Writers all devise ways to approach that place where they expect to make the contact, where they become the conduit, or where they engage in this mysterious process. For me, light is the signal in the transaction. It’s not being in the light, it’s being there before it arrives. It enables me, in some sense.
Toni Morrison, quoted in Daily Rituals, p.62
Some days when I wake up, I open the window, sit at a little desk, and look out from my eyrie. At this time of the year it is still dark and I watch the light return. When it is cold, like today, I layer up with jumpers or a blanket. New air flows over me. I watch, listen, smell, think, feel, and write.
There is all the difference in the world between a closed window and an open one. Closed, I am shut in, isolated, alone. Open, I am connected with the outside, the sky, with the rest of nature, however occluded we are by the human excrescence. I watch the birds. I watch the trees parade their vestments in the liturgy of the seasons. I watch us go about our little lives. I feel content.
Here is “that place” where there is the possibility of being the “mysterious process”, ”the conduit” for what wants to be spoken.
For too many days I have not braved this place.
Where is your place?