“Time is a game played beautifully by children.” —Heraclitus
“We must use time as a tool, not as a couch.” —John F. Kennedy
“The only reason for time is so that everything doesn’t happen at once.” —Albert Einstein
More of a note than a blog:
I have not been writing blogs for sometime now. Many were started but none finished for the reason that I found myself going off on steep tangents in the same piece, only to discover that I had ended up in a jumbled world of confusion. Instead I chose to work hard and complete my second book—a joy from start to finish including many rewrites. Time alone will tell whether it is destined to be published or not. This one is a short novel written for an indistinguishable audience in a loose genre of magic realism. The story came to me in a rather abrupt or unexpected way with a beginning, a middle and an end as a single download, in the right time, and the right place while sitting waiting for a meeting with my husband and elder daughter, just a few years after my younger daughter died and shortly following the death of my brother. They were both to be in this story but not in any recognisable form. I was initially concerned about how I would ever be able to do the story justice, but in the end I just started. And the rest worked itself out for better or for worse.
While I am doing research for another imaginal that has settled on my plate, I have decided to revisit my blogs with my best paintbrushes, my fingertips these days. Everything that is of this secret corner of my life is about adventures into the unknown, the corners of my mind—trying to break the limits of my own beliefs and perceptions. And for this reason you could say, I am planning a series of revisitations. I shall leave the original as a time-appropriate value. The idea came to me because a blog, Fact or Fissure, popped up, as odd things will happen, on my laptop yesterday, and I chose to read it this morning. My left eye was disappointed, and knew intuitively that I could do better. I am hoping it is because I have been re-educating my right eye, the masculine Eye of Osiris, or the logical and more ordered world experienced through the left brain. But it does feel like I am able to say on paper what I hope to express in a more coherent and less wordy way, now that I have spent a lot more time with my hands hovering over the typewriter keys. Again, only time will tell. Another reason would be that my age gifts me the time to do it—better than being a couch potato in the sentiment of JFK. So all in all, time has a lot to do with everything. There must be a truth in that somewhere – ha ha.
jennie's red book 