!
The warrior wears a medal from Korean service. Once upon a time.
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