One of the composers in residence here played for us tonight. For the past five weeks, he's been composing a sonata and what we heard this evening was staggeringly good. As I walked back to my studio afterwards, I told myself that I'd be thrilled to accomplish a fraction of what he's done, but maybe that's the wrong attitude. I'm still working on the same two books that I've been writing for the past three or four years. My agent's been waiting for the revision of my memoir for months. Maybe what I need to do is work harder instead of telling myself that I'll be content with just a little bit of progress. Of course, I've been learning to write as I go along. Probably the composer has been playing the piano like a genius for years--or at least a while before he started composing.Anyway, here's a picture of my desk in my little studio that was once a chicken coop. Maybe I should think of writing as laying an egg. Nevermind.
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My sense is that our skills carry over from lifetime to lifetime. I always had the sense that I had been a dancer in my immediate past lifetime and with Margret and that I was continuing that work in my current lifetime until my marriage blew up. I entered St Benedict's as a music/art/theater major and eventually narrowed my focus to dance/theater. But now that I have been studying voice, singing in a choir and writing for Goodage those other skills are starting to come back and I feel a little like I'm living simutaneous lives. It has a sense of being in a time warp or a shifting landscape. There is a Jane Roberts book about the oversoul 7...It's like that except not hypothetical, but my actual lived experience.
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