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This song used to be played in shavasana (the relaxation section) at the end of a yoga class I used to go to.  So it’s not surprising that for me it exemplifies peace.

Arriving home after work.  Not frenetic, not trying to push away, not pushing myself, much better able to settle into the moment.

Like most writers, I had rituals around writing:  clear and wipe the coffee table, unroll my yoga mat, fold it exactly in half, fold the rug exactly in half on top of that, matching the edges up neatly.  We have a newer laptop but I always worked on my old one and had to be patient while everything loaded.  I would save everything in a word document, email it to myself twice and then post it on wordpress.

Now, getting ready for travelling, I just type everything straight into wordpress on my tablet.  I’m getting the hang of doing typing on a small screen, and moving between windows.  It’s not so easy to copy links and insert pictures compared to using a laptop.  Not so easy, but I’ve done it.

I love the title of this blog, postcards from the present moment.  I used to have all these notebooks, drawers full of them.  Writing used to be so hard, an amorphous mass of notes that were written like a diary, live, then as I tried to rework them into a coherent narrative for a book they would flatten and die.  Not like blogging.  Blogging is live, right now, right up to date.

And if I change, if I contradict myself, if I change my mind…  If yesterday I thought this, and tomorrow I think that…  well then that just goes to show we are all the same, because that’s what we all do.

I used to have songs I’d listen to on a loop, my writing songs, on youtube, playing in another window whilst I was writing:

But it’s like the story of the cat on the pole:  (Once upon a time some monks found that they were disturbed whenever they meditated by a young cat that would smooch around them, so they decided that whenever they were going to meditate they would put it on a lead and tie it to a pole so it wouldn’t disturb them.  Over time, this became a ritual.   Eventually, the cat got old and died, and the monks ended up getting another cat, as everyone felt they couldn’t meditate properly without there being a cat tied to a pole.)  None of my writerly rituals are necessary, because I’ve never felt so flowy, written blogs so often and had ideas come so frequently, as now.

I want to say

thank you

to you

for reading.

If there is anything you want to ask me or anything you would like to suggest as a topic to explore together please don’t hesitate to get in touch.

With metta