I write everyday. You probably do too. A text, an email, a grocery list. Anytime you string words together for whatever reason, you’re writing. Writing doesn’t have to look like a story. I’ve been writing as long as I can recall. My script was so small in middle school that my poor teacher couldn’t even make it out with her reading glasses. She asked me very kindly to write larger please. I hope that I did. These days I wake up before 5am each morning, to write. Yes, on purpose. Jack has just a wee bit to do with it though. I start the coffee, settle the dogs and gather my things. I write in the kitchen in an old-fashioned grade school spiral notebook with a pencil. I prefer a yellow spiral but find that other colors accept my thoughts just as well. It’s silly how we fall into certain routines, isn’t it. Nevertheless, there they are. For instance, Ellie at nearly 100 pounds can only seem to rest at night if she’s right up next to me. I have awakened with more than a few creaks as you can imagine. But she’s my sweet girl so, there I am. Back to writing… Some mornings I’m quite lost and stare at the page not knowing where to begin. Emptiness waiting to be filled. There is a beauty in empty spaces. In Japanese culture emptiness is thought to be Full of Nothing. And from nothing comes everything… nothing is pure potential… I find that delightfully amazing! When someone asks me out of curiosity what’s in all those spirals. I giggle and say – a whole lot of nothing. And it’s true really. My spirals aren’t meant to Be anything. They’re just me listening to myself I suppose. Oddly enough writing that I’m lost often gets me off and running. How many thoughts do we have in a day, or in an hour, and how many of them are we able to explore and play with to our hearts content. Not many. Life tugs at us to keep moving. So, when I stop long enough to write in my spiral or here on wordpress where do I begin and then where do I go from there. Do you know where you’ll end up before you arrive or is it more of a wonderful happenstance. Even if you board the right train with the right ticket punched for Timbuktu, can you be certain that’s where you’ll get off, where your journey will end? I will admit a terrible secret. Often when I begin reading a book, I turn first to the back and check out the ending. It’s not because I want to judge whether the story is worth my time. It’s not even because I want to know how it ends. And it doesn’t spoil the book for me at all. In fact the opposite is true. It helps me to let go of reading as a means to find out what the ending will be. I let go of the worry of what will happen. It frees me to enjoy the rambling journey of the story itself. The twists and turns take on a liveliness of their own. The darkness of the forest holds beauty as well as fear and doubt. Because I know how the story will turn out I pause long enough to see both rather than hurrying through assuming either the best or the worst. Of course real life doesn’t allow me to live backwards knowing what will happen. I’m good with that. I have no desire to know. Ellie, Jack, Huckleberry, Bo and Sonya trust we will walk everyday no matter the weather. They know the lake is ready for a swim when they get there. They believe there will be squirrels to chase and interesting smells to dig for. And with every fibre of their being they trust that when the walk comes round once again to Home there will be the wonders of bacon snacks waiting for them as if by magic. Beyond even the bacon is a soft safe spot to sleep away the afternoon. No worries. Perhaps I should read the way I live, forward without jumping to the last page. Perhaps I should live the way I read, taking one page at a time grateful to be where I am and wondering at what will come next. Perhaps I should let go and trust more easily the way my four legged companions do. Perhaps I should face the empty page with the pure anticipation of the fullness of nothing. Enjoy the journey and Trust in the bacon!