A Trip?

Another title for this bit might have been "Don't Let Anything but Fear Stop You."

I'm in an interesting place. Mot good, just interesting. I've been taking care of business and being a bit careless of myself. I've been watching the 'news' and have perhaps been attending to the foibles of my fellows to the neglect of my own.

In the past I haven't always had an attractive project in mind and I don't now. Often, in the past, I have had the joy of spontaneously following my bliss without a plan. In the past I have known that I could persist through difficult circumstances to peak experience that made my efforts more than worthwhile.

The not good, just interesting, place in which I find myself at the moment is, in part, the following: I fear that I have so neglected my spontaneity that I have put it in a coma rather than just put it to sleep. Neglect your true pleasures and they may leave you. These things can happen very fast when one gets to a certain age. Speaking of age, I am nearly 72, on a tiny retirement income, and with a body that is weaker than it has been in many decades.

I'm not often such as cry-baby. However, I do find not knowing what to do to energize myself with the prospect of pleasant adventure, to lighten my heart, to generate a good laugh, a bit frightening.

In the past I have had in mind a kind of experience that I desired and have set out to have it. In setting out, I knew that I was, or would prepared to be diverted to other adventures along the way. Right now, I fear that I have damaged my capacity for joy. Joy is not an energy to be neglected.

Let me consider my resources: my bank roll is low; the war-chest is nearly empty; still my passport is valid, and my '97 van is running, and I'm alive. Maybe if i fill up the tank and put my passport in my pocket I will again feel that remembered stirring in my heart.

Hunters

Some men face their religion like children. They see the legs and horns and forget the heart and lungs.

Tommy

Smothers still has a good eye, a good heart, a good mind, and balls.

What is it to Speak from the Heart?

I am pleased to have permission to "write from the heart" in this journal.
However, I am dismayed to discover that I don't know how.
I feel I can be clear about the nature of a journal, but feel confusion and dismay about writing from the heart.

"Journal" comes from "journey." A journey originally meant a day's travel. So, in this journal I write of my journey through this day. I might write forever just in describing that which is before my eyes at this moment. Can I use my heart to limit my writing?
To "journey" is to travel from one place to another. In this journal, how can I say where I have begun this day? Can my "heart" identify worthy starting places and stopping places? Can a heart and a mind cooperate?
Well, I can say that in this journal that I may write of daily happenings. Where do those happenings occur? On a stage before me? In my mind? In my heart?
Of what do the happenings of my day consist? What are those happenings made of. Which ones are worth writing about?
Some wise men have suggested that the examined life is more worthy than the unexamined one.
Guess the same goes for a day in that life. It seems that examining is largely a mental activity.
It seems that my worthy happenings consist of my interpretations, assumptions, perceptions, understandings, determinations, accountings. Seems to be head work rather than heart work.

It seems that this journal is to contain writings about the happenings of a day that have a starting place, a stopping place, and the trip connecting them. The trip will consist largely of examanings and meaningings, but where is the heart in that?