When I woke up this morning, there had already been a fair amount of activity. A whole holiday cook book (including Hanukkah recipes) had been hand printed, illustrated and bound, several presents had been wrapped and copious tiny gift cards had been created and distributed on said presents. I think this is just about my favourite time of Christmas. I get so delighted seeing all the little fragments of shiny paper and coloured pencils strewn around the tree. The lights are like tinder for a stream of gift ideas and decorations that just need a little paper and tape and creativity (and a stapler never goes amiss) to assemble. The elves are busy.
We talk to ourselves everyday, all day (and night) for the whole of our lives. We started talking to ourselves before we knew we were a self, we forget what we said because we forget everything from before...when we were too young and busy developing our brain to remember those early years. There is still lingering residue of long forgotten conversations I have had with myself as a toddler sitting around in the crevices...sloughing off occasionally into words I tell myself still. We talk non-stop, and not just with dialogue. Our goosebumps communicate to us, our tingly feelings, our neurons, our peripheal vision. They are all submitting data into our self and expecting us to react, respond or all to often, expecting what they are sending us will be ignored. After all that talking, you'd think we'd know what we think about most things, but occasionally we are stumped. Unless we stop what we are doing and really concentrate sometimes that voice(s) ...
Comments
Post a Comment