Writing and Raining, Yurt Living

When I want to write and I cannot I am not myself. I’m not talking about writer’s block here, writer’s block is a hint to take a break, do something else, or dig deeper; there is no such thing as writer’s block, it is an illusion.

I am talking about not having the time, or space to write. This has been my issue the last few days, but here I am, at a new house sitting gig, a yurt more specifically, and I have the time and space to write.

Writing is exercise, an art that comes to fruition when one is destined and dedicated. One of the most important ingredients though is something to write about, experience. I think that is why it may be foolish to study writing in college if you have not experienced much. A better bet may be to take a year off and move to another country, or ramble our own countryside, doing what you love: playing music, writing poetry, climbing rocks, floating rivers, or skiing mountains, etcetera.

Where I am, at this yurt, just outside of Durango, the rain is coming down, and my thoughts are centering, forming onto this page (screen). Rain is a blessing in the desert, and its timing is perfect. We are nothing without rain.

Living is simple on this seven acre piece of property. Each amount of energy is thought of as it is used. The water tank has only so much water, the computer can only be used when the generator is fired up, and candles are used for lighting. It is romantic. We get our eggs from the chickens, not the store, and have to feed the other animals (donkeys, sheep, cats, dog and the llama) twice a day. I am falling into a groove with this place and falling in love.

I am trying to turn my life into one where I can eat based on what I write. What a privilege that is. I am not there yet, but I am getting closer and closer. Closer to living the dream. I write my dreams and I write my experiences. The rain continues to fall, as I slip deeper and deeper into the moment, the groove, my destiny. What is yours?