write energy
Share Article In 1979 I smiled at the Irish women on a Donegal provincial bus. I was heading for Tra-na-Rossen, an isolated youth hostel to work as the warden in dead winter.
I said, I use yellow legal paper called Evidence. It’s perfect for this adventure. It collects source material, because WE, the royal I, remain open. We acknowledge we are from the source, in a sense beyond sense data, a fundamental energy force field. A conduit.
Each of us possesses the innate ability to create and embrace Metta, loving kindness that permeates through the meridians, we tap into the source, we transmit fields of energy, flowing from the source, the infinite vibrations of love.
Many writers prefer using this yellow paper to capture stories, characters, intention and motivation from scene to scene. It flows. I write with a cloud pen nib on mirrors. Creating amnesia. The clouds should know me by now. It’s a strange mixture of life and death, so it is.
I was on fire. I showed them a notebook. It’s tight, flat, hard rough parchment, badly stitched and while it is useful and shaking in laughter it is not quite as free as this Evidence. Two more Moleskine are filled. One sits empty and blank. I am happy & empty. The women stared in amazed silence. Asleep with eyes wide open. Stoned dolmens.
Mandalay
*
Tran hobbled into the ancient citadel in Hue. Children tune violins, cellos, flutes and recorders in bomb craters and the shadows of demolished brick walls. Humid sunlight filters through banana leaves. He relaxes against a crumbling wall hearing his melancholy Vietnamese music language.
Storytellers re-calibrated their true compass bearing on a dirt road in a third world country.
They opened a ragged existential foreign dictionary. It spilled:
myths, creation stories,
symbols, forms, sensations,
perceptions, images, ideographs,
pictographs, virus inoculations, musical interludes,
sonatas, vibratos, journey notes,
broken hearts, haiku poetry
and type-A negative blood donor manifests.
The lexicon illuminates Sensation, Form, Symbols, Nothing and Silence.
Bhaktapur, Nepal