The Amazing Ancient Concept of Wu Wei

Perfectionism, which by its very nature includes 'striving', used to be the bane of my life.  I'm not sure why this trait developed in me, but I know that it grew and hardened in me as a result of the school I attended, where expectations of outstanding levels of achievement in every area were the norm.  It coloured every aspect of my life, from the orderly state of my bedroom to my long hours of self-prompted practice on violin and piano until I was note-perfect, not withstanding moments where I would bash the keys in frustration or throw the violin down (on the bed, fortunately).  I was hugely self-critical, much more than I was critical of others, but, as is the case with perfectionists, also hugely dissatisfied with life.  My stories, which to begin with I wrote with great pleasure and abandon from about age seven onwards, became increasingly straight-jacketed by my own expectations of an impeccable finished product.  By the time I was thirteen, I let nobody read my work.  By the time I was fifteen, I had a dozen edits of my latest novel, none completed, each tighter and less able to breathe than the last.  Yes, I ended up with good prose.  I also ended up with dead stories.

The Middle Way

  

We live in a culture that has a real problem with walking the 'middle way'.

A culture that celebrates extreme fashion, extreme behaviour, black-and-white viewpoints and strong opinions - preferably controversial ones.   A culture that hero-worships people who are impossible to live with but by gum, they make great television, radio, and best-selling biographies, which coincidentally also means they rake in the money. A culture that belittles and disregards those who choose not to share what they think, or - God forbid - admit they don't actually have an opinion, the 'fence-sitters' of politics and current events. 

Paradise Found

 

I have just returned from a very special week in France, at my first-ever writers' retreat.

It was a week filled with poetry and prose, interesting conversations with like-minded people, and the kind of atmosphere that is so conducive to being creative.  The setting consisted of everything I love most: creaking verandas overgrown with wild lavender and jasmine; secluded gardens with comfy cushions under rattling aspen trees; a wild mountain stream with a deep pool in which we could swim and paddle; tangled woods; forest-clad mountains; donkeys and chickens and nightjars and thrumming bees - and even a small grass snake. It reminded me of my old paradise, Cobb Valley (A Piece of Heaven), with its sun-baked earth and wild unravelling edges, and the ever-present rumble of the distant waterfall.