Fevers and Enthusiasms

Ray Bradbury talks of a writer’s excitement and vigor. Of fevers and enthusiasm. This wannabe’s internal muse – that bottomless eternal muse! – comes alive, reading Zen in the Art of Writing.

Is there a contradiction between my thirst for serenity and these fever’s that I so enjoy, that make me come alive? Can the organism be vibrant, seeking, growing – curious, active - and ever ready. And yet – gaining calm, peace and serenity? Is it possible to be firing on all four cylinders, re-fuelling midflight as it were, and yet – stationary except for that Sunflower’s turn of the head to track heat and warmth?

It is not stillness I seek, is it? No. The river is not still. It bubbles, it flows, it is incessant. It storms down boulder strewn canyons, wearing the rough rocks smooth. It swirls in deep pools, sucking life in. And it flows on, rippling under this bridge, a pause between fever and enthusiasm.