Today is the longest day of this year.

It is midsummer. In the country where I live, this is something special. Our laws control the distribution of alcoholic liquids. A Government agency takes care of this in practice. This week, they have a hard time to get all orders distributed to us.
Finally, the sun has decided on giving us summer even at our latitudes. Tourists are beginning to arrive at our island. My soul needs calm surroundings. Now, I must search for remote locations in the woods to get it.
I have been writing with intensity for 1032 days in a row. Not just when I feel like it. But, on the average, I reach above five hundred words each day. A sudden thought made me write in English instead of my native tongue: Swedish. The liberal market economy surrounding me must have had its influence.
I believe my writing in English works well. After all, there exist software that assists me in removing most significant language errors. At least errors in spelling and design of sentences. But when it concerns subject and substance my old experience is still in charge. Writing in my journal make my soul come to rest. I reflect on what I believe is happening to me and my immediate surrounding. Social, political and worldly concerns do not consume any space.
My interest is egocentric. How do I take care of the creative vein I have. How do I make something out of it? I see others fight with the same question, so I am not that egocentric. My underlying belief is that we all have our set of obstacles and brakes that limit us. There is no broad road to creativity.
The concept of creativity itself does often lead or minds astray. We believe it is an ability that we can learn and train as we can do with most other abilities. I believe it is more of an individual mode of looking at ourselves and our personalities. At least this is the impression I have got when walking along my life path.
Now, the drive behind my writing has settled a bit. Is there a full stop ahead or time for catching my breath? I chose the latter.
In my thoughts, my engineering skills do still perform their wild dance. Roughly speaking they show: “you should do things this way. I have tried this in practice, and I have demonstrated that it does work on many occasions. It is a practical knowledge that is useful to you too!” I have encountered similar argumentation in academia. They have given practical knowledge a value in parity with knowledge based on science.
In me, the engineering attitude seems to have deep roots. It does continue to control what I write and how. I reflect on faults and errors in the piece of machinery I call me. I follow by having a concern of how I should mend my machine! Otherwise, I will never be as good and talented as all the others are.
Or what is this? Do I want to be clever? Do I want to feel that there is a fault and the fault is within me? Do I need to regard myself as a piece of machinery caught in the eyes of my engineering spectacles? – No, not anymore. I have done so for many years. I have tried that path and the consequences. I know what I have got, and did not get. Now, I want to put this well known role to the side and find a new one. You may say it is a bit late. But anyhow, I will try it. I am note yet prepared to sit on a bench in a park spreading bread crumbs to the birds. At least not for hours and every day.
Yesterday, during my writing, my associative mind directed my attention to tree stories. They were: ”The Old Man and the Sea, Don Quijote and the legend: The Flying Dutchman.” Why did my mind do this to me? To my knowledge, all these stories concern elderly men that continue too far in old tracks. They followed a pattern of practical experience into absurdity. Should I take this as a writing subject with myself as an example? No, this looks like a bit too much of hubris on my part. Do I believe, that I could reach something on this issue? To my understanding, two distinguished authors and their characters did not.
Maybe my issue is that there is no answer to how we grow old in a decent manner. Most of us operate as smooth working gears in the big production machinery. Growing old means that this time is over. We are just waiting for a coffin. But in this part of our lives, each of us has a unique challenge to be human, to be something of value. Although, we are not well prepared to address this question. We are not prepared to stay at it.
On the global level, I find that many governments seem to enter a new stage in their way to work. Going forward appears to be a critical issue. This line of thinking is clearest in France, at least in words. A lot of others are lurking around trying to go back to older times, values, conditions and attitudes. This may concern both right and left wings, market liberals and state system economists.
But, back to my track. How do I use words to sustain my forward movements? I favour letting it come as it is. Once I said: ”My desire is to be heard before I am able to speak”.
A breeze of trust in myself and the situation goes through my worn body and dusty skull. I feel as if I did just have access to a moment of ”now” with high bandwidth. I must have cleared my channels from major debris. – I better go outside and do the same to a pond in my small garden inspired by Zen.