A Year of silence

It’s been a year (nearly) of no writing here. Actually, it’s been over a year of “no writing” anywhere. Not on Facebook where I used to be somewhat a “fearless” writer, penning quick, deep (ha!) insights, encouraged by adoring friends and “fans.” These days, I subsist on funny forwards, sharing them onward, again encouraged by guffawing friends. I have little to say that is profound or “deep,” and if anything feels particularly illuminating, it has little chance of making it to “print” before I rip it all up, metaphorically, of course (I never tear out actual paper), and it’s back to the blank sheet/screen. It isn’t that this time is one of blank incomprehension or dullness or a creative void—it’s just that very little energy seems to be available for self-expression. This is a fallow phase, maybe? For those Jyothisha-inclined, I am going through Ketu Mahadasha, a 7-year-period that is characterized by lack of coherence and material progress, among other things. This passive shadow Gruha is also regarded as “the cutter,” so I am wondering what’s on the chopping block. (Groping for the right phrase, I first thought “what’s on the anvil,” then “what’s on the cutting board!”)

Ahh, well. I have stared blankly at ceilings and fans and walls, peered into the dimming light, waited for the hours to tick by… so I could get to bed, and do it all over again the next day. This is vacancy, this is waiting, this is emptiness. And so it is.

All of this to say that the Rich Vegetarian is going nowhere, AND not going anywhere, instead staying put, right here and right now. (And this is the longest piece of writing in a long time, so thank you, God.)