Written In The Stars

A few days ago, I engaged in the delightful enterprise of purchasing new notebooks. I’m not in the market for anything ‘hi-fallutin’, but as I write nearly everything by hand first, a quality A4 notebook is important to me.

The anticipation of a pristine blank page, the smooth flowing of my now-quite-ancient blue pen, the manifestation of unexpected ideas, the satisfaction of a full sheet of words and sentences, the enjoyment of picking up and re-reading from a physical copy the next morning, the gentle reminder from the stack of already-filled notebooks sitting under my desk …

These are all, for me, a part of the process of immersing myself in the magical world of writing. Take this morning, for example. An inviting notebook will make me want to write – even when I don’t really have the time or the energy. (I have to say, I rarely lack the motivation.) Today, however, just as last night – my ‘traditional’ day for writing the blog – I’m conscious of the once-a-year imposed deadlines of material needed for an AGM.

Reports to be written, samples prepared, items finished for a Show & Tell, cakes to be made (or bought), items scavenged for the raffle … All of these are essential ingredients of our annual event at the Weavers’ Guild. (Shorthand for Weavers, Spinners and Dyers.) And that’s after I’ve done all the publicity for the day and created the On-Line Colour Brochure for next year’s programme, since I’m currently part of the Programme Organising Team.

So trying to find the space – physically and mentally – to put pen to real-live paper this week, is difficult.

But my eye is caught by the beautiful notebook I found by surprise in my local supermarket. A seductive, sensuous, dark blue/purple cover, sprinkled with a coppery constellation and embossed with the invitation: Written In The Stars. How can I resist? The book is simply sitting there, begging to be written in. If I just pick it up … take a little look inside …

And I’m away. Plonking myself in my old wooden rocking chair, with my blue and gold star-spangled throw and my blue and gold star-spangled cushion providing the perfect backdrop, leaning onto my ageing pine kitchen table with its puppy-chewed, cat-scratched legs, surrounded by crayons, diaries and a pile of sparkly Christmas cards which I’m slowly working through – I’m suddenly in heaven.

The only thing I need now, apparently – besides my morning cuppa – is a squeaky tennis-ball, placed just beyond my reach and which appears to be barking at me ferociously in an urgent need to be thrown. Oh yes, there’s Rosie, impatiently waiting for the end of the paragraph …

I am – I’m sure I’ve said this before – a great fan of the Slow Movement. Slow food, slow knitting, slow reading. Whatever it happens to be that floats your boat, I’m very sure it is best done ‘slow’. It’s important to understand, however, that ‘slow’ in this context has little to do with speed or quantity.

All of the ‘slow’ movements have at their core an appreciation, a celebration, of quality of experience. Performing things slowly is essentially both the means of accessing the depth of an enterprise and a description of the timelessness encountered when one is truly immersed in, and intimately connected with, one’s own being and the beingness of the Universe.

I remember Nigel Mansell once being asked what it was like to drive at nearly 200 mph. He said it was as if the whole world around him slowed down so that he could see and feel everything in minute detail. They call it ‘being in the zone’.

The experience is one of stepping outside time. You are no longer separated, alone, frustrated, struggling. All of that falls away. You remain an individual but you are, sublimely, a part of a greater whole. An exquisite, holographic moment.

I will continue to revel in buying my enticing, empty notebooks and to honour the process they invite me to participate in. I will continue to be diligent with my ritual of sitting in my chair and picking up my pen. I will also continue to engage my whole body and my whole mind in the writing I do every day, and to say ‘yes, please’ to whatever surfaces.

That way, I can be sure I will continue to be open to every possible avenue which might connect my writing with the stars.