When I don't know what to do with myself I do well if I simply go with the flow. Remembering to let go is the thing I need to remember most. How does one create the habit of recall what you already know? I mean, how difficult is remembering to let go? Aha! I got it. It happens when the mind remembers to be still.
I've been going through my restless mode a lot lately. No remembrance required for that. Why not? Nothing satisfies my inner urges. No book does. You would shake your head in wonder if you saw the small stack I've picked up, and put down. There are small piles of books, paper, magazines, letters begun and put aside, abandoned projects, cameras primed and ready for some memorable shot that waits in the making . . . The only thing that seems to capture and hold my attention is the heat and the wind outside. Large blocks of time are devoted to sitting on the patio, watering sered grass, trees, plants, and imagining without structure. I imagine the fine grit blown where it falls with abandon and randomness to have come from the world-away-Sahara, with purpose and pre-ordained planning. We are in a direct path after all, so Houston is hazy. Knowing we're holding onto soil blown from some desert allows my fantasy to take flight. The things I imagine would make you laugh! Silly me. Silly me having fun, and picking grit from my teeth!
All that sunshine puts me to bed at night like a gentle mother's proffering of warm milk. Most nights. Truth is, I am a certified night owl. Used to be I prowled. With a camera. The things I captured! But no more. Insomnia comes and goes like the Sahara winds. It, like the sands, have a purpose. I embrace it. It is beneficial if one looks on it as a fact of life. Don't fight. Resistance is futile.
For me, insomnia is simply not sleeping when the rest of the world goes to bed with the chickens. Instead of fretting I get busy. I go from studio to bed, to studio and back again, stealthily, so as not to wake the dead, and create some of my best work.
Once in a blue moon I fall asleep with the lamp on. Before that happens I manage to read, write, or create my own style of mail art-- if the mood strikes, seeing as how I'm not very good at traditional mail art. Inspiration comes when and where it will. Last night I picked up a copy of HI FRUCTOSE. It pays to always have sharp blades on hand. Sharing is a good thing. While I'm sure great artists would put this to good use, I cannot even use it for an envelope. So. I share.
No, it doesn't cause nightmares. Or headaches. Or drive me to drink. I simply do not understand it. So, I share. There are artists in my address book who will take the pages and run with them. Until they go out in tomorrow's mail, I return to the tools I know. They either hold insomnia at bay, or beckon it closer until sleep embraces it and falls on me like a veil. I peacefully float away to the land of Nod, to return in the morning.