After much patience, honoring the writing process by waiting for words to appear, and while washing the dishes this evening, a rare sense arose. I let this sense flower, trying not to become too attached, and when it opened I was given a plan for my writing that revealed the writing's purpose.

This kind of galvanizing insight has always inspired my most amazing creations, but previously my goal was visual art, this time the object is text, and not just words, but direction and shape; a blueprint for a body of writing that prefigures its result. I see the whole project holographically; sense it as a vibration, a deep resonant chord at multiple frequencies, and by humming the chord to myself I can connect to it.

I'll spare you the details of this plan, not that I could easily summarize it; and really, hearing the plan is beside the point, the way I'm going to get it across is in the writing. Let's just say that I know what I have to do and it will take a while to get to the end. But here goes...


Since I told the story a week or so ago about my awakening and the pancakes, I have been reliving my next earliest memories.

I was two or three years old. My family moved to a new city and we stayed in a rental house while the house that my parents still occupy today was being built. There are lots of memories from this house even though we only stayed there a year or so.

The memories I have from this time are clear in many ways. First, I remember details that are anchored by strong emotions; I clearly remember these events.

The memories also seem clear because I find no overlay; there is no pre-existing experience between me and the memory. When I see my children today, I see them through the lens of my own childhood and again as a parent; but at three years old, everything was brand-new.

There is another kind of clarity, a directness, found in the physical sensations I experience today when recalling infant memories. These memories feel wet. My brain was squishy and empty when these were the first impressions that filled it, the wetware was being put into action, remembering them feels fresh: the new house, the new yard, and the new life.

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