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  • In the beginning, how was it in the beginning?

    A place away from places, a calendar away from calendar scribbling.

    A moment. Moments. No embarrassments. Small dew on old veined leaves. The sight of a site in a city, suddenly dollied to your eyes. A picture record of days, even dazed, but the cave outside of politics. Yet, inside occupations, but still moments outside of stillness but tented, rabid even, rapid but caught as one still stock shot might catch the key tear gassed moment.

    Reminders. Reminders that in the moment of catching the shot, you have no point of view--you can't--except the frame. Frames. Light. Be uninteresting; let the shot be of interest. Go deep beyond humility and the pride of feeling humble into the work, yet: lightness.

    I felt lighter at the beginning. Yet, when I look back, I was filled with darkness, and I am, and who is not in this and all ages, but I had less chatter. We had less chatter, then. I am not thinking romantically, I am not a fan of goo or sentimentality, but I felt less interested in myself at the beginning and more in thrall to the moment of a day. And if the day did not bring a moment, so be it. I felt more: so be it.

    I have opinions. I don't have much point of view on my opinions. That takes energy. I am a hound of energy. I hoard energy. I second it. I put it away. A long ago a wise easterner pointed out to me that we in the West abuse our energy. And that was a revelation to me. That abstinence and overdoing it are two sides of the same unbalanced coin.

    It was more about moments and mornings for me. The brief hellos, once a day, short and sweet and sophisticated into small precious foci. I focused more, blathered less.

    My head was less noisy when I came to the site.

    It calmed me.

    It was not the all-day cafe. It was not the 24 hour supermarket. It was not my bones, my life. It was a small ritual sanctuary, which became important in my life.

    I did not set up camp for a whole day, I did not keep it as an IV tube the whole week, it felt fresh as fall, though I joined in winter. It felt crisp and cupable.

    I am trying to be in the moment of this now, and re-up my heart and eye and writing chops to something I knew at the beginning.

    (Photo by Susan, January 2012)
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