Creativity, Journals and the Blank Page

Is it just me, or is there something magical about The BlankPage?
I see a new notebook, I open the cover and for a single moment I'm wondering... What Will I See?
Will it be blank or lined?  Thick drawing paper or thin writing paper?
Is it spiral bound, book bound or stapled?
Does it cry out for penmanship, art or stuff to be cut out and glued in?

I love journals and diaries!  I cannot resist them.  To me they shout creativity.  They invite comment, demand action, desire design.

"Can you put something interesting, compelling to read on my front page?"
"Will what you create, write, draw make the reader want to turn to the second page?"

Many of mine start well, but then the inspiration dwindles, they get put aside, and then - horror of horrors - I find a new journal, a pristine blank notebook, a must have scrapbook experience and a new adventure begins.

Diary, Journal, Scrapbook, Facebook, Website, Twitter, Blog
Is there no end to my desire to fill The Blank Page?

The Vicious Circle

Sleep is that most precious of things.  It is the gossamer thread that keeps our lives and our minds from unravelling.
Anything that interrupts our precious downtime is scorned, then vilified before finally prone to serious maiming!
Take, for instance...
Snoring!

Now, I snore.  It's no secret - I'm sure my immediate neighbours can vouch for that.
I snore most when I'm very tired or I've had a few units of alcohol.  Apparently I also snore because I've gained a few kilos in weight.

But this is where the vicious circle comes in - and it's insidious in its evilness.  It is a torture that only a twisted mind of pure genius could have conceived.

I snore.  My wife wakes up. She wakes me up to get me to stop snoring. She goes back to sleep slightly grumpier.  I go back to sleep.
I snore.  My wife wakes up.  She wakes me up (slightly more agitated this time) to get me to stop snoring.  She goes back to sleep more grumpy.  I go back to sleep.
I snore.  My wife utters something obscene to herself.  She wakes me up (very agitated by now) to get me to stop snoring.  She fails to go back to sleep.  I daren't go back to sleep!  I do however instantly drop back off because now I'm also very tired.
I snore. I wake myself because I'm by now so petrified that I'm on a hair trigger.  I hear my wife's exasperated mutterings planning my death.  I apologise. I strive to stay awake at least long enough to allow her to go back to sleep.  I'm resolute.  I'm determ
I snore...

So, 7am and we both awaken.  My wife is angry, upset, tired, frustrated.  I'm tired and contrite.
But this is where the evilness of this vicious little circle comes into its own.

The next night...
I'm very tired, so I snore even more!

Zen

Make your mind like a bell

a big, heavy, brass bell

ornate on the outside

intricate carvings

interwoven design

a great big heavy clapper hanging in the exact centre

the inside of the bell is beautifully cast

smooth, except for tiny lines like you find on a cymbal

as the bell hangs there, it is motionless and still

then, one movement, the clapper strikes

deep and sonorous

vibrating

diminishing

deep in your chest the vibrations can be felt

gradually getting less and less

the metallic edge to the sound a memory in your ear

in the centre of your head where sound meets and focuses

and then

peace again

the echo only in your imagination now

the clapper barely moving

the bell barely moving

your thoughts barely moving

and only a deep inner peace remaining

until you strike the bell again

A Buddhist Tale

Two Buddhist monks were walking along when they came to a raging river. Stood by the bank was an old woman looking across it to the other bank. One monk went to her and asked her if she needed any help, but all she did was point to the other side.

The monk carried the woman across the river on his back and set her down on the other side. She simply walked off without saying a word.

As the two monks continued walking back to the monastery, the monk complained about the woman's ignorance and lack of manners. He kept coming back around to how he'd risked his neck to help her and she didn't even look him in the eye, let alone say thanks.

Eventually, when they got to the monastery, the second monk asked "Are you still carrying that woman on your back?"

You, Me and a whole world of difference.

I was thinking today about that old adage "treat people how you would like to be treated", and I think I've come to a startling conclusion.

It doesn't work!

For example, kindness - you do an act of kindness to someone that is already kind, and they reciprocate. It's in their nature to, because they're kind.

You do an act of kindness to someone that's mean and selfish, and they take it and think "what a sucker!" Because they just got something for nothing, they have no need to reciprocate, because it's not in their nature to be unselfish. So they gain and you lose. You think you have the moral high ground, but in actual fact they're laughing at you. They don't care about moral high ground.

Then there's cruelty. A person is cruel and malicious, spreading vile lies, hurting people because it's fun. You turn the other cheek, accept their lies with a shrug, think you're the better person for not hitting back. Meanwhile people believe their lies and your reputation takes a nosedive.

If you try and retaliate, you know what happens? Everyone thinks you're despicable because you, the nice kind thoughtful you, just did something so mean!

Their sticks and stones do break your bones, their words also hurt you. But your feeble attempt to redress the balance ends up hurting you more. Not only from other people's reactions, but also your own conscience, which pricks you deep and makes you feel unworthy.

You can't win.

So, if you are a good, kind and thoughtful person - expect to be taken advantage of. It's the burden you must bear in silence. There will always be mean and cruel people out there just waiting for you to come along. You will not change them, because there's no profit in it for them to change.

I think this is why we hope for a God, a Heaven, something that's going to redress the balance one day, allow the meek to inherit, allow the righteous to finally get some payback. Watch those mean, cruel people writhe in Hell. "What goes around comes around". We hope that's true, we hope there is justice in the World - because deep down we know, if there isn't, we're onto a loser!

My Shed

I, like many men out there (and a good few women too) have a shed. It's a normal shed - 8 x 5, one door, pent roof, one window that opens, one that doesn't.

Nothing much to look at, nothing special.

Apart from the fact that it's MY shed. I have total control over that domain. It's my space, my volume. Within it are MY things, arranged the way I want. I have normal shelving and small shelves between the wooden supports, nooks and crannies, drawers, cubby holes and hidey-holes.

It has a work bench, a vice, tools and gadgets.

I have glass jars with bolts, washers and jigsaw blades. I have storage trays with assortments of nails, screws, hooks and all sorts of bits and pieces.

It has tools I bought, tools I inherited from my father-in-law, tools I inherited from HIS father-in-law.

Other guys have commented on my shed - how neat, well stocked, well organised it is.

I'm secretly proud.

I have off-cuts of wood. Steel, copper and plastic piping, plumbing and electrical spares.

I can happily spend hours in my 8 x 5 space, tinkering. I can see me in years to come, smoking my pipe, sipping a tot of whiskey, pretending I can't hear the wife or daughter calling me.

I have a heater to keep it snug in winter.

It's a place to escape, a place to tinker, to fix things, to ponder and create. My 5 year old daughter looks upon it with awe - to set foot inside is a rare treat. I feel like saying to her "One day, all this will be yours!"

I love my shed!

Good Times

I was walking along with my daughter the other day, chatting about princesses and dragons, and the general lack of evil fairies - like you do, and she asked me why the flowers die.

OK, well, my first (Buddhist) answer was, "well honey, all things die - the flowers have had their time to bloom and be pretty, and their little life is over until next year."

"Have they gone to Heaven?" She then asked.

I told her that they probably didn't go to Heaven, because part of them was still alive underground - waiting for next Spring. It was more like going to sleep for a whole year.

"Are you going to die Daddy?"

"Yep. Sometime. Hopefully not for another 53 years though."

(I'm planning on living to be 100 - it's a nice round figure.)

And so the conversation went on - soon to drift back to evil fairy queens and princes with horses that talk.

But that naturally led me to think about the whole mortality thing, and how we cannot take the smallest thing for granted, because, truly, we really don't know when the end will come, do we?

I was going home from work in London one day and was trying to decide, take the tube from St James to Embankment and then main line from Charing Cross, or walk to Victoria and take the main line from there. I stood for about 5 minutes trying to decide, but in the end took the tube to Embankment.

When I got home I turned on the TV and there on the news, news flash, a bomb had detonated at Victoria station, many killed and injured...

So, my point is - be aware of your own mortality - I don't mean be morbid, wrap yourself in perpetual sorrow, constantly look for signs of your imminent demise - I mean just be aware that at some point, it'll happen. Hopefully not for many many years, but how would you feel if you have a tiff with your wife, son, daughter, husband, mother - and they take the mainline train from Victoria that day?

I watched Remember Me on Sky movies the other evening and was amazed at how it ended. It made me realise we should not take our lives for granted. Look for the good times in every day, leave the bad stuff behind, keep your disagreements short and don't part with loved ones in anger.