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RE: The Art of Documenting Self

in #writing5 years ago


BBC Two

We were watching the documentary of "Australia: Earth's Magical Kingdom" last night and were awestruck to be reminded of the intelligence and playful ease (of surfing dolphins) - or at times frustrated intent (of the glorious rainbow cuttlefish)- and overall magic of the ocean's creatures. They are our brother animals, sacrificing their collective soul in a specialisation we now don't have to explore to every depth or height (thinking of the petrols who stay aflight 5 or 6 months non-stop- might they bob upon the ocean waves? Or only rest upon a thermal wave? In any case, they stay out at sea for that length of time).

We both knew at that instant should the world come to fail (flashing lights, screeching sirens: "Evacuate Now!" "Abandon Ship!" "This is not an exercise....") we would get ourselves to an Antipodean island or perhaps a Polynesian one (where tourists venture not and the canibals have long since left to join the bandwidth) and watch the whales in their nursery grow up gracefully, and dive to tickle the spotted whale sharks on their nose (they are entirely docile and feed on plankton, would you know!) and bump our heads on a manta ray when resurfacing, but they wouldn't mind, as long as you don't touch their tails (to discover them crabby cats) and maybe pull out Novalis or Rumi (or finish Winne-ther-Pooh by the fireside keeping watch over the turtles laying their eggs; and all this not to escape the brimstone and hellfire, nor too easily upset by the news (what news? ha ha. Nothing new alas in the past 500 years for sure) but to pay our respects to that part of ourselves too much neglected in the face of illusion (those off casts, the animals, who altogether go into making up the consciousness of our Planet); without the constant distractions that bind us to the illusion that anything at all matters but love.

How on earth does one think that we can take our books with us into the Akashic Library? Why then attach any importance to the work of writing? A bad habit hard to shake: that's all it is. We might as well get paid for it, because we pay for everything nowadays; it's a trend no point avoiding. Why NOT get paid for it? Why indeed are we NOT getting paid for our conscious efforts to mark what matters most? Praise for Steemit? Praise at most for the scribe (you) who keeps my understanding uncorrupted in one of the most polluted currents I have had to sail on through for the past two years.

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Praise for a space, a journal that does at times bring some truly incredible dialogue back my way (YOU :) So that is the gratitude I was touching on.
I like to be paid, it's just not my main motivation, but I'm sure there's a nice middle ground.
Have you ever seen the movie Whale Rider? I bet you have, but if not might be a nice one to watch together.