Fumbling, But Hopeful

“I can never read all the books I want; I can never be all the people I want and live all the lives I want. I can never train myself in all the skills I want. And why do I want? I want to live and feel all the shades, tones and variations of mental and physical experience possible in life. And I am horribly limited.”

-Sylvia Plath

kraut

Currently: sauerkraut and wheat bread loaves.

I’m beginning to see how I only write in this blog when I am longing in some way or another.  Ugh.

Days slip by.  Hoping, always hoping.  And avoiding.  And clenching – grinding my teeth, I feel the edges rounding down.  Bad, bad, bad.

I want everything.  It’s deeply troublesome most of the time.  But when I’m high on coffee it’s the best thing ever.  I can do it alllll!!!

Anyway.  I’m pushing myself in some ways lately, and in others I’ve been running in the complete opposite direction.

I’m pushing myself to branch out into LA.  It feels good.  Going to auditions, meeting up with friends – some of them so dear and lovely that I can’t believe I’ve waited so long – , seeking out new places and film events.  It’s gratifying to stretch.  It’s hard, but it gives me a high now and then.

The next thing to do is start looking like a professional (dammit).  Fix up the new headshots and have them at the ready.  Get business cards (wha?!).  Considering getting a trendy Squarespace site for SilverLeafFilms  (or would it make sense to just buy a nicer theme??  I’m a fool when it comes to the Internet…see I capitalized it).

I’m filling my head with good things – reading Great Expectations and watching movies with James Cagney and Greta Garbo.  I’m singing along to Whiskeytown and Slaid Cleaves (and wishing I connected to my own generation better).

And yet – I’ve been avoiding the biggest, most important things.  Editing and preparing for another Indiegogo.  It’s just….it’s fucking torturous.  There, I said it.  Or maybe it’s just getting into it that’s hard.  I’ve talked about it before, seeing all my mistakes on this movie is just godawful.  And that Indiegogo last year….it just about did me in.  I need to trust that we’ll be okay when we launch it  next month.  There are enough people who got excited about this movie last year – they’ll help, I hope?  We’ll find an even bigger audience now that we’ve actually made the thing.

So, this holiday weekend, I’m facing it.  It’s time to edit, time to get going on the film website, the newsletter, all of it.

And yet, if I could meander, just a little while, play some guitar, spend a morning painting, go to a lovely cafe with Charles Dickens….I think I’ll make it through.

God, what a rambling post.  But there you have it.  That’s how things are these days.  Fumbling, but hopeful.

Overwhelmed

photo (89)

Notes:

In the Middle Ages peasants and serfs broke for breakfast, lunch, afternoon nap, and dinner, as well as mid morning and afternoon breaks.  Holidays took up a lot of time, Sabbath days, saints’ days, public feasts, rest days, festivals, weeks off for births, marriages, deaths — estimated one third of the year off for England.  Nearly half the year off in Spain and France.  The introduction of clocks in the 13th century linked to the increase in work hours.

“Without time to reflect, to live fully present in the moment and face what is transcendent about our lives, Hunnicutt says, we are doomed to live in purposeless and banal busyness.  ‘Then we starve the capacity we have to love,’ he said.  ‘It creates this ‘unquiet heart,’ as Saint Augustine said, that is ever desperate for fulfillment.'”

And this :
“Somewhere toward the end of the twentieth century, Burnett and other researchers contend, busyness became not just a way of life, but glamorous.  Now, they say, it is a sign of high social status.”

The only conclusion: to survive this world, you must rebel.

A Passage

photo (87)

My grandpa bookmarked this page in Hal Borland’s Book of Days.

From December 26:

“We have come into a spell of clear, cold weather, with a bright sun and the midday temperature getting up to the low twenties, then dropping at night close to zero.  Without wind, such weather is almost enjoyable.  We have gone for a walk, up the road, not across the snow-covered pastures, almost every evening the past week.  The moon has passed its full, now rises late, but the stars are magnificent.  They seem to have the deep fireglow of eternity, and though I admire the mathematics, I almost resent being told that some of those stars I am seeing have been dead and without a glimmer of luminescence for a thousand or two thousand years.  The light I see, I am told, and no doubt with ample reason, is simply light that was cast this way by those stars before they died.

Even so, to walk abroad now is to walk in the midst of infinity.  There are no limits to either time or distance, except as man himself may make them.  I have only to touch the wind to know these things, for the wind itself is full of starlight, even as the frozen earth underfoot, starlight and endless time and exalted wonder.

I look at the red-gold star we call Arcturus, and even as the ancients I strain for a closer look, through this peephole, this spark-burn in the blanket of night, hoping for the slightest glimpse of Beyond.  I turn to a star, even redder than Arcturus, and I have to accept the factual truth of the astronomers, and yet wonder if that is all, the whole, the ultimate truth.

Time, and distance, and wonder – we walk up this valley in the midst of eternity.”

My grandpa passed away on December 26.  A noble mind, a man of nature and classical learning.  A renaissance man.

photo (88)