after eight

“Eight days a week
is not enough to show I care.”

~ John Lennon and Paul McCartney, Eight Days a Week.

La Vie Graphite, the blog you presently see before you, is eight years in progress, and now into its ninth year. The actual anniversary is in June, but this past year has been an unusual one. Among the many adventures documented among these essays, my long sojourn at Oxford- combined with a return to Wales- led to the recent string of fourteen essays. My determination to complete the cycle of writing delayed the annual recognition of my online writing continuum. Dreamlike and dream-fulfilling as the experience was, the time of exploration, substantial study, and expression was highly concentrated and not easy to describe. After returning, I’ve been trying to regather my forces through intense exhaustion. The usual output has curtailed, but I have every intention to resume my pace.

As always, gratitude is at the forefront with each milestone. I am grateful for the reading audience- especially considering the autobiographical nature of most of the content in my essays. My thankfulness also continues for the opportunities thus far in my adventures with the written word, the life of pilgrimage, and simply for the ability to write. Amidst eight years of essays, I’ve written from various countries, many retreats, countless indoor and outdoor perches, and during a couple thousand workday lunch breaks. This format is almost as portable as the always-handy pencil and notebook.

For me, blogging began as an outward version of my written journals. I wanted to reach beyond a blank bound book, composing some completed, more polished thoughts as essays, using photography- which for many years was my livelihood and career. And thus the production has proceeded, through travels and motifs, with readers and fellow writers, gratefully as somehow part of an ethereal fellowship in the blogosphere- even the Typosphere. Indeed, I continue with my daily handwritten journals. About ten years ago, I began the pattern of maintaining two journals: one that has structured observations written in ink, and another that is simply a place for fast jottings in pencil- which I’ve long referred to as la vie graphite. The latter tends to be a pocket-sized notebook which accompanies me as easily as a wallet. Pencilled observations, like charcoal sketches, can be smudged, drawn-over, and redrawn, due to the amenable nature of graphite. Blogging adds yet another useful dimension, aside from online presentation: a commitment to production. The “date stamp” of blogging is a constant reminder to continue. I can’t sit on my hands- or lean on my elbows- if I want to be a writer. At the same time, I must live the experience as a participant in life and as a practitioner, and write, if I want to be a writer. Commitment and authenticity help to counteract ignorance. In some memorable words of written correspondence, Flaubert described this passion very well, invoking Pierre de Ronsard:

“Ronsard advises the poet ‘to become well versed in the arts and crafts- to frequent blacksmiths, goldsmiths, locksmiths, etc.- in order to enrich his stock of metaphors. And indeed that is the sort of thing that makes for rich and varied language. The sentences in a book must quiver like the leaves in a forest, all dissimilar in their similarity.’”

Flaubert quoted the 16th century poet, in a letter he wrote in 1854, and here I have added this to the blogosphere in 2014. It is wonderful advice, and I have found such perspective extremely useful in my observations and reflective writing. Listening for the vocabularies of mechanics, scientists, and engineers- as examples- has opened descriptive doors I might not have found otherwise. In this way, journal-writing is something of a journalistic adventure. Returning to my gratitude, observing and writing seem to continue for me quite naturally.

Above: Portland Road, in Oxford, England.
Below: Portland, Maine.

Now to look forward. Even after having traversed these years, there are still many words and themes yet to assemble. There is much more writing to do than there is time available. It is as though a very lengthy path has a very short span of daylight. A personal journal is an ever-unfurling manuscript, mirroring the places and times of the writer. From the point of writing- the present- we can exercise our forecasting, while producing an archival record for our future reference. The recorded word represents a quest, and in such cultivated pursuits we may find our applicable philosophy. In his commentary upon the works of Saint Bonaventure, John F. Quinn observed how the intention of moral philosophy centers on the practice of compassion. Revolving around that intention, our moral action consists in

“...an unremitting search for beatitude, or happiness, founded on a general knowledge or innate awareness of the principles of natural law and on a natural or instinctive desire for the one and only good that can satisfy a human’s proper longing for spiritual fulfilment.”

With prow to the waterways, Year Nine proceeds with hopes for more octaves to follow. I also hope to find more new recommendations for blogs to read, as well as more readers with whom to interact. The pursuit remains worthwhile. Some of you have asked me about the writing process and about the materials of our craft. I’ll try to balance some of these practitioner’s notes, alongside the journeys and observations. Here’s to eight going on nine!

at sixes and sevens

“Matter, which keeps souls apart, also brings them together.
It enables each of us to have an ‘outside’ as well as an ‘inside,’
so that what are acts of will and thought for you
are noises and glances for me;
you are enabled not only to be, but to appear:
and hence I have the pleasure of making
your acquaintance.”

~ C. S. Lewis, Divine Omnipotence.

As June dovetails into July, so the blog traverses yet another anniversary. My journals, known only to me, extend now to nineteen years. This month, La Vie Graphite reaches the seven year mark. Intact, and yet evolving. Though my gratitude, both for writing and for those who are reading, abides throughout the year, this annual occasion permits for an opportunity to make this an emphasis.

Seven years of ‘Graphite, through all varieties of New England weather, travels abroad as well as down the road, and myriads of daily lunch breaks, my increased shelves of filled notebooks provide archival testimonial. The longform voyage of written continuum, through every season, is a ceaseless fount of observation and initiative. On many occasions in these pages, I’ve emphasized the great worth of the quiet and sure witness of the written word. In the process, those who honestly write their days are also compiling their histories. Continuing to write remains as vital to me as self-care, gainful work, reflective reading, and all the other inclusive components that bring the spiritual to living. Writing, and knowing that others are also writing, contributes to lasting encouragement. I hope these pages have been part of your encouragements as well.

The eighth year of this blog begins without hesitation. As naturally as waking each morning, ideas and texts are ever in their formation. Along with my gratitude for the readers of this blog is an equal thanks for the readers who also blog. In that spirit, I’m always interested in good reading, and hope you will continue to share your recommendations. As for readership, my hope is for these essays to reach a wider and increasingly responsive audience. The blogosphere, fluid and abundant as it is, challenges writers who hope to cultivate a depth of personal work while remaining up-to-date. We all know quite well about the fickle and amnesic tendencies of the internet, not to mention the present culture. Yet, amidst this context, many of us persevere in our preferences of what is real- as opposed to the virtual, in terms of friendships, faith, creativity, and craft. Indeed, many of us must reconcile an increasing array of contrasts, and such reconciliation is a contemporary survival skill.

There is a future of ideas and adventures yet to discover and document. Similarly to my numerous visits in libraries, there are always and ever more tomes I’ve still to read. There isn’t a deficit of horizons, anywhere as much as a shortage of time. Navigating through narrow passages of hours causes me to work with pinched parcels of time for reading and writing. If I could exceed more essays per month, without hurrying the creative process, I certainly would do so. But as with journal writing, there are neither deadlines nor rigid rules. So, continuity and commitment will have to suffice, albeit at occasionally slower paces. On with year number eight, and here’s to reading, writing, kindredship, and craft. Pencils are sharpened, pens are freshly inked, and typewriters are calibrated.

　

　

six of one

“I will not be pushed, filed, stamped, indexed, briefed,
debriefed, classified, or numbered.
I am not a number; I am a person.”

~ Number Six, The Prisoner

With the occasion of this entry, I gratefully acknowledge the 6th anniversary of La Vie Graphite, and its embarkation upon year 7. The development and direction of this blog has been quite unexpected, yet much as it is with personal writing, ideas and words meander with the moment. Today, I wrote a bit about this blog, in my handwritten journal, and observed how it seems to continue- and gratefully so. Among typecasts, photo-essays, travels, monastic despatches, and the varied ordinary times of the long pilgrim road of a life of days, there remains a unifying continuum. The pace of publication fluctuates with the slices of time I can devote to these essays, but it hasn’t been for lack of interest. Blogging continues to be as much a worthwhile project as it is an enjoyable challenge. Because entries are date-stamped, there is an inherent motivation to follow through with additional and newer observations. Thus, as with journaling, thought processes, and steps in a long journey, there is continuity.

Six years, and just over three hundred essays along, there are enough reasons to keep going. Reflective writing can generate a sense of creative satisfaction. The encouragement of readers is something I’ve cherished very much. The blogosphere, however, is both ocean and desert. In the elusive vastness of web-based media, readers must forage for writing that speaks to them. That has been my continuing experience, as both reader and writer. Abundance and scarcity intertwine. Yet, somehow, many of us are able to make connections through these electronic means. In addition, digitized words and images can be formed and tailored into ways of transmitting personal ideas, yearnings of the soul, and methods of writing done by hand. As always and ever, my gratitude for readers of this blog continues. My hopes also continue that more readers seeking encouragement and the fellowship of written narrative will find this blog.

Seasons in transition provide an opportunity to reflect upon the adventure of writing. My days and years are trails trimmed in graphite lines. The many written marks and jottings loop and wind into responses, projections, and explorations that evolve with the advance of time. But then, as I’ve found, a writer’s present voice can venture into visitations of the past- as needed. Surely, my preference is to look forward, though I have known the discreet benefits of tracing steps from times long ago. Writing the grand voyage is both documentation and discovery. With conscientious writing comes learning. Thomas Merton acknowledged how writing brought depth to his monastic vocation, teaching him “to let go of my idea of myself, to take myself with more than one grain of salt.” He was certain of his vocation as a writer, affirming that writing was a spiritual gift given to him that he might in turn give it back through his work.

It is easy for me to coincide this 6th anniversary essay with my all-time favorite television serial The Prisoner. I’d have made the reference anyway with the protagonist’s name, “Citizen Number Six” in mind, but now can add photographs I recently took in Portmeirion, Wales. Patrick McGoohan chose to film The Prisoner in the Italianate peninsula village on the northwest coast of Wales, to add to the surrealism of his futuristic science-fiction drama. It was impossible not to recognize the sites of so many location shots when I finally saw the village in person.

The stories stem from a first episode that shows how Number Six had been abducted to a strange island of people with numbers as names, speaking in suspicious monotones, and dressing alike. The leadership (we never know if there is indeed a Number One) relentlessly tries to mentally break Number Six, but he is more than a match for the successions of Number Twos.

Above: This photo, bought at Cinemabilia in Greenwich Village, was framed over my desk when I was in high school.
Below: A few of the artifacts I brought back from Portmeirion.

The writing and filming are brilliant, as is McGoohan’s portrayal of a man who asserts his individuality, refuses to be confined, and repeats that he is not a number, but is a free man. When I first saw these episodes- repeatedly- as a fifteen-year-old, I was immediately captivated. The scenarios gave me plenty to think about, regarding the strength of an individual’s spirit. Number Six is just the sort of hero I’ve most preferred: wit and integrity defeating enemies, instead of cruelty and violence. Corporate tactlessness tends to live at the shallow end, and it does not last. Number Six, like Ray Bradbury’s Guy Montag, and other similar characters, must navigate higher roads- treacherous as they consistently are. And now comes year seven, with number six in its wake.

le cinquième

"I'm a little pencil in the hand of a writing God,
who is sending a love letter to the world."

~ Mother Teresa of Calcutta

fourth and go forth

“My Journal is that of me
which would else spillover and run to waste,
gleaning from the field which in action I reap.
I must not live for it, but in it”

~ Henry David Thoreau, Diary entry, February 8, 1841


Some unusual hot weather is hurrying the summer toward its midpoint, though it slows my paces and thought processes. The other day while speaking with a friend about journaling, I heard myself say that “no written mark is without meaning.” It reminded me of an instance, years ago, when my best friend tried to console my incredulous heartbroken self with “no gesture of sincere love is wasted.” Maybe so. But of journaling, to say that every thoughtful intention is of consequence and importance is surely beneath the papered layers of personal writing. Further, this idea was part of what motivated me to set forth my journaled musings on a blog four years ago.

By speaking on one’s own behalf, a healing path may be hewn out of wilderness. The first attempts were on the one free utility I knew at the time (mid-2006), which was MySpace. With the prominence and easy flexibility of Blogger, I moved to the latter, though continued posting to both sites for about a year- noticing two very different sets of responding audiences. Trying not to think too much about readership, I consolidated the blog- though I’ve been very grateful to readers, to being included in the eclectic Typosphere, for the various awards and publications. It’s all encouragement to persevere. The important thing has been to continue the journey. Among the benefits is deciding to appreciate landmarks in time.


Gratefully, I grew away from some of the blog’s early intent. Struggling with ignominy was at least enough to strike a spark, but then the idea of exulting in being unknown revealed freedom and comfort in navigating through blessed unknowing. And therein lies another essential to journaling: the action of writing through perplexities and hardships. Subjects must be brought above the status of conversation pieces; they need to be lived experiences. Even the recollections of past events occur in the real-time of journaling. Written words follow, and sometimes parallel, living; and that includes retrospection. Through pilgrimages and workweeks alike there is an inner voyage to document, observations, aspirations, and reminders not to lose sight of the human longing for advancement. The interior kind of pilgrimage is accompanied by outer progress. Cultivating perception corresponds with perseverance, which cultivates perception.

Trying to imagine “what is next” is almost antithetical to the idea of writing the journey. It seems the best thing is to write and not subject too much thought to this. Admittedly I heard myself say (my contribution to the world of writing prompts) that too much emphasis on the present can subvert a view to the future. To take stock and to cherish are fine things, but these must coexist with hopes and projects. An elder friend recently asked me, “what are your dreams?” It still surprises me how difficult that is to answer. Turn the page and re-ink that pen. Why not reclaim the aspect of “unreasonable” dreaming? Make wishes that needn’t be precluded by preconceptions of what’s possible and what isn’t. Alas, a detrimental by-product of endurance is the disabling of aspiration such that the outset is entangled in limitations. This leaves the narrowest of margins for dreams, prayers, and active hopes. Writing should be a chance to dispel such constriction.


Posting journal essays via blogging amidst a pervasive “Web 2.0" seems like canoeing the North Atlantic. The medium itself is equated with abundance and overload. Accompanying such ubiquitousness is a detectable general sense of media fatigue. Ironically, weariness with unrelenting persistent information networks occurs simultaneously with the hunger that feeds it. Nevertheless, as for me, the writing will continue. There are always ideas and images. Distances continue to be covered. As months and years advance, memory increasingly encompasses and deepens. But reflection- particularly in writing- has a way of compressing time. Something to ponder while sharpening a quickly-shortening pencil. There are always more, and they don’t cost much. With gratitude, year five of this experiment is already underway.