I have no choice - zen is back in my life. For christmas Adèle and Randy gave me a beautiful zafu (meditation cushion), a book aptly entitled ZEN with images, writings and haikus ranging from 8th century to contemporary authors, and a little gold tibetan statuette of the Buddha. I'm so damn sentimental, I nearly broke down in tears when I received the gifts. They are beautiful, but also a complete reminder of things lacking in my life this past year. I looked down at the items in my lap to secretly compose myself before looking back up with a smile. When I returned home on Friday night, I went straight to my room and finally cleaned the disaster I've been breeding in there for the past month. Now my room is back to its minimalistic self, with the new addition of the statuette sitting prominently on my bureau next to the zen book.

But of course that's just a start. It's christmas night and I'm feeling lonesome. I've got a dog who is looking out the window with loud wimpers, a couple of hissing cats hiding somewhere and a great big headache. At least I have the company of a new album, the Kings of Convenience's Quiet is the New Loud, thanks to the very cool gift from Julie, fresh out of Norway. Still, I'm feeling weird. I haven't called anyone on Christmas day for the first time in years. I'm in that strange space where I feel bored while intentionally staying away from any form of true communication. I'm sorry if I haven't said hello - you are in my thoughts, really. I'm just in a quiet mood these days. I was all helter-skelter for a while and I'm just getting off the ride, if you know what I mean.

I spent some time in front of the piano yesterday, which was nice. I didn't enjoy the memory lapses that stemmed from so much time away from it, but it wasn't too bad. And as I tinkered away I remembered a conversation I had with someone recently about the creative process. At the time I had explained that I can't do anything beyond interpreting someone else's creations; writing my own stuff just doesn't happen in music. But the person I spoke with was convinced that the mind block was a superficial one that could be overcome with some experimentation, confidence and a laid-back approach. That conversation was insightful, fun and a great reminder of things to overcome - a talk which, it must be said, came at a great price that night - but has at least stayed with me to push me towards new directions and possibilities. So I tried to let go of my ego and I allowed my fingers to create unknown patterns and find alternative sounds from the ones already familiar to me. What resulted was probably crap, but it was nice to let go somehwhat and just fuck around on the keyboard. Wouldn't it be nice to just travel around and make a living on music? Nevermind the fame, who cares about the fame. It's the rest, all of it, that I want. Or dream of, rather.

Bring on the winter. I love winter. Why are you complaining about winter? Everything was going perfectly until the spring showed up. So I want to take walks in the brisk winter air. The freezing air. I want to wear sweaters and cute tuques. I want to read books in a warm room as the snow falls outside, I want to quietly snowshoe around the Lac des Fées alone, I want to visit the National Gallery with my new year-long membership. I want to blend in the background with my white coat, the one with the huge hood that swallows me up when I throw it over my head. Yes, the one I've been called Marshmellow in, or Snow Princess, and even James Bond Ski Bunny. I want to see my breath, I want to actually see the air that sustains my life and keeps me here for some reason or other. I want to sit on my zafu and let the craziness settle around me on the wood floor of the room I've slept in all this time. I want to lie in bed in my clean room with just my string of white lights on as I wonder about things, or wait in silent comfort. Waiting for you to shed your fear and ego and tell me nice things that you like about me, waiting to read that revelatory letter you want to share with me, waiting for you to ask me to visit you, waiting for you to forgive me, waiting for me to forgive you, waiting for you to knock on my door unexpectedly, waiting for you to have a realization. Waiting to be stunned in surprise. Waiting to feel that nervous happy feeling you'll create in me again. Waiting to fall asleep in your presence. Waiting for you to be emotional and open, waiting for you to have your arms wide open, waiting for you to have no motives. Waiting for my turn. Waiting for you to realize that you are a lot of people, waiting for you to read this and recognize yourselves, friends and lovers, somewhere in this waiting. And more than anything, waiting to find a way not to wait for any of these things.

I saw a beautiful painting today, it was called The Sleeping Must Awaken. That is my new motto. You know I'm both so serious and silly, right? So soft and rough around the edges? But it's simple really; it doesn't take much to make me happy. Ecstatic, even. But wake up, wake up! Sometimes I feel like I've been pacing up and down the room as I watch you in slumber. I'd like to wake you up gently, perhaps with a song on my new CD alarm clock. And don't you dare press snooze, I don't want to interrupt this pretty song.
But if you do,
let's meet here again
on the eve of 2007,
and just reconsider then.