One day last week I spent the afternoon without access to the internet (OK, it was all day, but I was out of the office in the morning), and I realized that I *can* do things without a messaging, and checking various news sites, and and and, though I don't really want to. It took me awhile to find my groove that afternoon and to return phone calls, write checks, stare blankly out the window and realize that's OK, every once in awhile. Though, please, powers-that-be, don't let it be too often.
In the midst of this I discovered the desire to cut things us and paste them on more paper. Some cal it collage. Some call it mixed media. I call it a mild and cheap form of therapy. But I don't keep many supplies in my office -- a circle template, some folders that I repurpose after they've held committee reports and council statements and education proposals from pastors gone by, and some official magazines that I'm getting better at letting go of. I pulled out the file and grabbed a couple of magazines and sat down -- fighting the urge to read, again, the articles, and instead grabbing images -- faces, poetry, words, fonts. Lifting style and vision from the pages with scissor, with tear, with another purpose not yet realized.
Why was I holding this particular issue, I wondered. Over two years old now, and with a cover author that I didn't know (and still don't), it had sat on my shelf, been transferred at least twice from container to container, and still I held onto it, the large ampersand on the cover curling about itself, standout yellow on gray. On the pages were dreams, I realized, some of my dreams from before, from long ago, from yesteryear, from back then. Not realized, those offers and programs called forth from the page, come here, go there, low-residency, top folks, study with the best.
I got part way through the magazine before I started to feel that twinge, that pull, that things that said, this is why you've saved me -- because within these pages there is something more than script on paper, there is something more than programs and offers, there is something other than today or yesterday or even tomorrow -- hope, vision, dream. With that in hand, I wrote this all down, then turned to face the paper again -- scissors and glue, circle and promise, together to create a new vision from old dreams.