We write from quintessential landscapes within us.
In Ubud, every day was an adventure. I asked fellow writers, "Have you had time to write?" -- and almost always, I plucked a withering satisfaction from every bashfully unwritten shake. "Not a word since I got here."
Ha!
Ubud traveled through the length of our thoughts and bodies. The mountainous terrains squeezed our lungs and legs, filling our wakeful minutes with decisions: Our own or hers. Trains of events, talks and showmanship forced into our most private spaces; shattering every shudder of retrospect with waves of instant responses. Unapologetic. Abrasive. Impassive.
At home again, for only a week or two, I bandage myself in reflective veils. Sweet, fragile calm; nothing pokes in, hence it begins to flow outwards. Before movement and travel takes me again, I can show you in fleeting glimpses, how bruised and toughened it's like in here, in my quintessential landscapes.
No time to write in Ubud? But you did write obviously. Twitter shows you have been tweeting like a superior song bird. Aphorisms. A lot.
ReplyDeleteYet I really yearn for what will 'flow outwards'. :)
hugs Coles
ReplyDeleteTomorrow, luv. And thank you for linking me to your post. You oughtta try UWRFing too.
Don't forget life. But sometimes I'm a hobbit.
ReplyDeleteHobbit, out with it!
ReplyDelete