Early morning is my favourite time. I sit on a comfy chair on the back porch with coffee and journal and cigarettes. Sparrows chatter in the willow tree and eagles circle in the sky above them. Morning brings promise in the shape of an open sky.
This morning I remembered an old country store in Ontario on the way to Conestoga Lake. Yellow brick, two story farmhouse, in the shade of an enormous, shaggy tree. I wondered how it would feel to drive on those Waterloo County roads again. I suppose I took for granted that they'd always be there and that I'd always be here.
Lately I've been cycling between intense grief and the excitement of getting more in touch with my creativity. The pain of viewing the "lost years" in terms of creativity has been more painful than I could have imagined. Grief slams down like a tidal wave, and when it recedes, I am left soggy and shaking.
On the flip side, I've been very excited about letting creative ideas enter my consciousness, and then just letting them be. Feeling content knowing that I'm planting seeds. No judgments, no need to get overwhelmed by thoughts like, "Can I really make XYZ happen?" When I let my imagination flow, one image rolls into another, and then another still. I'm learning that immediate action is unnecessary -- that what I really need is a peaceful mind and the space for ideas to grow.
And then there's the practical side. I've been working on discovering ways to ground my scattered mind. I want to expand my ability to focus so that I can dig deeper still. I am easily overwhelmed, easily overstimulated and I cope by shutting down in order to regroup my emotional and mental energies. The challenge is to live with the stimulation I thrive on without overdoing it. While I don't view myself as disabled, I do recognize my impairments, and that they require me to be extra vigilant in looking after myself.
I want to share my voice, my passion, my dreams. And not all fragmented or cloaked in pseudonym. For so long I let myself be limited by others' ideas, opinions and beliefs about the way a person should be. These days I'm standing more on solid ground. I have nothing to hide. I have my truth and integrity. Some days I really feel that I am living for me.
Finally, I'm continuing to let go of my need to be seen as special. It's scary and, at times, I want to cling tight, because letting go feels like losing control. Like I'm encouraging my loved ones to play in the path of missiles, or I'm sending my beloved dog out into the forest at night, turning my back, and leaving him there with only faith that he'll come back home.
I feel the sadness of saying goodbye to country roads, lost years, scattered times when you've been shut down, the expectations of family. And how it means saying goodbye to the future too, not being overly anxious or ashamed about how exactly your imagination and inspirations will bear fruit.
ReplyDeleteYou've found this safe place for yourself, in your integrity and honor. So I can understand why seeing loved ones outside of that space (beyond your mind, out of your control) is so vulnerable and scary. You've had to retreat and pull close to get through. Now giving yourself freedom means doing the same for others, which must be like watching them go out into the darkness alone.
You said something on my blog that stuck with me -- maybe we never really know another person. And yet there's a consistency to the way I misunderstand you, the way I've grasped at your silhouette over time. And so I feel "familiar" with the version of you I love, and enjoy watching that person change as you give yourself space like the morning sky.
I especially look forward to seeing your new ideas and creativity as they continue to grow in that light :)
I'm intrigued by your sentence about the consistency in the way you misunderstand me. It seems like there is a poem in there (but lately I find poems everywhere). I guess I write 'poem' because I can't imagine comparing my internal experience of myself with your experience of me (or vice versa) and yet the thought of it blows my mind -- kind of like knowing the way around a neighbourhood in a city but not recognizing the city at all when presented with an aerial perspective.
ReplyDeletechris,
ReplyDeleteyou can really really write. better yet, what you write feels honest and soulful. i feel less alone in my journey, even though at the end of the day perhaps it is solitary (in some ways). i never expected to find someone in blogland who could put into words so many of the feelings i've experienced. it's an honour to be here and you are worth waiting for, whether it's a day, a week or a month.
thank you for this. you share it and you are heard.
waiting for the next installment! lol
xx
"I've been working on discovering ways to stay in touch with my scattered mind. I want to expand my ability to focus so that I can dig deeper still. I am easily overwhelmed, easily overstimulated; as a result, I cope by shutting down in order to regroup my emotional and mental energies."
ReplyDeleteBoy, does that sound familiar. You put it so succinctly and let me know that I am not alone. Creativity is a doorway you explore so beautifully and somehow that seems to lead to a greater capacity to hold and expand.
"The challenge is to live with the stimulation I thrive on without overdoing it. While I don't view myself as disabled, I do recognize my impairments, and that they require me to be extra vigilant in looking after myself. "
ReplyDeleteI didn't even remember reading this or commenting before yet again I am struck by how familiar your words feel to my experience. I remember someone saying, "I am just a fragile, little human being." Those words have stayed with me for decades. Aren't we all grieving the lost years.
"Like I'm encouraging my loved ones to play in the path of missiles" I love this line! Girl, you can write!