Symbiotic Orders of Magnitude

JUNE 01, 2014   SUNDAY MORNING

    I love you, Christel.  Good morning.

    Well I woke up fully alert at 4:00 AM and ready to get to work on our books.  I realized that heavy research and freeform writing, such as these letters to you, have a kind of symbiotic relationship with each other.  To point out just one detail of what I mean, the freeform writing produces a melodic or poetic flow of words and ideas.  A stream of consciousness.  Then sometimes the smooth flow and rhythm is disturbed by the distraction of a deficiency in my understanding about a concept I have come up against.  This produces a kind of froth or turbulence around concepts that are I am not used to thinking about.  I need clearer definitions of these occasional concepts before I can write them in the same flowing manner as the rest of my stream of consciousness.  

    It's much like practicing scales and difficult harmonic phrases in music.  The slower more methodical practice trains the mind and body to flow through the difficult pieces until the pieces of music become, as they say, second nature and the joy of the experience emerges in perfect relationship with the complete holistic experience.

    That is music which is the same as writing.

    This experience, by the way, is beyond time in that it is spread out over all individual moments that comprise the experience.   It is like our single human bodies are forms overlaying and comprising the countless individual living forms of the cells working together in symbiotic relationships with each other and living their own dramas and lives which, taken all together, produce the one unified form of the single human being which is orders of magnitude larger and includes every single one of the living cells.

    Life is at all levels and death has no reality anywhere other than being a change in form on this level or that one ad infinitum.

    This same type of complete symbiotic experience, spread out laterally and vertically, on all levels of existence is everywhere one looks, everywhere one goes.  In the literary life of which I began writing about, this morning, it is one life form overlaid onto many single living moments of conceptual trials and errors and successes.  It is called "writing".  

    I love you, Honey Bun.  Let's get to work.  Shall we?  

    Oh, really?  We have already been working?  Yes.  I suppose you are right.  We have been.