And so I take a pause, a thanksgiving, before stepping across that threshold.
Today I sat on a bluff in the Marin Headlands looking out over the ocean. The high fog had pulled back from the coast but was still overhead, blocking the direct rays of the sun. And yet, there it was, the invisible sun bouncing off the lagoon a thousand feet below me, reflecting brilliantly right up into my face.
For my evening's entertainment, two disparate sources converge. Michael Meade talking about the desiccation of fantasy and the healing power of imagination. Kinky Boots, a based-on-real-life movie about a family-run shoe factory that saves itself by making fetish footwear for drag queens.
What do all these and NaNoWriMo have in common? The courage to start when you can't know the finish, trusting in true sources of inspiration (embodied, mythic) even when they are hidden, and searching beneath the surface for that fragile thread that binds us.
Oh, I know I'm waxing all philosophical. My impulse is to entertain instead. But I'm just feeling so grateful. And full of thanksgiving to you all.
No comments:
Post a Comment