Late June after the solstice is the time when I lose sight of writing and reading. Usually there is a burst of both just after school is out—that is how conditioned I am by the school year at the age of 54. Since I was in first grade in 1970-71, I have had bursts of learning and creativity as soon as required learning in school was over. Now that I am the teacher—though still, never let us forget, a PhD candidate—I yet see this burst of creativity followed by a dearth of same by end of June.
Using diverse traditions from across history I could say this is my personal Dào, my particular Kismet, my singular Wyrd, my ownmost Existenz as it unfolds in my circumstances. What had been blocked in order to accomplish the late August to early May duties suddenly springs open at the end of May for about four weeks.
And then—here I am watching the stream evaporate.
If I know this pattern, I can make use of it to a degree. It is not that I write absolutely nothing—you are reading this after all—but these are looks the early seedlings bursting out of the prepared ground. Now is the time to pay attention to what grows rather than keep planting or expect the great showers of inspiration that occurred just a few weeks ago.
So, in keeping with cultivating the seedlings that will become the flowering thoughts that lend themselves to making strong fibers for my dissertating–please forgive me for belaboring these metaphors–I will be sharing mostly the aphorisms (seedlings) that show my garden might be ready for a harvest come autumn.
Also, toward that end of focusing on my self-care, I am deleting Facebook and Instagram off of my iPhone and iPad—I got rid of Twitter two years ago—at least until the Fall semester begins. Around that time, my intuition begins to flow once again in response to all of the new students I encounter across my classes.