Been up since 4-something and I’m more than eager for the day and its messages. More knowledge and understanding of where I am and what I’m doing, and the why, the IT, to it all. I’m sitting in my kitchen, at the island counter, readying to leave for a meeting in Sonoma, about wine and business in wine. Not sure how much longer I’ll be in the business of wine, which is fine as I’ll always write about it, about her, like the Pinot from last night, everything she had to say. Like a new character contrasting her presence from the night previous. Not thinking and just writing this morning, listening to my music and looking at clock, knowing I have to be in car soon, heading East on 12. Sonoma. Would love to have a house near the square like my sister, but then I remember that Healdsburg was the other day very loudly calling me, and I more see my office there, just by the bakery, by the Oakville grocery. Now I’m confused but not as I don’t want to focus on the office’s location or locale, setting or stage, but the act of writing in wine country, everything the streets and the delis, restaurants and coffee shops tell me.
Before six in the morning, perfect time to write. The only time to write. Mornings now become worship areas, times and tells of present and future, what I’m about to meet and with what I’ll intersect. Like an inchmeal evolution and revolution I didn’t expect or even notice. Arraying and orchestrating my understandings and current knowledges, of wine and writing and me writing and why I am where I am, what I actuate. The conversation I had with that lady yesterday, over the phone just outside the tasting room was a lesson to itself, for my Self, new sight and knowledge, a sharp and acute awareness of where I’m going. Business, otherwise… with thought, my thoughts and perceptions and estimations of self. Then the meeting last night with the wines and the sensory objects in glasses, the mushrooms, toast pieces, herbs, cherries, chocolate… all a story, all in my story. Wine proving and asserting more than metaphoric placement and pedagogy. Wine telling me about knowledge and life and what I learn in the story…. What to do next, what I write next. What song is following this current track.
When in graduate school, I couldn’t wait to get out but as well dreaded when it was all over. I actually hoped the diploma’s mailing would be prolonged as much as possible, that it would just keep going and going, and maybe they’d find that I had to take just one more class, that I’d be a student for a few steps longer. But no. It ended. Till now. Till this time in my story, nearing 40, and I’m more a student than I’ve ever been, truthfully. The exactness of my narration startles me, if you should now. I now who I am, why I am who I am and why I am where I currently sit in this kitchen at the island counter, about to drive to Sonoma for a meeting about wine and whatever else. On the drive, as I always do— music. Meditation. Collection.
I’m more than happy this morning, not just with the knowledge of the tasting room life about to dissolve, but with this new narrative, this new sight, this new understanding and furthered study of me. Moi.
7/26/18
Bobbing my head to this beat, my beat, the beat of this music and the writing itself with all these people around me, wondering what I’m writing, I’m sure, or not.