I thought I was going to skip writing today. No inspiration, so I let it go. I sit still and look at the field I see every day. Hot air coming from my stove distorts playing hares in the distance. The ripples remind me of the malleability of reality. Mushrooms do that too. Sometimes the world seems too beautiful to be real.
Writing a journal daily sharpens the mind. You become more attentive; your life a little richer.
I collect sentences and fragments of daily life in a black notebook. I flip through it. Zuikitsu, an ancient Japanese style of writing loosely connected essays and fragments that spring forth from stray thoughts and the natural environment of the author. Tied to fudi ni shitagau; to follow the pencil, capriciously running behind thoughts.