“I must write on the novel again.
It’s got to be finished. All it needs is my attention.”
And that was as far as I got last night before falling asleep. And in listening to That Distant Land on my run this morning, Wendell Berry’s collection of Port William short stories about the colorful folks in a small Kentucky community around the turn of the century puts me in mind of that simple fact again. The simple romance of Tol Proudfoot and Miss Minnie Quinch is so perfectly described and articulated, and his use of the poems recited by her students at the pie auction–so perfectly fitting in context and content–the situation seems more real than reality. With such a precise appreciation for human nature and country life, his insight makes you wish it really happened.
I should give a copy to Cec.
And it puts me in mind of the key: When you see it, your job is to respond. Appreciating Berry, I have only to share what I saw. Writing, creating art–any work, really–is a simple matter of responding. We think our task is to improve upon what we’ve seen or experienced, to augment reality in some way, as if we could. Being response-able, and holding that state while we resound in admiration is what allows us to absorb the inspiration and insights, and then translate and transmit them through our own filters.
Why am I constantly forgetting this?
I do know why. We get clouded up and the clarity of our response in words and fashioned images gets thwarted. Too often we think we have to be different or better or less encumbered than we are and we miss our opportunities.
“Not skilled enough.” “Not smart enough.” “Not enough time.”
Poverty of soul kills the work, not any lack in us. When I agree with the opposition, I give him my life and allegiance. And then I have the stupidity to pray for more blessing of these things without having used the abundance already in my possession.
And now that I’ve seen this, my only job is to speak what I know. And in the doing, I’ll find more ability, more skill, and more time. I know this because it’s what happens. All I need is to trust that there’s a process underway and when I show up, I progress. In the listening and slowing and awakening, the responding is inevitable. And in merely being open to life, my work is enabled.
Today, I will simply show up to receive and then share what I see. That’s enough work for one day.