It’s hard to see without
and it’s hard to see with.
Blind to awareness,
yet, aware of the blindness.
I forget where I was reminded, but I rediscovered the idea of stream of consciousness writing from a fellow’s blog. It reminded me of my idea generation teacher. Her name was Jane and nature had crafted her beautifully. Physically, she emanated the radiance of a 20 year old, regardless of being older than that.
But with physical beauty aside, her personality and presentation of herself made me happy. Her manner of presenting the course information, being very dramatic and gestural, but she was a formally trained actor, made be smile. I could barely contain my contentment with her enthusiasm. She stopped to question me. I don’t blame her. I’m the only kid in the class with a huge smile cracking his face in half. I responded to her, in front of the whole class, that I was enjoying her being. I might not have said that exactly, but that’s what I was trying to express.
The positivity she garnered made anything seem possible. I wish I had more time being her student, but sadly, it was only for a semester. Getting back to the point, stream of consciousness, she introduced to me the idea of a note book in which I set a timer and wrote down whatever came to mind, unfiltered.
At the time I found the process a bit silly. Now, looking back on that exercise, I realize it’s usefulness. I’ve tried, in some respect, to write without forethought – being the most natural display of thought – but I’m also guilty at interfering in such processes.
I guess what I’m saying is hamburger bun, peanut butter octopus, cucumber, horse riding jockey foot sandwiches would not be as tasty as they sound. You might as well eat the ass of a gremlin. I’m sure neither would be tasty, but one would taste better than the other. Underwear. I guess I’ve started to go with the flow.