When I travel, the muse accompanies me, but she flies first class, while I fly coach. Meeting her then is a happy accident. I am in San Diego, to see old friends and attend the 2014 Ashtanga Confluence. My muse can do ashtanga, all of the series. I don’t want to be like my muse, but I would like her light to light my light. What I seek is a way to get a novel started from a mere twelve pages of notes that I plucked from nearly 150. I came to the confluence to maybe learn steadfastness and keep on trying.
David Swenson, one of the yoga teachers here, said that one doesn’t seek a guru per se, except to take an unlit candle to a cave, say, and if there is a fellow there with a lit candle, maybe he will let you light yours from his flame. My teacher, Richard Freeman, said the most interesting things happen in the interfacing of ideas, while at the same time, the spaces between words are the most interesting.
My next move. My next book. My next time on the mat.
Move: Not dire. Soon, something will materialize.
Book: Not dire. Not Dior. Not a Diorama. Just a novel, a simple 80,000 word something between hardcovers, extending the life of Meterling and company. I have to situate the book in a specific decade. I was in my twenties in the eighties. My characters are in their twenties in the nineties.
P.S: No more red-eye flights for a while.