It remains to be documented how the greatest of writers collect their thoughts. While I was in Edinburgh, Scotland I walked past the "Elephant House" where J.K. Rowling scripted the early books in the Harry Potter series- busy and not as "quaint" as I imagined...in Oxford, the opposite incidence occurred after a half pint in C.S. Lewis and J.R.R. Tolkien's "Eagle and Child" small English pub most famously known for housing discussions that prompted many of Lewis and Tolkien's most famous works. I am delighted to be traveling to New Zealand to view Hobbitland this December and continue to remain in awe at the occupation of writing as if I, too, could someday admit that it would be a marvelous way to spend the day indeed.
I like to believe that Jack Kerouac's "Dharma Bums" had it right- thoughts and books stored in stacks and crates full to the brim in empty apartments. Almost as if they were peculiar enough to lie/sit/and joyfully squander their own meanings of this beautiful void of sand and stars in the quiet...their trees crashing in the forest with sound heard for miles upon miles.
Within the madness of our minds, we come home to half-scrawled journals and notebooks as if coming home to a love...always unfinished and in motion. Yearning perhaps to help us remember the self, the 3"x5" notecards and to-do lists, and the people who have set us free...
I glance around my own apartment full of mismatched things that I never use and wonder the shift in perception of coming home to a collection of thoughts on this wooden floor, or in a quaint café, or around a campfire next to Stack Rock, Idaho. I imagine it would be most empty and informidably wondrous.
Two years and two months ago I sold all of my things for a journey into these thoughts. And now, in such short time my apartment is again filled and cluttered with things. No longer shall I wait to date the page in the unfinished journal that I just happen to find first. I shall wade through the clutter of this life and work and silly inclinations of doubt and document my thoughts most honestly and purely...lying to no one. A journey into the self...undiluted being of thought. Elephant Café and English pubs beware!