We are made and remade

I don't think there's any way to turn back

This morning, after I read my friend Stephen Hill’s post “Every Little Thing” I left on the dog walk. And I could not stop thinking about the atoms and the pieces at play in his piece.

… puffs of air and the squeezing of vocal chords at just the right time to make

tuba squeaks and fluted squawks

assuming the throat has the right sort of

air

the sqeaks are squaking there squokes in

no, i'm just trying to forge a spell to capture the essence

that every little thing is gonna be alright …

There’s more and I hope you read it. But it took me, personally, down the rabbit hole of thinking what we are made of: how most human body cells regenerate.

We are made and remade in different iterations throughout our lifetime. As we live and breathe, much of what makes our meat container regenerates, to keep us moving.

Recently, while watching an episode of Shōgun, I observed one of the women alone in her room, taking out a piece of paper and then writing on it. The moment struck me as I watched her alone putting thoughts on paper, to perhaps share with one person, or no one.

Remembering the experience shook me and has stayed with me. I remember (back in the 1900s) sitting with my notebook, writing poetry on paper, journaling, or writing letters to a friend.

The Beforetime

I remember the time before audiences (real or imagined) leaned in from the outside to watch over my shoulder even as each single letter emerges from the keyboard.

I remember the *time* when I wrote that way. However — deep down in my cells and atoms — I don’t think I can remember *how* to write that way anymore. I can’t remember what it feels like.

Sometimes I take out a notebook and write in it — morning pages occasionally, or to jot down an idea that comes up that I don’t want to forget. But, by and large, I find myself pressed to record my writing and ideas in public view. And I feel myself struggling to subtract my brain from feeling watched, even if I am just typing in my private journal.

(ADVICE FROM THE OUTSIDE ME:
Well, why don’t you take a break from blogging? Why don’t you just turn back?! Write in a paper journal for awhile? Why don’t you climb up to the top of a mountain where there is only wind, and rock, and the MREs you bring along and a chair, and write there for awhile?)

Yes, why not indeed?