Why do I write?… and some local colors. Tx

Tuesday, October 20th, 2009
Breakfast  

Started the day with an unhealthy Breakfast… even if the eggs are fresh from the Farm!

 “This most of all: ask yourself in the most silent hour of your night: must I write?
Dig into yourself for a deep answer. And if this answer rings out in assent, if you meet this solemn question with a strong, simple “I must,” then build your life in accordance with this necessity; your while life, even into its humblest and most indifferent hour, must become a sign and witness to this impulse.
Then come close to Nature. Then, as if no one had ever tried before, try to say what you see and feel and love and loose. Don’t write love poems; avoid those forms that are too facile and ordinary: they are the hardest to work with, and it takes great, fully ripened power to create something individual where good, even glorious, traditions exist in abundance.
So rescue yourself from these general themes and write about what your everyday life offers you; describe your sorrows and desires, the thoughts that pass through your mind and your belief in some kind of beauty – describe all these with heartfelt, silent, humble sincerity and, when you express yourself, use the things around you, the images from your dreams, and the objects that you remember.
If your everyday life seems poor, don’t blame it; blame yourself; admit to yourself that you are not enough of a poet to call forth its riches; because for the creator there is not poverty and no poor, indifferent place. And even if you found yourself in some prison whose walls let in none of the world’s sounds – wouldn’t you still have your childhood, that jewel beyond all price, that treasure house of memories?
Turn your attentions to it. Try to raise up the sunken feelings of this enormous past; your personality will grow stronger, your solitude will expand and become a place where you can live in the twilight, where the noise of other people passes by, far in the distance. – And if out of this turning-within, out of this immersion in your own world, poems come, then you will not think of asking anyone whether they are good or not. Nor will you try to interest magazines in these works: for you will see them as your dear natural possession, a piece of your life, a voice from it.
A work of art is good if it has arisen out of necessity. That is the only way one can judge it. So, dear Sir, I can’t give you any advice but this: to go into yourself and see how deep the place is from which your life flows; at its source you will find the answer to the question whether you must create. Accept that answer, just as it is given to you, without trying to interpret it. Perhaps you will discover that you are called to be an artist. Then take the destiny upon yourself, and bear it, its burden and its greatness, without ever asking what reward might come from outside.
For the creator must be a world for himself and must find everything in himself and in Nature, to whom his whole life is devoted”
[Rainer Maria Rilke ~ 4 December 1875 – 29 December 1926]

Texas Highway Patrol  
Spirit  

On to Terlingua coming across Friends of Spirit… (???)

I have been staring and reading those above words for now a couple days gone by. They are worth reading a few times, I have. Stunned a bit I am, as with everything else, “stagnation” is often as a dam that builds up around one’s little World and disallow at times a projection of our desires, the ones we transform from the mind, our thoughts, into our own reality. It could be anything, any form of a chosen blueprint for the time we exercise the path we are on. In my case, when deciding to leave it all behind and embrace the road on November First 2006, the questions daily where of so many with no answers. We are inside a box I find and as often as the curtains are shut, if we are lucky enough to have even a couple windows, help is so often needed to realize of a path beyond those walls. My help has been my Friends, as time went on, my Readers, and so often words written by others send to me such as above.

KKKK  
KKKK  

Always the best Food in town and photo opportunities… much chatting too!

I now have left the questions behind as “Rainer Maria Rilke” has also written “I beg you… to have patience with everything unresolved in your Heart and try to Love the questions themselves as if there were locked rooms or books written in a very foreign language. Don’t search for the answers, which could not be given to you now, because you would not be able to live them. And the point is, to live everything. Live the questions now, perhaps then, someday far in the future, you will gradually, without even noticing it, live your way into the answers…” as those words only read a few days ago astonished me as if the Author truly understood my connection with this avenue I have been crawling upon.

KKKK  
KKKK KKKK
KKKK KKKK

In parallel with it all, as much as I have felt all these past chapters as being from a heart of mine I like wearing on my sleeve, often too open and personal, they have been my own for my “own” fulfillment of these passages past years have taken me through. I am content of it all, not because of any Art form I do not think I project, but because they have relieved me of much weight my own shoulders could not take anymore previously of these past three years. It has been a mental process unlike any other, a much needed one which presently will follow me into the future, however long it could be and will need to be, or allowed to be.

Lunch at Nel's  
Lunch at Nel's Lunch at Nel's

And then on to Ft Davis, my Friends Jerry and Nelda taking over the town… food? 10+++!

And yet, the logistics have been hard, the financial burden does not weight anymore as it has in the past, even if so present more than ever, it really and truly does not matter knowing my wealth will always be within myself. Food and shelter always arrive on queue, Doctor’s bills await without infringing too much, the enormous 20th Century communication bills to post this Journal anytime from anywhere also somehow at times later than sooner are taken care off. I could not halt this process today, blending the travels of the mind and the body all together fused in with Mother Nature as she herself has never let us down. I can devote the rest of my Life to her, to Spirit, my dear close Friends, and never feel a single ounce of regret, only a positive reinforcement I carry within me often, as much as my growing strength allows me when being daily pushed forward and up. 

Lunch at Nel's  
Lunch at Nel's  

The Bookstore, the Courtyard, Wi-Fi… Home away from home.

“Finally, as to my own books, I wish I could send you any of them that might give you pleasure. But I am very poor, and my books, as soon as they are published, no longer belong to me. I can’t even afford them myself – and, as I would so often like to, give them to those who would be kind to them.” Irony toward such a great “thinker” and “writer”, but not sad as he himself writes what I feel and think “Then take the destiny upon yourself, and bear it, its burden and its greatness, without ever asking what reward might come from outside”

The Broommakers  

Then on to the original Broommakers, Ron, Marcha and grand daughter Kimber,,,

My Journal was never intended to be shared, it’s only purpose was of the above, a daily medicine throughout the days passed, reflections of a mind, a mirror of my own inner thoughts so often even myself repeatedly thinking how boring it must be since many others now read these words. As time has passed, it is now shared with many, as myself I see your reflections of your own mirrors and it’s growth has been enriched from your words, many of wearing the same clothe through their own lives. There are thousands of Blogs being written daily for thousands of purposes, millions truly. I like to call mine a “Journal”. From the true travel report to the “business” ones where their wealth is counted in dollars with formulas so easy to obtain but not of my desire, they fill the spaces and those shelves now empty from real books replaced by electronic storage units. I have always pronounced these present chapters as “just another Life story”, not alone a count of it’s physical mileage and challenges, but also it’s mental ones encompassing past and present and sometimes thoughts for the future, one always so uncertain as none of us have truly the knowledge of it’s pre-destined achievements.

The Broommakers The Broommakers
The Broommakers The Broommakers
Kimber  

My tough and mean buddy Spirit was nervous of the crutches!

And so Life goes on for us. Still working on the logistics here, for it’s reason to be able to leave knowing all is secure behind us. If that makes any sense at all. The days are getting shorter, night time riding is again a reality, the deer is in profusion more than ever, pleasant again is the weather, all is well, there is a balance that has reappeared, away from it all as I am tasting again the core of my own true Life.  

Tent

The End of the day…

Till next time, you be well.
Always.

If you find yourself perusing this site extensively, please, consider purchasing Prints, Merchandise or making a contribution above.

Ara & Spirit

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3 Responses to “Why do I write?… and some local colors. Tx”

  1. Joe Pitman (Speedy) Says:

    Great read. I will be checking in with you time and again to see what you are up to.

  2. The Box Canyon Blogger Says:

    We are thankful that you must write and photograph your “world.”
    Your life is a pleasant diversion… an escape for so many, from their own “four wall” reality. “Oasis” is a ticket to ride the trail of “freedom.”
    Thank you!
    Mark and Bobbie

  3. LE Trainer from ADV Rider Says:

    Ara-

    I was turned on to Rilke from an unlikely source, the singer-songwriter Warren Zevon. This one touched me deeply:

    Autumn Day

    Lord: it is time. The huge summer has gone by.
    Now overlap the sundials with your shadows,
    and on the meadows let the wind go free.

    Command the fruits to swell on tree and vine;
    grant them a few more warm transparent days,
    urge them on to fulfillment then, and press
    the final sweetness into the heavy wine.

    Whoever has no house now, will never have one.
    Whoever is alone will stay alone,
    will sit, read, write long letters through the evening,
    and wander the boulevards, up and down,
    restlessly, while the dry leaves are blowing.

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