OK, so I lied. I haven't made the best go of bringing the blog back. But, now I have a new idea.

Before I reveal my new grand idea, I have to explain what I have been up to. Since the middle of March, I have been receiving free creativity coaching, to progress me along the path of becoming a writer. Part of my coaching has been to get me to start doing morning pages. Morning pages, or as I like to call them - Mourning Pages- are three pages of long hand writing that you do first thing in the morning before your analytical, logical, conscious mind wakes up. The idea of this is to allow your creativity to flow from your dreaming, subconscious mind. The pages can be about anything and written any way. It is just 3 pages of stream of consciousness writing.

Now, for my idea: I have already completed one entire journal of mourning pages, and wanted to blog excerpts from it.

March 14th - Here I am in Canmore. I am sitting in Janka's family home, eating stale cheese that has been left out overnight. Well, not really. The partiers got home at 3am, and it is now 9:45am, so really only 6 hours. That's not too bad for cheese is it? Regardless, a few bites in I had to check to make sure the waxy paper was off - it is possible that in my starved, hungover state I simply forgot to think about the waxy paper...
I am making coffee...mmmm coffee. I hope no one gets up until I have had one cup at least.
I love being in the mountains. I love the drive, and seeing them for the first time. It's like seeing a long lost friend - only quieter and way more serene.
4 minutes to coffee.
Coffee is like my second favorite long lost friend - or maybe even my first. Talk about quiet comfort, serene acceptance, and uplifting company.
I got up this morning to write. That actually excites me. I wanted to get up to the silence and solitude of the house. Like the way i used to be - eager to meet the day with something productive and energizing. I am glad I have developed this new routine. I find these morning/mourning pages really empty my mind. Its like my head is a jug, the pen is the handle, and the ink the spout. Out pours everything and more, onto these pages.
I got up early to write about the mountains. The majestic forms that embrace this valley. My plan was foiled by the fact that it is overcast and snowing. I can't even see the mountains. Not like that really matters though. The mountains have an energy of solidity and safety all on their own. Its like when you arrive in the mountains at night, it just feels different. Whether it is the freshness in the air, or the smell of pine, I am not sure, but it is something. It is an expansive denseness, the solidity is so light it could almost be mistaken for subtle reassurance.
Whenever I look at the mountains I always wonder, "what are the animals doing now?" When it is cold an misty like this, when the mountain that envelops us is enveloped by a cloud, I wonder "what are the animals doing?" Maybe they are in their little burrows and dens sipping their coffee and admiring their mountains to.