Lately, I have reverted to my old habit of writing my first words in little notebooks. I don’t know why, exactly, except that writing by hand, on paper, makes for a slower, more reflective process. There is a kind of satisfaction in tracing the words, character by character, that likely reflects my years working as a painter and sculptor, engaged in a more immediate practice of eye-brain-hand intercourse. It is, if you will, more holistic, more trinitarian, a minute permutation of the universal pattern of relationship binding all souls and things. Saying that, I’m aware that my ancient Celtic ancestors believed that things, too, are possessed by souls.
I still re-write on a screen, though. I’m not sure what the Old Ones would make of that. There are times, I do admit, when I’m convinced that my Dell has a mind of its own.