I have so much to say about this amazing essay. First of all, I am speechless at the craft of your writing Kimberly. There are so many beautiful sentences I read over and over in awe of how you strung the words together. It is beautiful!
Even more beautiful is your offering, the gentle holding out of your hands to say 'look here Dear One, look at what repetition can offer your soul.' This gift comes at the perfect time, as these things do. I am heading into a season of grey monotony that is Canadian winter. It will be filled with repetition - and joy and beauty of course.
Thank you for sharing your creations with us. These are NOT the cats I was picturing in my mind as I was reading!! Your cats are works of art, I love them.
Donna, you always know just the right things to say. You make my heart expand with gratitude for your reflective reading. We are entering the monotonous grey down here in Oregon as well. I reach northwards through the fog to dance in its subtle beauty with you. I love that you gave monotony a voice, “Look here Dear One…” Oh yes, you get it! She cares, she wants us to relax into the quiet surrender of our soul. Thank you thank you Donna.
You craft such beautiful sentences and paragraphs, but I’m left out in the cold when trying to comprehend them and write them on my heart. It’s frustrating to be battling the brain fog that comes with fibromyalgia, ankylosing spondylitis and the confusion and mental fatigue brought on by insomnia and my medications. Reading the comments I feel a strong sense of loss that I’m missing out on a thoughtful and important message that others are able to partake in. I want to read this as many times as needed in order to draw out the same sentiments that others in the comments are expressing. I don’t know whether to bear down hard to try and squeeze the meaning from your words or to just read them over and over again until the repetition begins to unlock the truth that other, more sophisticated and alert readers are finding here. I am jealous of the readers who have found their connection with your words.
I hope that your condition is improved a lot. Forty-nine years ago I completed four years of French in school and I came very close to acing the New York State Regents exam in French, so I gather that your condition must make you feel all the time like you’ve just gotten off of roller skates. That must be horrible. Be well, and please keep writing your thoughts, and maybe through repeated reading and reflection I will be able to enjoy them and take them to heart.
Oh Rafeal, my heart hurts to hear this! I know brain fog well (and in fact I wrote In Defense of Fog last month, that included brain fog) and it always makes my cognition feel quite sludgy. And I hate knowing that somehow my essay perhaps dumped more mud into the mix. It's beyond frustrating. You know what I would do? Instead of trying to read it again while you're in a fog, pick up a quiet task (knitting, collaging, folding laundry...) and allow yourself to simply rest in the mindless simplicity. Forcing ourselves to understand while where in the fog only makes things worse. Trust that the gentle movement of your hands knows exactly what you need. The meaning and understanding from the essay might come through simply by doing it, not reading about it. ;)
I am doing better, mostly through having grace for myself in the "new normal" of it all. Not needing it to be any other way and trusting the cycles of good days and bad. Sending you much love.
Hi Kimberly, I’m definitely doing better today, thank you! And I’m glad that you’re coping with your condition. That was great advice you gave. I’ve been doing light housekeeping and coloring during my free time. I’ve also been playing my guitar when I’m able. (I had CMC joint surgery eight years ago and the thumb of my fretting hand is often sore and always weak.) I’m still a passable rock and blues guitarist, thanks to lower tension strings. Coloring can be stressful at times because I can’t just grab a pencil a go crazy with it, so I’m learning not to be such a perfectionist. One of my too-many hobbies has been making electric guitars in my shop. Until recently I’ve made all the wooden parts from scratch, but now I’ve bought a kit where most of the hard work is already done because of the arthritis in my hands. I have a few notions how to customize the kit parts and come up with something original.
I never meant to make anyone feel bad, least of all you, Kimberly. Whenever I write something during a sleepless night it has a tendency to come out sort of whiny. I was just feeling left out of something special and reading the glowing comments didn’t help at all. Since I’ve been relaxing with my Prismacolors and coloring book, I’ve gone back and re-read the first few paragraphs of your post. My mind is rested and more focused now and I’m able to appreciate your symbols and metaphors more easily. That is some story about how your simple, repetitive craftwork has pulled you through a simply awful bout with chronic illness. I showed your kitties to my wife and we’re both amazed at the artistry and workmanship, as well as the imagination that you’ve shown in their creation. I wish you all the blessings in the world, for you and those dear to you. Next on my agenda: finish reading the piece in praise of monotony, then take a look at the essay on brain fog. Thanks again!
You’re a dear to circle back Rafael! And I love hearing about your work building electric guitars! Now that’s something I might feel completely out-of-the-loop on if I read about it. ;) Making all the little pieces from scratch? Incredible.
Please no sweating or fretting about your sleepless-induced bad day. I have so many of those I’ve lost count. And brain fog is miserable, truly. So I get the frustration and I applaud your willingness to be vulnerable and say, “What the hell are you talking about!!!!??” Makes me smile and feel more courageous about doing the same next time I’m feeling left out.
Wishing you much peace and clear, blue sky days ahead.
Hi Kimberly! Fidgeting with our sentinels of time may explain my feeling stuck all day today in concrete mental processing…of everything. Abstraction left the room. When I began reading your essay, reading about the sequela of MAL de Débarquement Syndrome brought thoughts of descending to Purgatory.
That you began Needle Felting, and provided lots of details, was met with my “Does Not Compute” of my concrete brain power. I set your essay aside and performed some overdue tasks for our home, ate dinner, and have resumed processing your essay. Only when I saw your Needle Felted cats did I begin to comprehend, and I was staggered by your details and colors and poses and frozen movements. Their (the cats) postures of being frozen in mid-stride provided a 3-D representation, perhaps, of your own predicament from MdDS.
I so admire your strength and determination to commit to the daily sessions of Needle Felting and letting your self discovery unfold. Mindfulness while Felting.
I was delighted to learn of your knowing my favorite Orcadian, Samantha Clark. I look forward to the “The Life Boat” every Wednesday. Her book, The Clearing, introduced me to both her difficult childhood and the daunting task, after both her parents had passed, of preparing the home for market
. Her two younger brothers helped with the dunning out from bottom to top. In the book she relived difficult periods from her growing up years. As you observed about Sam, her art form today relies on a magical layering of pigment on huge aluminum panels. Once that layering is set (and the first pigment flows decide their own outcome) she begins the interconnecting of tiny shapes-squares, circles, loops-that seem to take on a life of their own. A close cousin of Needle Felting as you and I both sense.
Finally, and thanks for bearing with me, I’ve become capable of seeing your essay in a human, yet abstract, way. I’m glad I didn’t sputter to a stop.
"Wrangling the sentinels of time." Ha! What a great way to put it. Boy is it brutal! I feel it too, so not too worry friend.
That said, you're my second reader who had a "does not compute!" I better make sure I'm not waxing into too many distant or abstract lands with my writing. Thanks for hanging in there Gary, I'm glad you came back. And yes, Samantha Clark. I ADORE her writing and art and have her memoir queued up on my Kindle. It's been on my radar for quite some time and I'm looking forward to diving in... I think I'll get brave and see if she wants to do an interview with me after I read it as well. ;)
Kimberly, you are not “waxing into too many distant lands.” The moon is waxing now, albeit late for Halloween. I accept the absolute fact of my own “dithering by clock!” Recently Sam wrote (not on the usual The Life Boat day) “I cut my cluck in half…” I was lost and reported my failure to understand. She replied, “I meant “clock” but my attempts to correct the spelling are futile.” I think that is typical of emails and messages once sent.
Please keep writing as you do, and I’ll do my part by stepping away when I feel out of the loop. Michalangelo once advised, “Step away from your work. Cease what you’re doing. Walk across the street for something to eat or drink. Enjoy your selection. When finished and ready to return, you will do so with your mind refreshed as well
as having a new perspective on your efforts.”
An extensive paraphrase of my memory. Wayne Dwyer produced a book of wisdom from great thinkers through the ages. 60 Days To Enlightenment.
What a pleasant exchange of information and ideas, Kimberly.
Monotony as an Rx for modernity, a reminder to slow down, observe and engage with our interiority.
Sometimes, we are so busy doing, doing, doing, we forget to ground into the marvelousness of being, and the moments where we can enjoy life's simple pleasures.
Beingness can be an antidote to spinning through life in a whirl and missing the beauty of our one singular Earthly experience. Thank you for sharing, Kimberly. Lovely meditation
Monotony RX. I love this so much. If only they sold this over-the-counter. ;) Thank you Robin for your thoughtful reflections. Feeling the slow hands of time especially today with the US clocks set back and relishing in the calm nothingness of being.
Thanks, Kimberly. The beauty of Monotony Rx is that there is no need to purchase it--it comes from inside each of us. It is the prescription that comes from inside us with an ability to tolerate Nature's time--slow, measured, cyclical and ever-present. One of my favorite books ever is The Hidden Life of Trees, by Peter Wholleben, about how trees and plants communicate with each other and with us energetically, but on a clock that ticks in centuries, not seconds or minutes or years or decades.
In my time travel adventure series @The Edge of Yesterday, my intrepid STEMinista and time traveler Charley encounters time on many different levels, including meeting a mysterious character named Kairos--someone who always seems to show up "just in time"--as opposed to our western notion of time as Chronos, by the clock.
Like everything, time is what we make of it. I say relish every instant!
Beautifully stated Robin. Doesn’t all the best medicine come from within? The over-the-counter version would pale in comparison, though it could get those wary of monotony to try—all bottled up in promising pink pills. But only one month prescriptions available, then people must turn inwards and toward Nature for abundant, everlasting refills.:) What a fun exploration you’re doing in your adventure series! It’s an important reminder and perspective shift to imagine time outside of our very limited “chronos” experience.
Your work is so beautiful Kimberly- both your evocative writing and your lovely cats. I wanted to also share the added joy this brought me this morning— because my dad, an artist, picked up needle felting in his last months of life. Suffering peripheral neuropathy, he was frustrated not being able to wield a paintbrush or pen, but he was able to sculpt beautiful animals from the comfort of his hospital bed. His last project was a life size purple cat… so reading about your felting practice felt like a hug from him today— in the mysterious and tender way we interconnect with one another’s deeply personal lives often without ever knowing the extent. Thank you. 🙏🏼
I don’t doubt for a minute that somewhere in this web of tangled existence, your dad’s purple cat nudged one of my colorful kitties and said “Hey, Lisette’s dad has a hug for her, can you deliver the message?” Grinning with a soft heart and gratitude over here for your thoughtful reply and for the opportunity to be some kind of conduit for the embrace you needed today.
I've got to say those cats are absolutely amazing! If that's what monotony leads to give me more!
I was thinking about this the other day in relation to writing, how monotonous moments are so valuable because they seem to generate a state of mind that allows the subconscious to really get into high gear, and the "you consciousness" to rest. I was thinking that Monotony is fertile ground, weirdly enough, for engendering deep thinking where you can get out of your own way a little?
And then you write another sophisticated contemplation that sets out my rambling thoughts in a much more thoughtful way. Thanks Kimberly, beautifully done!
Absolutely Jonathan! Maybe it’s not too dissimilar from fog in that way (explored in last months essay); both seem to quiet our urgent “me voice” and allow more subtle, creative aspects of the self to emerge. I doubt our subconscious is ever in a hurry and driven to escape the tedium of life? All fertile ground for the subconscious. I can hear her now, chewing away… nom nom nom…
The perfect creative situation - repetitive behaviour in the fog? He he, well, with winter fast approaching I'm going to thrive in my writing 🤣. I wonder whether the subconscious even has a concept of tedium, there's far to much to be getting on with. Tedium's left to the monkey voice to moan on and on about.
Bravo! I once met an artist who learned the monotonous craft of bending and weaving small twigs into bird nests, and then into nearly any shape she desired, to the point of building a boat the size of a small car, which I'm sure could have carried her down a river. And it certainly had.
Wow! This is such a wonderful anecdote. I would love to see this boat if you happen to know the artist’s name or have a photo? Reminds me of how delicious it is for some of us to fall into the hands of monotony, almost to the point of addiction, our focus so single-pointed that we forget about anything else. Guilty. Though I never built a cat the size of car!
Thank you for such a thoughtful reply. I love how you described the pull of monotony—it captures something beautifully meditative about the artist's work. Unfortunately, I don’t have her name or a photo; it was indeed many years ago at an arts festival, and her creation left a lasting impression on me. I often share this story with young clients exploring careers as an example of how deeply focusing on something seemingly small or simple can lead to something remarkable, and how others recognize the value in that dedication. It’s a powerful reminder of how meaning unfolds in unexpected ways.
A stunning essay, Kimberly. I was, for a long time, someone who couldn't tolerate monotony - I was always restless and moving onto the next thing, and so frustrated if I was forced to be still. I'm coming to embrace monotony now. It seems like, all along, it's what my nervous system has been craving - I just didn't understand what it was telling me. Thank you for these beautiful words, I needed a meditation on monotony today x
This surprises me Rebecca. Your essays exude calm, stillness, and the kind of insight that seems to require these quieter states. I'm so grateful to have you here. Your essays have become in inbox treat like no other so it's quite an honor to feel you reaching back through the ethers.
I am learning to inhabit quiet - writing has always been the best space for me to inhabit it restfully and it's wonderful to hear that the stillness comes through. I'm so grateful to have found you here, too, Kimberly! Your writing astonishes and nourishes me.
Gorgeous essay, Kimberly!!! Every line seeps with beauty and reflection. I didn't want it to end.
Every single time I see your felines, my eyes well with tears. I don't know if it's because I know they were made when you were struggling, the sheer beauty and life they emanate, or all of the above. The book you gifted me remains one of the most prized on my shelves. ❤️🔥 They (and you) are just so damn special and make me so emotional. I love it. Creating such adorable, lively creatures in moments when you at the bottom of your abyss...little beauties born from such profound suffering and uncertainty. It's the kind of stuff that makes me madly in love with life and living. Makes me fiercely love the human spirit even more. Thank you. 🫂
Monotony turns into meditation for me. The most tedious, repetitive tasks are my favorite. I've recently discovered that I LOVE scraping paint off things. (We recently re-painted the iron gates covering our double front doors.) I relaxed as I was doing it and felt so connected with my inner thoughts. It felt great and Joe couldn't be happier (he hates it).
Haha. I should've gotten all "meta" with this one and droned on and on and on until even the essay became monotonous!
I remember the impulsive moment when I knew I must send you my little Liferaft book. It almost felt like a nudge from beyond. I really wanted to send you a kitty but at that point, I hadn't picked the craft back up. Hmmmm... maybe there still is a fuzzy one in your future after all. :) The are indeed born from a dark and uncertain time and I knew you'd understand just how powerful it can be to create from such darkness. You've done it so many times that I think you might be a mother of starlight itself.
Scraping paint sound like such good medicine! Tell Joe I'll be over in a 15 to help out so he never has to worry about doing it ever again. :)
Very, very good piece, Kimberly. As someone who thinks about these themes almost nonstop, I wouldn’t know where to begin. To me, monotony, routine, rhythm, boredom, and even unconsciousness are all inextricably linked. Someone once praised boredom and idleness, saying that when we’re bored and idle, we create different worlds out of dissatisfaction with (or just mere indifference to) the one we’re living in, and in this process of fabrication lies the propulsive force of creativity.
Thank you for being here Silvio. I like that you relate monotony to unconsciousness, this is something I've been thinking about since I wrote the essay. It's as if our busy, conscious minds need a bone to chew, and monotony can be that distracting bone—just engaging enough to keep the mind occupied so the subconscious/unconscious can finally be heard.
"Each breath a cliff, and we cling to it, mistaking novelty and excitement for immortality." This is indeed the drumbeat our culture marches to, at our peril, I think. What a magnificent meditation - I used to love reading Maria Popova, I fell out of the habit when I gave up on Twitter - and you have captured the same level of serene understanding. And then there are those cats... They are Art. Love this so much, Kim. 💜💜💜
Thanks friend, that drumbeat can be so loud and distracting at times that we forget, some of our greatest joy is already right here patiently waiting for us to notice.
I fell away from Maria for a while too and then made her my browser home screen so I could recommit to her wisdom every day. She's a marvel.
making lemonade of lemons again your sentences are each exacting reflections, descriptors of a querying probing soul and yes i am aware you have once defended "bitter" so
Oh dear friend, sour goes quite well with bitter so miss lemon takes no offense. Thank you for seeing me and shining your light in this whacked existence.
Your cats Kimberly! They are the most exquisite things I want to pick up and squidge and hug and just stare at forever! I can't even imagine how many hours of work and concentration you must have put into each one... I would be incapable.
I think if I were diagnosed now in the manner many of my students are, the results would ring a resounding ADHD and/or HA disorder. I find being still an almost unbearable agony (even more so recently with all that star dust prickling my skin) monotony is a word that terrifies me.
And yet, as I read you beautiful phrases praising this very thing I am so scared of, I can see much sense... I can see I am in need.
"Each gentle movement gives form and softens my need for it. I poke and poke and poke until the afternoon collapses—a dying star in my hands; time, dizziness and self pull toward its quiet center."
I have pasted this time screen - a reminder for every time I feel I've sat too long. X
Susie, you always know just the right thing to say. I will squidgy and hug them for you, promise.
Stillness is not something taught or even celebrated in our western culture, I don't know if all the ADHD diagnoses are a result of that, or if they came first. Probably feeding each other. But I hear you say "monotony terrifies me" and in the same breath, you walk your hill as much as you possibly can, and surely there is stillness and monotony within that sacred experience. I think you undersell yourself and your generously quiet spirit. xo
Wow, delicious writing! And relief, relief to find another with MdDS. I have a few other of those abbreviated conditions thrown in but yes the constant bobbing swaying pitching! Your cats are far from monotonous to view, far from balls of wool, they are truly art works. My monotony of choice so far has been knitting squares to make blankets for a local homeless hostel. Something like poetic justice: me unhappily imprisoned in my home making things for those unhappily homeless.
And yes the winter grey. As a once upon a time painter I liked Paynes Grey but now rename it Pains Grey. Here in England the grey days are painfully short, the very long evenings made bearable only by the extraordinary concerts of the owls call and response.
Unbelievable to find another MdDS friend! As you know, it's quite rare in the vestibular community so I'm always eager to connect with those who know EXACTLY how bizarre it feels. I could easily curl up with you for a day, I'll poke wool, you work on your blanket squares, and appreciate the good company of simplicity and understanding. And yes, there is something beautifully (or cruelly, depending on the day) peculiar about being homebound making gifts for the homeless.
May you feel rested and peaceful in the hooting silence of your England autumn.
And oh yes, how impossible it is to describe the MdDS sensations. The checking - am I actually rocking, I surely must be. Did the pitching side to side wake me up to warn of probable falling off the bed?
my sister in law makes felted art work. her animal face masks are amazing. she would love these cats... ill have to see if can send her the images somehow
I have so much to say about this amazing essay. First of all, I am speechless at the craft of your writing Kimberly. There are so many beautiful sentences I read over and over in awe of how you strung the words together. It is beautiful!
Even more beautiful is your offering, the gentle holding out of your hands to say 'look here Dear One, look at what repetition can offer your soul.' This gift comes at the perfect time, as these things do. I am heading into a season of grey monotony that is Canadian winter. It will be filled with repetition - and joy and beauty of course.
Thank you for sharing your creations with us. These are NOT the cats I was picturing in my mind as I was reading!! Your cats are works of art, I love them.
Donna, you always know just the right things to say. You make my heart expand with gratitude for your reflective reading. We are entering the monotonous grey down here in Oregon as well. I reach northwards through the fog to dance in its subtle beauty with you. I love that you gave monotony a voice, “Look here Dear One…” Oh yes, you get it! She cares, she wants us to relax into the quiet surrender of our soul. Thank you thank you Donna.
Agree. Perfectly stated.
You craft such beautiful sentences and paragraphs, but I’m left out in the cold when trying to comprehend them and write them on my heart. It’s frustrating to be battling the brain fog that comes with fibromyalgia, ankylosing spondylitis and the confusion and mental fatigue brought on by insomnia and my medications. Reading the comments I feel a strong sense of loss that I’m missing out on a thoughtful and important message that others are able to partake in. I want to read this as many times as needed in order to draw out the same sentiments that others in the comments are expressing. I don’t know whether to bear down hard to try and squeeze the meaning from your words or to just read them over and over again until the repetition begins to unlock the truth that other, more sophisticated and alert readers are finding here. I am jealous of the readers who have found their connection with your words.
I hope that your condition is improved a lot. Forty-nine years ago I completed four years of French in school and I came very close to acing the New York State Regents exam in French, so I gather that your condition must make you feel all the time like you’ve just gotten off of roller skates. That must be horrible. Be well, and please keep writing your thoughts, and maybe through repeated reading and reflection I will be able to enjoy them and take them to heart.
Oh Rafeal, my heart hurts to hear this! I know brain fog well (and in fact I wrote In Defense of Fog last month, that included brain fog) and it always makes my cognition feel quite sludgy. And I hate knowing that somehow my essay perhaps dumped more mud into the mix. It's beyond frustrating. You know what I would do? Instead of trying to read it again while you're in a fog, pick up a quiet task (knitting, collaging, folding laundry...) and allow yourself to simply rest in the mindless simplicity. Forcing ourselves to understand while where in the fog only makes things worse. Trust that the gentle movement of your hands knows exactly what you need. The meaning and understanding from the essay might come through simply by doing it, not reading about it. ;)
I am doing better, mostly through having grace for myself in the "new normal" of it all. Not needing it to be any other way and trusting the cycles of good days and bad. Sending you much love.
Hi Kimberly, I’m definitely doing better today, thank you! And I’m glad that you’re coping with your condition. That was great advice you gave. I’ve been doing light housekeeping and coloring during my free time. I’ve also been playing my guitar when I’m able. (I had CMC joint surgery eight years ago and the thumb of my fretting hand is often sore and always weak.) I’m still a passable rock and blues guitarist, thanks to lower tension strings. Coloring can be stressful at times because I can’t just grab a pencil a go crazy with it, so I’m learning not to be such a perfectionist. One of my too-many hobbies has been making electric guitars in my shop. Until recently I’ve made all the wooden parts from scratch, but now I’ve bought a kit where most of the hard work is already done because of the arthritis in my hands. I have a few notions how to customize the kit parts and come up with something original.
I never meant to make anyone feel bad, least of all you, Kimberly. Whenever I write something during a sleepless night it has a tendency to come out sort of whiny. I was just feeling left out of something special and reading the glowing comments didn’t help at all. Since I’ve been relaxing with my Prismacolors and coloring book, I’ve gone back and re-read the first few paragraphs of your post. My mind is rested and more focused now and I’m able to appreciate your symbols and metaphors more easily. That is some story about how your simple, repetitive craftwork has pulled you through a simply awful bout with chronic illness. I showed your kitties to my wife and we’re both amazed at the artistry and workmanship, as well as the imagination that you’ve shown in their creation. I wish you all the blessings in the world, for you and those dear to you. Next on my agenda: finish reading the piece in praise of monotony, then take a look at the essay on brain fog. Thanks again!
You’re a dear to circle back Rafael! And I love hearing about your work building electric guitars! Now that’s something I might feel completely out-of-the-loop on if I read about it. ;) Making all the little pieces from scratch? Incredible.
Please no sweating or fretting about your sleepless-induced bad day. I have so many of those I’ve lost count. And brain fog is miserable, truly. So I get the frustration and I applaud your willingness to be vulnerable and say, “What the hell are you talking about!!!!??” Makes me smile and feel more courageous about doing the same next time I’m feeling left out.
Wishing you much peace and clear, blue sky days ahead.
Hi Kimberly! Fidgeting with our sentinels of time may explain my feeling stuck all day today in concrete mental processing…of everything. Abstraction left the room. When I began reading your essay, reading about the sequela of MAL de Débarquement Syndrome brought thoughts of descending to Purgatory.
That you began Needle Felting, and provided lots of details, was met with my “Does Not Compute” of my concrete brain power. I set your essay aside and performed some overdue tasks for our home, ate dinner, and have resumed processing your essay. Only when I saw your Needle Felted cats did I begin to comprehend, and I was staggered by your details and colors and poses and frozen movements. Their (the cats) postures of being frozen in mid-stride provided a 3-D representation, perhaps, of your own predicament from MdDS.
I so admire your strength and determination to commit to the daily sessions of Needle Felting and letting your self discovery unfold. Mindfulness while Felting.
I was delighted to learn of your knowing my favorite Orcadian, Samantha Clark. I look forward to the “The Life Boat” every Wednesday. Her book, The Clearing, introduced me to both her difficult childhood and the daunting task, after both her parents had passed, of preparing the home for market
. Her two younger brothers helped with the dunning out from bottom to top. In the book she relived difficult periods from her growing up years. As you observed about Sam, her art form today relies on a magical layering of pigment on huge aluminum panels. Once that layering is set (and the first pigment flows decide their own outcome) she begins the interconnecting of tiny shapes-squares, circles, loops-that seem to take on a life of their own. A close cousin of Needle Felting as you and I both sense.
Finally, and thanks for bearing with me, I’ve become capable of seeing your essay in a human, yet abstract, way. I’m glad I didn’t sputter to a stop.
"Wrangling the sentinels of time." Ha! What a great way to put it. Boy is it brutal! I feel it too, so not too worry friend.
That said, you're my second reader who had a "does not compute!" I better make sure I'm not waxing into too many distant or abstract lands with my writing. Thanks for hanging in there Gary, I'm glad you came back. And yes, Samantha Clark. I ADORE her writing and art and have her memoir queued up on my Kindle. It's been on my radar for quite some time and I'm looking forward to diving in... I think I'll get brave and see if she wants to do an interview with me after I read it as well. ;)
Kimberly, you are not “waxing into too many distant lands.” The moon is waxing now, albeit late for Halloween. I accept the absolute fact of my own “dithering by clock!” Recently Sam wrote (not on the usual The Life Boat day) “I cut my cluck in half…” I was lost and reported my failure to understand. She replied, “I meant “clock” but my attempts to correct the spelling are futile.” I think that is typical of emails and messages once sent.
Please keep writing as you do, and I’ll do my part by stepping away when I feel out of the loop. Michalangelo once advised, “Step away from your work. Cease what you’re doing. Walk across the street for something to eat or drink. Enjoy your selection. When finished and ready to return, you will do so with your mind refreshed as well
as having a new perspective on your efforts.”
An extensive paraphrase of my memory. Wayne Dwyer produced a book of wisdom from great thinkers through the ages. 60 Days To Enlightenment.
What a pleasant exchange of information and ideas, Kimberly.
Thank you Gary, you are a treasure!
Blessed in return, Kimberly.
Monotony as an Rx for modernity, a reminder to slow down, observe and engage with our interiority.
Sometimes, we are so busy doing, doing, doing, we forget to ground into the marvelousness of being, and the moments where we can enjoy life's simple pleasures.
Beingness can be an antidote to spinning through life in a whirl and missing the beauty of our one singular Earthly experience. Thank you for sharing, Kimberly. Lovely meditation
Monotony RX. I love this so much. If only they sold this over-the-counter. ;) Thank you Robin for your thoughtful reflections. Feeling the slow hands of time especially today with the US clocks set back and relishing in the calm nothingness of being.
Thanks, Kimberly. The beauty of Monotony Rx is that there is no need to purchase it--it comes from inside each of us. It is the prescription that comes from inside us with an ability to tolerate Nature's time--slow, measured, cyclical and ever-present. One of my favorite books ever is The Hidden Life of Trees, by Peter Wholleben, about how trees and plants communicate with each other and with us energetically, but on a clock that ticks in centuries, not seconds or minutes or years or decades.
In my time travel adventure series @The Edge of Yesterday, my intrepid STEMinista and time traveler Charley encounters time on many different levels, including meeting a mysterious character named Kairos--someone who always seems to show up "just in time"--as opposed to our western notion of time as Chronos, by the clock.
Like everything, time is what we make of it. I say relish every instant!
Beautifully stated Robin. Doesn’t all the best medicine come from within? The over-the-counter version would pale in comparison, though it could get those wary of monotony to try—all bottled up in promising pink pills. But only one month prescriptions available, then people must turn inwards and toward Nature for abundant, everlasting refills.:) What a fun exploration you’re doing in your adventure series! It’s an important reminder and perspective shift to imagine time outside of our very limited “chronos” experience.
Not finished reading yet, but this really spoke to me:
“Practicing musical scales leads to mastery, and mastery invites improvisation.”
Your work is so beautiful Kimberly- both your evocative writing and your lovely cats. I wanted to also share the added joy this brought me this morning— because my dad, an artist, picked up needle felting in his last months of life. Suffering peripheral neuropathy, he was frustrated not being able to wield a paintbrush or pen, but he was able to sculpt beautiful animals from the comfort of his hospital bed. His last project was a life size purple cat… so reading about your felting practice felt like a hug from him today— in the mysterious and tender way we interconnect with one another’s deeply personal lives often without ever knowing the extent. Thank you. 🙏🏼
I don’t doubt for a minute that somewhere in this web of tangled existence, your dad’s purple cat nudged one of my colorful kitties and said “Hey, Lisette’s dad has a hug for her, can you deliver the message?” Grinning with a soft heart and gratitude over here for your thoughtful reply and for the opportunity to be some kind of conduit for the embrace you needed today.
Ohh I’m so touched. Thank you Kimberly ♥️
If you have a photo of your dad’s cat I’d LOVE to see!
I've got to say those cats are absolutely amazing! If that's what monotony leads to give me more!
I was thinking about this the other day in relation to writing, how monotonous moments are so valuable because they seem to generate a state of mind that allows the subconscious to really get into high gear, and the "you consciousness" to rest. I was thinking that Monotony is fertile ground, weirdly enough, for engendering deep thinking where you can get out of your own way a little?
And then you write another sophisticated contemplation that sets out my rambling thoughts in a much more thoughtful way. Thanks Kimberly, beautifully done!
Absolutely Jonathan! Maybe it’s not too dissimilar from fog in that way (explored in last months essay); both seem to quiet our urgent “me voice” and allow more subtle, creative aspects of the self to emerge. I doubt our subconscious is ever in a hurry and driven to escape the tedium of life? All fertile ground for the subconscious. I can hear her now, chewing away… nom nom nom…
The perfect creative situation - repetitive behaviour in the fog? He he, well, with winter fast approaching I'm going to thrive in my writing 🤣. I wonder whether the subconscious even has a concept of tedium, there's far to much to be getting on with. Tedium's left to the monkey voice to moan on and on about.
Bravo! I once met an artist who learned the monotonous craft of bending and weaving small twigs into bird nests, and then into nearly any shape she desired, to the point of building a boat the size of a small car, which I'm sure could have carried her down a river. And it certainly had.
Wow! This is such a wonderful anecdote. I would love to see this boat if you happen to know the artist’s name or have a photo? Reminds me of how delicious it is for some of us to fall into the hands of monotony, almost to the point of addiction, our focus so single-pointed that we forget about anything else. Guilty. Though I never built a cat the size of car!
Thank you for such a thoughtful reply. I love how you described the pull of monotony—it captures something beautifully meditative about the artist's work. Unfortunately, I don’t have her name or a photo; it was indeed many years ago at an arts festival, and her creation left a lasting impression on me. I often share this story with young clients exploring careers as an example of how deeply focusing on something seemingly small or simple can lead to something remarkable, and how others recognize the value in that dedication. It’s a powerful reminder of how meaning unfolds in unexpected ways.
Amen to that!
A stunning essay, Kimberly. I was, for a long time, someone who couldn't tolerate monotony - I was always restless and moving onto the next thing, and so frustrated if I was forced to be still. I'm coming to embrace monotony now. It seems like, all along, it's what my nervous system has been craving - I just didn't understand what it was telling me. Thank you for these beautiful words, I needed a meditation on monotony today x
This surprises me Rebecca. Your essays exude calm, stillness, and the kind of insight that seems to require these quieter states. I'm so grateful to have you here. Your essays have become in inbox treat like no other so it's quite an honor to feel you reaching back through the ethers.
I am learning to inhabit quiet - writing has always been the best space for me to inhabit it restfully and it's wonderful to hear that the stillness comes through. I'm so grateful to have found you here, too, Kimberly! Your writing astonishes and nourishes me.
Gorgeous essay, Kimberly!!! Every line seeps with beauty and reflection. I didn't want it to end.
Every single time I see your felines, my eyes well with tears. I don't know if it's because I know they were made when you were struggling, the sheer beauty and life they emanate, or all of the above. The book you gifted me remains one of the most prized on my shelves. ❤️🔥 They (and you) are just so damn special and make me so emotional. I love it. Creating such adorable, lively creatures in moments when you at the bottom of your abyss...little beauties born from such profound suffering and uncertainty. It's the kind of stuff that makes me madly in love with life and living. Makes me fiercely love the human spirit even more. Thank you. 🫂
Monotony turns into meditation for me. The most tedious, repetitive tasks are my favorite. I've recently discovered that I LOVE scraping paint off things. (We recently re-painted the iron gates covering our double front doors.) I relaxed as I was doing it and felt so connected with my inner thoughts. It felt great and Joe couldn't be happier (he hates it).
Haha. I should've gotten all "meta" with this one and droned on and on and on until even the essay became monotonous!
I remember the impulsive moment when I knew I must send you my little Liferaft book. It almost felt like a nudge from beyond. I really wanted to send you a kitty but at that point, I hadn't picked the craft back up. Hmmmm... maybe there still is a fuzzy one in your future after all. :) The are indeed born from a dark and uncertain time and I knew you'd understand just how powerful it can be to create from such darkness. You've done it so many times that I think you might be a mother of starlight itself.
Scraping paint sound like such good medicine! Tell Joe I'll be over in a 15 to help out so he never has to worry about doing it ever again. :)
Very, very good piece, Kimberly. As someone who thinks about these themes almost nonstop, I wouldn’t know where to begin. To me, monotony, routine, rhythm, boredom, and even unconsciousness are all inextricably linked. Someone once praised boredom and idleness, saying that when we’re bored and idle, we create different worlds out of dissatisfaction with (or just mere indifference to) the one we’re living in, and in this process of fabrication lies the propulsive force of creativity.
Thank you for being here Silvio. I like that you relate monotony to unconsciousness, this is something I've been thinking about since I wrote the essay. It's as if our busy, conscious minds need a bone to chew, and monotony can be that distracting bone—just engaging enough to keep the mind occupied so the subconscious/unconscious can finally be heard.
Totally. "Could it think, the heart would stop beating." (Fernando Pessoa)
OMG!!!!! YES!!!!
"Each breath a cliff, and we cling to it, mistaking novelty and excitement for immortality." This is indeed the drumbeat our culture marches to, at our peril, I think. What a magnificent meditation - I used to love reading Maria Popova, I fell out of the habit when I gave up on Twitter - and you have captured the same level of serene understanding. And then there are those cats... They are Art. Love this so much, Kim. 💜💜💜
Thanks friend, that drumbeat can be so loud and distracting at times that we forget, some of our greatest joy is already right here patiently waiting for us to notice.
I fell away from Maria for a while too and then made her my browser home screen so I could recommit to her wisdom every day. She's a marvel.
Meow. xo
making lemonade of lemons again your sentences are each exacting reflections, descriptors of a querying probing soul and yes i am aware you have once defended "bitter" so
apologies to lemons 😉
Oh dear friend, sour goes quite well with bitter so miss lemon takes no offense. Thank you for seeing me and shining your light in this whacked existence.
i used to think whacked had boundarys...i was mistaken 🤔 regardless damn glad to have found souls like yours
Your cats Kimberly! They are the most exquisite things I want to pick up and squidge and hug and just stare at forever! I can't even imagine how many hours of work and concentration you must have put into each one... I would be incapable.
I think if I were diagnosed now in the manner many of my students are, the results would ring a resounding ADHD and/or HA disorder. I find being still an almost unbearable agony (even more so recently with all that star dust prickling my skin) monotony is a word that terrifies me.
And yet, as I read you beautiful phrases praising this very thing I am so scared of, I can see much sense... I can see I am in need.
"Each gentle movement gives form and softens my need for it. I poke and poke and poke until the afternoon collapses—a dying star in my hands; time, dizziness and self pull toward its quiet center."
I have pasted this time screen - a reminder for every time I feel I've sat too long. X
Susie, you always know just the right thing to say. I will squidgy and hug them for you, promise.
Stillness is not something taught or even celebrated in our western culture, I don't know if all the ADHD diagnoses are a result of that, or if they came first. Probably feeding each other. But I hear you say "monotony terrifies me" and in the same breath, you walk your hill as much as you possibly can, and surely there is stillness and monotony within that sacred experience. I think you undersell yourself and your generously quiet spirit. xo
Wow, delicious writing! And relief, relief to find another with MdDS. I have a few other of those abbreviated conditions thrown in but yes the constant bobbing swaying pitching! Your cats are far from monotonous to view, far from balls of wool, they are truly art works. My monotony of choice so far has been knitting squares to make blankets for a local homeless hostel. Something like poetic justice: me unhappily imprisoned in my home making things for those unhappily homeless.
And yes the winter grey. As a once upon a time painter I liked Paynes Grey but now rename it Pains Grey. Here in England the grey days are painfully short, the very long evenings made bearable only by the extraordinary concerts of the owls call and response.
Thank you, Kimberley.
Unbelievable to find another MdDS friend! As you know, it's quite rare in the vestibular community so I'm always eager to connect with those who know EXACTLY how bizarre it feels. I could easily curl up with you for a day, I'll poke wool, you work on your blanket squares, and appreciate the good company of simplicity and understanding. And yes, there is something beautifully (or cruelly, depending on the day) peculiar about being homebound making gifts for the homeless.
May you feel rested and peaceful in the hooting silence of your England autumn.
Thank you!
And oh yes, how impossible it is to describe the MdDS sensations. The checking - am I actually rocking, I surely must be. Did the pitching side to side wake me up to warn of probable falling off the bed?
May you too feel rested and held safely.
beautiful and thought provoking. restful. and the cats absolutely otherworldy brilliant. thank you!
Oh thank you for your kind reflection Nick! I am touched by your presence here.
my sister in law makes felted art work. her animal face masks are amazing. she would love these cats... ill have to see if can send her the images somehow
I have a few galleries of the cats and other needle felted sculptures on my personal website. You can share this! http://www.kimberlywarner.com/