Continuing A Theme
Jun. 4th, 2011 03:02 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
cedar_groveFrom The Book of Awakening: Having the Life You Want by Being Present to the Life You Have.
Like the buffalo, we are nourished by what sprouts from our own broken trail.
I think I mentioned earlier in the week that I found the manuscript of the first novel I wrote. I found it while tidying up the mess that had accumulated in my room, nestled in a padded envelope, the pages held together with treasury tags and protected between two pieces of stiff paperboard.
And my-oh-my lets just say, as kindly as one ever is to oneself, that I've been nourished by that one. The title is bad, the composition is… well definitely first novel… okay, let's face it and say it out aloud. It quite simply is shit.
Now I'm allowed to say that, and don't worry, though you can't hear it I'm saying it with a chuckle in my voice and a great lightness in my heart, because while it really is a terrible piece of writing, (I started reading it, and after about 50 pages stopped reading and started skimming and after a while just slipped it back into its envelope), from that beginning, I have grown into the wordsmith that I am today, and can say with all humility, that I've come a long way since then.
I will at some point try to wade through the rest of it… not out of any sense of ego, but more as a learning experience – and they do say that in every pile of poo there is some hidden gem or other, so maybe I'll find something – but then I'll put it away, safely, and keep it for whenever I next might need to see how far I've grown.
The buffalo fed on the buffalo grass that was fertilized by their own droppings. This grass had deep roots bound to the earth and was resistant to drought.
-David Peat
Like the buffalo, we are nourished by what sprouts from our own broken trail.
I think I mentioned earlier in the week that I found the manuscript of the first novel I wrote. I found it while tidying up the mess that had accumulated in my room, nestled in a padded envelope, the pages held together with treasury tags and protected between two pieces of stiff paperboard.
And my-oh-my lets just say, as kindly as one ever is to oneself, that I've been nourished by that one. The title is bad, the composition is… well definitely first novel… okay, let's face it and say it out aloud. It quite simply is shit.
Now I'm allowed to say that, and don't worry, though you can't hear it I'm saying it with a chuckle in my voice and a great lightness in my heart, because while it really is a terrible piece of writing, (I started reading it, and after about 50 pages stopped reading and started skimming and after a while just slipped it back into its envelope), from that beginning, I have grown into the wordsmith that I am today, and can say with all humility, that I've come a long way since then.
I will at some point try to wade through the rest of it… not out of any sense of ego, but more as a learning experience – and they do say that in every pile of poo there is some hidden gem or other, so maybe I'll find something – but then I'll put it away, safely, and keep it for whenever I next might need to see how far I've grown.
