I have just checked in on the Charlotte Cuevas’s blog and pondering her message about writing a book — About writing the book just to write the books, not to make money at it – because you won’t. Hard issues to ponder, but then life requires that.
My mind drifted to my own work, such as it is – as work and what I do are not what I was brought up to learn. I keep thinking that what I do is some place between passion and work. The work part does not seem like work and the passion part is not all consuming.
It’s more like a purpose. Almost out of my hands. I guess I just show up – that’s my job. Ever since I began reading Joel Goldsmith, I think is where it all really began. And when I look back at images that come out of my camera, there seems to be a disconnect. It seems like I’m looking at someone else’s work. I find myself even admiring some of it. And I’m thinking that is really pretty interesting.
So, I head out just to be there. To capture what’s provided. The conduit that I am. And wish that all could experience living in this fashion. And I think some do. I sense that in what they express in their blogs.
The Nightingale of the East by Joel S. Goldsmith
Amidst the flowering plants of a garden in Egypt
sat a nightingale of great beauty.
Its soaring song filled the Oasis
with lilting melody.
Its song was a carol of love;
a message of peace from out of the
heart of the Infinite,
stilling the waves of a world of sense.
Knowest thou, O Bird, of the peace
that fares forth with thy song?
Knowest thou of the strife
that is stilled by the melody from thy throat?
Nay, the nightingale knows
naught of the power of its song
and less of the unrest that is quieted by its sound.
So, should ye be as the song of God
pours forth from you —the willing carrier of the divine message—
yet unaware of the power of your being
and still less aware of the troubled
hearts ye quiet
with your melody of love.
— reprinted with permission