I wonder why we write at all
These trees have seen all this before
But they are glad of an encore
“My homesickness caused me to describe in such detail all of these beloved places, and helped me to recover in some sense. About halfway through I realised the very act of writing this novel was a kind of healing act for me. I had recently come from Navajo country where they call those rituals ceremonies…it was through that realisation that I realised that for me, the very act of writing the novel was helping me. I tell my students, I wrote that book to save my life, in a sense.”
he spent a lot of time observing flora and fauna and weather [...] pursuits like that can bring you back to Earth from the ether and the abstractions. They could be imagined as the opposite of writing. Writing is a murky business: you are never entirely sure what you are doing or when it will be finished and whether you got it right and how it will be received months or years or decades after you finish. What it does, if it does anything, is a largely imperceptible business that takes place in the minds of people you will mostly never see and never hear from (unless they want to argue with you). As a writer, you withdraw and disconnect yourself from the world in order to connect to it in the far-reaching way that is other people elsewhere reading the words that came together in this contemplative state. What is vivid in the writing is not in how it hits the senses but what it does in the imagination.
A garden offers the opposite of the disembodied uncertainties of writing. It's vivid to all the senses, it's a space of bodily labor, of getting dirty in the best and most literal way, an opportunity to see the immediate and unarguable effect.
Once you connect with your mind, you are who you are and you're free.
Many people who want to write are unconsciously seeking peace, a coming together, an acknowledging of our happiness or an examination of what is broken, hoping to embrace and bring our suffering to wholeness.
the inner aim of thought is never fully realized until it ripens into vocal utterances through which others can have access to our personal experience
inner experience only achieves true completeness when it has been spoken