Tao and the art of Hubbing
What really saved my ass, and head, from doing something rash; with all the frustrations, regrets and broken hearts middle age was handing me, is doing what I’m doing at this moment. Or, at least in part it helped me.
Prior to being enlightened, my leather bound logs worked well in venting my feelings on paper, stabbing at what displeases me in my life with my pen, instead of doing something savage the news papers are full of. It aloud me to draw ink instead of blood. I still use this traditional form of pen and paper as an adjunct to my laptop, but when blogs came along, and then hubs; my therapy wasn’t therapy any longer, nor my medication, I was healed. (and to think there wasn’t any visitation charges I had to cough-up)
My stabs at what ales me ....
.... where really striking home now. My out-cries could be ‘heard.’ No longer were they bound and gagged on my shelf with my other logs, beside Bentleys ball. Or held in purgatory in my laptop which isn’t online. I can release my thoughts to the world now, and with instant publication at my fingertips my hubs have taken on a life of their own. Like little bits of me, my baby novelettes with wings, circling about in cyberspace carrying my words and discoveries. These wonders of the age are truly blessed. Put Shakespeare here at this time and he couldn’t handle it. He'd OD. “Words without thoughts never to heaven go.”
And to top this off, as if I needed anymore help with passing open windows; my babies have attracted others to their liking. Others out there with their babies in flight that know where I’m coming from (to coin a phrase of my age) and understand, or at least show an interest in one or more of my topics. I felt a connection and though it is still very anonymous, it is far from being completely alone. I feel like a member of the safest cult I know, surrounded and cheered on by 'friends' who would also rather draw ink instead of blood. Would rather not go off half-cocked, and just sit and just write. Friends that have found that doing less; is more. And the act of writing, even if it isn’t a story of any kind, or however you write it, is a more healthful and sensible means to revolt, and stab at their ails.
One thing for certain, however ....
.... I wouldn’t have had the initial inclination to calmly sit and write while those about me are loosing their heads and blaming me; if it wasn’t for my mild-manners to begin with. My habit and ability to step back and view before indulging, toe testing the situation, before I leap, was in my genes and has served me well and been helpful. In most cases I’ve been lucky to pass up negative situations, thoughts or snotty people. In most cases, that is, till recently. Till I hit fifty. Then it didn’t seem so easy to change gears. Then my mannerisms were put to the test. Suddenly I sat up, "hello," from my prior laid back existence, and took notice. “Hey dude, now what?” I twittered myself.
“Don’t worry mon, be happy - write a hub,” self answered.
"But how about the ..."
"Didn't it all work-out before?" Self asked.
I didn't need to answer, self was always right, and he knew it. Less and less I need to force things. When nothing is done, nothing is left undone. Fill my bowl to the brim and it will spill. Keep sharpening my knife and it will blunt. Chase after money and security and my heart will never unclench. Care about peoples approval and I will be their prisoner.
"But what about the ..."
"Just shut-up and write!"
"But she really pisses ..."
"That was then, this is now. Now write."
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