Waiting for inspiration

Lately, I have noticed myself waiting for inspiration. I have been immersed in nature, listening to birds, waiting for the magic to strike. The thought seems obvious in retrospect, but the waiting is completely futile. The only way there will be evidence of my writing is if I can actually get it done.

So I stop and write with the imposing Osaka Castle as the backdrop. I see the wonderful autumnal colours of Japan, the mix of greens, browns, reds, and all the colors in between that I cannot name… Ignorance is bliss they say, and knowledge is just the beginning of further ignorance. And that is all okay. It is easy to get caught up in the thoughts of wanting to do it all and wanting to see it all, and all of that simply gets in the way of the experience.

No one will remotely care how much I knew when I die, perhaps only those that felt like they had learnt from me. Yet, when they go, that will go too, and everything will vanish as if it never existed. The greats that are still around have no way of seeing how people revere them, and many of them were miserable in their lives. I count my blessings, for they are many. Simply being here is the culmination of a lot of them. I sit in this park, in the sun, next to my 奥さん and listen to the chirping of a Japanese bird whose name I do not know. I am certainly curious, but the chirping sounds better unlabelled. Is it trying to speak to me? Definitely not… Turns out that without even waiting, that inspiration suddenly came, and a few lines were written.