Tuesday, 11 December 2012

here and there #7 [good morning]

via pinterest

I woke up in the morning with a mug of hot coffee beside me, a sweet kiss and promises of eternity. It's like this every day, for almost ten years now, and I still don't know a better way to wake up.

However, for a long time, I wasted these first hours between sleepiness and awaking, between dreams and reality ...? Between the heat of sheets and the freshness of mind.

So many times I complained about the lack of inspiration, or having nothing to tell. Even when thoughts fought each other in order to have a bit of my attention. The constant fear of "losing my way" prevented me from facing the paper.

Many writers, famous or not, told me to write every day, when waking up. I, just now, decided to follow their advice, and, after three texts, I consider it to be an excellent practice.

Ideas jiggle around like popcorn, images arise spontaneously*. The unconscious invades my conscious part of the mind. I don't even need to think. Themes and approaches that in normal days (as if I had them) I do not remember pointing out are written in impermanent ink.

Patterns. It was the first word that I remembered when I look to my coffee. We seek them everywhere. In stars, in dregs of some drink, on the palms of every hand. And so we think we bring meaning to life. Wouldn't we'll be also usurping it, creating stereotypes? To what extent patterns even exist and to what extent can we analyze them? (Someone skilled in this matter please stand up.)

Is life pure mathematics? An organized chaos? How often will you need to test that A + B = C? Could we then live by formulas? Would self-help books become the next textbooks?

I never believed in absolute free will. We are always constrained by the books we read, the movies we envision, the music we listen to, the people around us, the places we attend, and by those other people we idolize. And even these may be indirectly chosen by us.

But I also do not trust in pre-determined solutions. In a world in black and white. At the boundary between right and wrong. If there is a formula, there is a god. And who does not want to be god?

* When you remember a story, do they also appear you in images? As if instead you had read them, it seemed you have seen a movie?

Originally posted at pingos de tinta.

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