Spon Down, when you see that referenced or titled here, is short for spontaneous download.
It is the unedited depositing of minutia out of my head on to the screen, and an idea that came first to me via the daily meditation book Simple Abundance. In it she suggests morning pages, or the discipline of three unedited longhand pages when you awake. That book changed my life, but that's for another deposit.
I write one of two ways on this blog. I either catch the words or I spon down. By catch the words I suppose I am referencing the Muse, that undefinable shiny momentum...how the words will just roll by, a sudden sweet chug of auditory illumination. If I happen to be in-the-moment astute enough, disciplined or paying attention, I will grab a pen and jot them down. From that, a blog post will often, on the mere embryo of a couple lines on a napkin or receipt, birth itself full and fleshy here for you to read.
Otherwise I get on here and spondown.
Somewhere in the center I suppose the two techniques have evolved, and taught me. Ahhh, sacred process. I am dipping the cup with the tool of SponDown, the first thought best thought aesthetic the Beats popularized that suggested Life as the prime perfect substance and that is happening in this exact moment, unedited. The discipline of showing up, committing again and again to write whether or not the zest of the muse is throwing echos in my mind, is what's taught me that spondown can lead to the words coming on their own. And then there is the importance of the edit: in the end I am the one responsible for truly finessing the subtleties of my Voice. Editing is how I hone.
The only way to write is to write, to just do it. Over and over, again and again. A lot of it is shit. So what? So's a lot of life. Recently, to focus and move my way forward through a psychological stall in my book, I took up the technique of morning pages again. That, and surfing, are the main reasons I've not been on the blog. I needed the accurate privacy of only my own eyes. I needed to shake lose the debris growing up there along the high ridges of my mind. I needed permission to sift.
It worked. I have not only begun again--but I have successfully moved through subject matter that felt at once dense and dull. Impossible to traverse. As result, I now also have chapter outlines for the center AND end of my book ANNND!!! Last week in the shower the Muse came on, and delivered me the last three lines of my story.
IF YOU WRITE, YOU KNOW THIS IS FREAKIN HUGE!
The other thing I realized? Last fall I decided I wanted to surf, like really learn and get good. I hadn't been on a board since the mid-nineties, and never regularly. The whole story of that process is awing and super-cool, but also for another post. The point is, it's writing that's self-taught me: just show up. Keep going, keep going, keep going, even when it isn't good. Writing, like with surfing, is a practiced discipline. One part letting it out, one part keeping an eye on what you're holding in, one part always willing to fine-tune, and all parts paying attention so you're certain, no matter how frustrated, not to quit.
Showing posts with label spondown. Show all posts
Showing posts with label spondown. Show all posts
April 26, 2011
Spon Down. Living forever on yoga and sun.
Mom called to say she had a long day at the hospital. It's in Baltimore City where she works once a week as an operating room nurse, her case load long or intense or maybe her coworkers lousy--she called to say she's staying the night in Anne Arundel county at Deb's house instead of driving back to the beach. She's worked there as long I've been alive. I was writing, doing third edits on Part One of my book, so that Part Two comes with more consistency, when she called. We talked a serious bit of talk about something that struck me last night, that I meditated on it struck so deep, and she agreed with the serious bit in the tiny little time that we talked.
Her call made me pause, there was lots of food in the fridge and I couldn't ignore my hunger when we got off the phone. I peeled shrimp and added Old Bay and a little little dash of sour cream to make it shrimp salady. Then I heated corn tortillas and got out arugula and limes and cilantro because everything's better as tacos of course. I am writing again now, not on Part 2 or Part 1 third edits, just writing to write to acknowledge the time the good music on and to say goodbye to the ohsowarmtoday golden yellow sun. I love the gold yellow of the spring, just before it turns summer orange. I love that I am getting browngolden skin and yellowgold hair like twine Rapunzel spun.
Last week right now I was walking through a rich part of DC with a belly full of Thai food and my best friend Katie by my side our sandled feet on the uneven cement sidewalk squares. It was chilly in the air but still we drove with the windows mostly down on our way to the hostel in Tacoma. We met a girl named Shemma from the UK, it is hard not to meet people in hostels when you decide that where you are that night--a boarding house for passerbys--is where you will plant for the moment and stay. Which is to say the next night at the hostel in my favorite neighborhood in Baltimore, Mt. Vernon, we didn't plant, just dropped our bags fitted our sheets and scooted back out the door to all the fun ways to explore the going-ons of my hometown city's streets. Shemma is young, like 22 or 23, and from the UK and instead of on a round-the-world trip tic had one in which you can go right up to eight times. Neat new concept I'd never heard. They were on their last stop, her and her man who she just got engaged to, this happened in the beginning of their trip on a stop somewhere in Asia I think. Now we are facebook friends.
The day after the hostel in Tacoma we went back downtown to meet Walsh and see the Gaughan exhibit. I put all my intensity in to it until I was exhausted from the concentration. Later we laid on a blanket on the green mall under the shade of new fresh green leaves. We talked inappropriately like women always eventually do. Making the day irreverent and lovely. Today I wrote four poems I am sure came from time with my grls.
Last night I was driving home from yoga it was warm out so warm the air was like hot breath breathing off the trees and some song came on Ocean 98 that I can't now remember and I thought all I really need in life is music, yoga and sun. I smiled a while and vibed whole and strong on the bliss of this, then funny ego twist thought: and poetry, too--poetry the ocean music yoga and sun. And friends. And sex...a man. I thought ohmylord like Marla would say...I laughed at myself....this too this too came to mind, what Dani Shapiro would say. Always the ego and all its unsatiated needs. I thought of Erika then, my published-by-Penguin writing partner sister spirit friend. I thought of Walsh and Katie, of Josh and then Mike in California because Sean my brother was home all weekend so it's natural to think also of him. Life is funny, ununderstandable, impossible to figure out and also so fleetingly crystal clear with certain truths. I could live forever on sun, poems, yoga. Music, fresh tacos, swimming and friends. Road trips to museums and hostels in my hometown. Best friends, sisters, grlfriends, men. Like I already do now.
I am writing, I am happy right now. I was going to save this post for tomorrow, some new day with all the new this too's it shall bring, but why bother when it's so luxuriously right now...
Her call made me pause, there was lots of food in the fridge and I couldn't ignore my hunger when we got off the phone. I peeled shrimp and added Old Bay and a little little dash of sour cream to make it shrimp salady. Then I heated corn tortillas and got out arugula and limes and cilantro because everything's better as tacos of course. I am writing again now, not on Part 2 or Part 1 third edits, just writing to write to acknowledge the time the good music on and to say goodbye to the ohsowarmtoday golden yellow sun. I love the gold yellow of the spring, just before it turns summer orange. I love that I am getting browngolden skin and yellowgold hair like twine Rapunzel spun.
Last week right now I was walking through a rich part of DC with a belly full of Thai food and my best friend Katie by my side our sandled feet on the uneven cement sidewalk squares. It was chilly in the air but still we drove with the windows mostly down on our way to the hostel in Tacoma. We met a girl named Shemma from the UK, it is hard not to meet people in hostels when you decide that where you are that night--a boarding house for passerbys--is where you will plant for the moment and stay. Which is to say the next night at the hostel in my favorite neighborhood in Baltimore, Mt. Vernon, we didn't plant, just dropped our bags fitted our sheets and scooted back out the door to all the fun ways to explore the going-ons of my hometown city's streets. Shemma is young, like 22 or 23, and from the UK and instead of on a round-the-world trip tic had one in which you can go right up to eight times. Neat new concept I'd never heard. They were on their last stop, her and her man who she just got engaged to, this happened in the beginning of their trip on a stop somewhere in Asia I think. Now we are facebook friends.
The day after the hostel in Tacoma we went back downtown to meet Walsh and see the Gaughan exhibit. I put all my intensity in to it until I was exhausted from the concentration. Later we laid on a blanket on the green mall under the shade of new fresh green leaves. We talked inappropriately like women always eventually do. Making the day irreverent and lovely. Today I wrote four poems I am sure came from time with my grls.
Last night I was driving home from yoga it was warm out so warm the air was like hot breath breathing off the trees and some song came on Ocean 98 that I can't now remember and I thought all I really need in life is music, yoga and sun. I smiled a while and vibed whole and strong on the bliss of this, then funny ego twist thought: and poetry, too--poetry the ocean music yoga and sun. And friends. And sex...a man. I thought ohmylord like Marla would say...I laughed at myself....this too this too came to mind, what Dani Shapiro would say. Always the ego and all its unsatiated needs. I thought of Erika then, my published-by-Penguin writing partner sister spirit friend. I thought of Walsh and Katie, of Josh and then Mike in California because Sean my brother was home all weekend so it's natural to think also of him. Life is funny, ununderstandable, impossible to figure out and also so fleetingly crystal clear with certain truths. I could live forever on sun, poems, yoga. Music, fresh tacos, swimming and friends. Road trips to museums and hostels in my hometown. Best friends, sisters, grlfriends, men. Like I already do now.
I am writing, I am happy right now. I was going to save this post for tomorrow, some new day with all the new this too's it shall bring, but why bother when it's so luxuriously right now...
September 20, 2010
Sorta Kinda Letter-Poem. Indirect Light.
Let us sit a while, I say to you again, in this good breeze.
There is sunburn from September sun on the top of your knees.
The yellow light highlights the sunbleach in my hair.
You ask me a question, it is a long while before I raise my words
to answer. Right now Vinca is my favorite flower,
for how she sits quiet in the pot on the corner of the porch
& doesn't need for drink or sun. She is light pink, strong.
She issues from herself. It is glorious, and always has been
at the edge of the backyard.
I want to buy you a garden you say. You make noise.
Shift in your seat. I can't see your eyes. My face beams
reflected in your glasses: I am all I see. Or at least
you continue, provide for you the land.
When I move to the city the streets will test me.
I imagine this will be the time I need you to help me grow.
A butterfly flies by--really it is a moth. Paper-wings.
To be a butterfly, so much more romantic.
They both, however, start as worms.
We both, of course, eat ourselves. We disintegrate
in to other new, same things. Have you always worn
or mostly, only black? I wonder. I rack my head
for all the way back then, when we used to be
or still were kids. I dont remember clearly too much
of that.
You stop listening, you always do. Your way of pretending
not to care, to act like you dont hear. You always will, too.
I love the precision of light back here. How easy it is,
how good it looks. I will pick this flower for you and lay it
down. I remember now. It still will grow.
There is sunburn from September sun on the top of your knees.
The yellow light highlights the sunbleach in my hair.
You ask me a question, it is a long while before I raise my words
to answer. Right now Vinca is my favorite flower,
for how she sits quiet in the pot on the corner of the porch
& doesn't need for drink or sun. She is light pink, strong.
She issues from herself. It is glorious, and always has been
at the edge of the backyard.
I want to buy you a garden you say. You make noise.
Shift in your seat. I can't see your eyes. My face beams
reflected in your glasses: I am all I see. Or at least
you continue, provide for you the land.
When I move to the city the streets will test me.
I imagine this will be the time I need you to help me grow.
A butterfly flies by--really it is a moth. Paper-wings.
To be a butterfly, so much more romantic.
They both, however, start as worms.
We both, of course, eat ourselves. We disintegrate
in to other new, same things. Have you always worn
or mostly, only black? I wonder. I rack my head
for all the way back then, when we used to be
or still were kids. I dont remember clearly too much
of that.
You stop listening, you always do. Your way of pretending
not to care, to act like you dont hear. You always will, too.
I love the precision of light back here. How easy it is,
how good it looks. I will pick this flower for you and lay it
down. I remember now. It still will grow.
August 27, 2010
Spontaneous Download
Who am I writing to if not ever to me? It’s been a hell of a year. A hell of one. A long one, one that negates any prior necessity of predisposed positioning (there it is again, that garble tongue defense mechanism keep them in circles and you can get out before they even know they’ve been spun) and just tells you one day: there you are, here I am, and most of all: Forget it all. How the hell did this happen.
I don’t know what I want to say. Poetry comes out used to only to him. The ovulatory time gets here and I am caught up on some man, every time, and all my thirsty creative energy goes out the door in long timeless bouts of headtrip and daydream. This is better than it going out on Adult Ed? I tell myself. But it is true, I am only third cycle in to my new life…had to get him out of my system last go round and it worked, it really did he is not even with no power now but simple and straight, not there, and that is the first time I ever wrote that scared as I always was that it would jinx things. That somehow without him the ovulatory release wouldn’t come again? And yet it did, it does…and it scares me the difference it really does. And makes me smile because, what else can I do? And chill Kel you are the one of all who always has to tell others—so this time just tell yourself: accept yourself all of yourself for where you are this moment and do not judge. It’s ok if there is always some man. I just remembered a dream I had last night, a large house in the woods on a corner of the ocean, on an island it reminds me in my aftersight of Vinyl Haven. It reminds me of Todd. I’ve been drinking coffee like mad not for all the work I am doing but for the late night fun I’m keeping, so even my sleep feels buzzed and sort of live-wired. It is light on the back porch, light air, light noise in the trees. One time a long time ago I used to sneak out from here out the side window of Tim and Mary’s bedroom and sneak through the secret patterned paths through the woods. Todd’s house Kohuts Lemers and more. Even longer time ago before that I used to go bikeriding just before night in the dusk to explore all the different side roads that led to more and more undiscovered parts of Ocean Pines. I hate it when things don’t make sense, a month ago they did, I was on fire, I had a book to write and so much poetry and little projects and pictures to make and send to friends. Now I am confused again, so much unknown, it is retrograde time before the equinox, time of the great review and rest before the shift. And what is happening to me is hard to pin down I hate it, hate it when I am not in control. Witness witness that is all there is right now to do… That is the great secret of me, the one that only the truest friends know. My free spirit is only free because it's the result of the last great opposition inside me. I WANT TO BE IN CONTROL. So I challenge myself, even, especially, finally, with that….
The other thing is that to be honest scares people. People exist and function in their categorized boxes: to say I am confused, equivalent of this in people’s head she is not happy. That is funny, lacks the process and any semblance of the grand picture, so myopic all about meeeeeee! Reflex reflexivity. Shows zero intuitive capacity, no real sense of the mystery or even a thumbprint idea of the design. I am more than happy, so happy it makes me giggle to think about my life and also makes me smile. I am an ace the ace and the wild card, able to be happy in whatever circumstance I am given to roll in because that is life and I want to live all I can while I’m here. Center in the moment and open to exactly what is in front of you happening right now. What else is there than that? It’s just that living sometimes, living the moment is being full of unanswers, and that is hard, but hard only means process, not bad. She tells herself. If that doesn’t work get some sleep. Sunshine, or water. Ahhh this very long year I don’t even remember who it was I used to be…Mercury retro scrolls like this it is tough to contain, it is tough because you are in limbo hanging there in the water and the water is a ripcurrent and you’re afraid if you go under there is no air. On Sept 12 we will come out, the quickening will occur then and then—equinox onthesamedayexactly as the full moon!!!! O people, if you only understood. If only you took a minute, looked over your own order to the Ordered Nature of things, easiest way to it just go sit outside a moment on the lawn. Listen, listen to the noise, elemental, of the days. Listen to the trees sway, listen to feel the airbreathbreeze. Warm your blood in the sun. The answers are there, nothing else, no need to run. It’s been a long year, PS, I love you, says the moon, the sun, the trees. And me.
I don’t know what I want to say. Poetry comes out used to only to him. The ovulatory time gets here and I am caught up on some man, every time, and all my thirsty creative energy goes out the door in long timeless bouts of headtrip and daydream. This is better than it going out on Adult Ed? I tell myself. But it is true, I am only third cycle in to my new life…had to get him out of my system last go round and it worked, it really did he is not even with no power now but simple and straight, not there, and that is the first time I ever wrote that scared as I always was that it would jinx things. That somehow without him the ovulatory release wouldn’t come again? And yet it did, it does…and it scares me the difference it really does. And makes me smile because, what else can I do? And chill Kel you are the one of all who always has to tell others—so this time just tell yourself: accept yourself all of yourself for where you are this moment and do not judge. It’s ok if there is always some man. I just remembered a dream I had last night, a large house in the woods on a corner of the ocean, on an island it reminds me in my aftersight of Vinyl Haven. It reminds me of Todd. I’ve been drinking coffee like mad not for all the work I am doing but for the late night fun I’m keeping, so even my sleep feels buzzed and sort of live-wired. It is light on the back porch, light air, light noise in the trees. One time a long time ago I used to sneak out from here out the side window of Tim and Mary’s bedroom and sneak through the secret patterned paths through the woods. Todd’s house Kohuts Lemers and more. Even longer time ago before that I used to go bikeriding just before night in the dusk to explore all the different side roads that led to more and more undiscovered parts of Ocean Pines. I hate it when things don’t make sense, a month ago they did, I was on fire, I had a book to write and so much poetry and little projects and pictures to make and send to friends. Now I am confused again, so much unknown, it is retrograde time before the equinox, time of the great review and rest before the shift. And what is happening to me is hard to pin down I hate it, hate it when I am not in control. Witness witness that is all there is right now to do… That is the great secret of me, the one that only the truest friends know. My free spirit is only free because it's the result of the last great opposition inside me. I WANT TO BE IN CONTROL. So I challenge myself, even, especially, finally, with that….
The other thing is that to be honest scares people. People exist and function in their categorized boxes: to say I am confused, equivalent of this in people’s head she is not happy. That is funny, lacks the process and any semblance of the grand picture, so myopic all about meeeeeee! Reflex reflexivity. Shows zero intuitive capacity, no real sense of the mystery or even a thumbprint idea of the design. I am more than happy, so happy it makes me giggle to think about my life and also makes me smile. I am an ace the ace and the wild card, able to be happy in whatever circumstance I am given to roll in because that is life and I want to live all I can while I’m here. Center in the moment and open to exactly what is in front of you happening right now. What else is there than that? It’s just that living sometimes, living the moment is being full of unanswers, and that is hard, but hard only means process, not bad. She tells herself. If that doesn’t work get some sleep. Sunshine, or water. Ahhh this very long year I don’t even remember who it was I used to be…Mercury retro scrolls like this it is tough to contain, it is tough because you are in limbo hanging there in the water and the water is a ripcurrent and you’re afraid if you go under there is no air. On Sept 12 we will come out, the quickening will occur then and then—equinox onthesamedayexactly as the full moon!!!! O people, if you only understood. If only you took a minute, looked over your own order to the Ordered Nature of things, easiest way to it just go sit outside a moment on the lawn. Listen, listen to the noise, elemental, of the days. Listen to the trees sway, listen to feel the airbreathbreeze. Warm your blood in the sun. The answers are there, nothing else, no need to run. It’s been a long year, PS, I love you, says the moon, the sun, the trees. And me.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)