Flows into the
Lake of Knowledge
October 27, 2012
From One-Time by Eyran Katsenelenbogen
Monday, May 27, 2013
Sunday, May 26, 2013
May 26, 2013
It is Sunday, shortly
after nine in the morning, and I’m writing in my bed, covered with a sky blue
quilt blanket which I found a few months ago inside a suitcase in the storage
room, after it was left behind in the apartment by one of the roommates or
subletters. Two purple yoga blocks which I keep at all times by my bed are
supporting below my elbows on both sides as I write. Also while I sleep, I love
leaning my leg on top one of them.
Outside, behind the barred windows of my room, the greenery of the trees can be seen, and their branches are moving in the wind. I can lie down like this for hours and look at the leaves fluttering above the branches – their sight calms my soul, and sometimes I fall back asleep. How easy it is to forget and ignore the things which are so wonderful, like the swaying of the quivering leaves above the branches of the trees as they are nodding in the wind.
It seems like writing doesn’t happen now by itself. It requires great mental strength, and because of my mental fatigue I find it more difficult to write. Daily worries create mental fatigue in which the danger of dissipation of inspiration lies. Yesterday after I came back home in the evening I wanted to sit and write, but did not have the energy to do so. I lied in my bed, under the light-blue blanket, and watched the leaves in my window which were lit by the street lamp posted outside above the pavement. It felt good and was the only thing I wanted – to lie down by myself in peace and quite and look at them while they are thatching the chambers of my soul.
Outside, behind the barred windows of my room, the greenery of the trees can be seen, and their branches are moving in the wind. I can lie down like this for hours and look at the leaves fluttering above the branches – their sight calms my soul, and sometimes I fall back asleep. How easy it is to forget and ignore the things which are so wonderful, like the swaying of the quivering leaves above the branches of the trees as they are nodding in the wind.
It seems like writing doesn’t happen now by itself. It requires great mental strength, and because of my mental fatigue I find it more difficult to write. Daily worries create mental fatigue in which the danger of dissipation of inspiration lies. Yesterday after I came back home in the evening I wanted to sit and write, but did not have the energy to do so. I lied in my bed, under the light-blue blanket, and watched the leaves in my window which were lit by the street lamp posted outside above the pavement. It felt good and was the only thing I wanted – to lie down by myself in peace and quite and look at them while they are thatching the chambers of my soul.
Friday, May 17, 2013
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