Everything has been about "busy" these past couple of months.
Busy trying to find a place to live.
Busy dealing with health concerns.
Busy with Dickens Fair.
Busy, busy, busy, busy, busy...
And somewhere in there, I began to be frightened that I'd misplaced my Muse, and I was really missing her. I was scared that I'd lost my writer's voice and I was pining for it. I think I'm finding it again and thank goodness for that. Without it I feel lost and lonely...disoriented and directionless.
It soothes me to write. It lets the howling demons out and releases them to the wilderness outside of my soul. It gives me solace and relief. It quiets the internal landscape, leaving it greener, and more luscious with a chorus of simple birdsong and trickling creeks as the soundtrack instead of the tempest that sometimes brews in my mind, threatening to consume me.
Writing allows me to process ancient hurts and fresh thankfulness. To work through the scar tissue and to heal fresh wounds. It gives me leave to put my joys and sorrows somewhere outside of me so that I can more clearly think. It is the channel to my most honest self and it stills the noise that can become so deafening when I'm struggling.
I wrote a piece a few days ago that was fraught with hurt and anger. Old hurts from the summer of 2009 had come to the forefront rather suddenly and were banging on the walls of my psyche. I had to write the piece. I had little choice. It came out of nowhere and sideswiped me as I sat down at my computer. It was brutal and pain filled and it wanted out...NOW...urgently and with a force that was overwhelming. I had little choice but to write it or be eaten by it. I chose the former.
It is interesting, isn't it, to find out that hurts we think we've dealt with, healed from, passed through, are still lurking in strange corners of our emotional memory...waiting there in the dark with sharpened teeth to bite us when we least expect it?
I am not fond of these surprise attacks, but I would rather have those feelings pour out of me and onto paper, than in me...gnawing on my spirit.
I have a lot to be thankful for tonight, but I'm tired so will keep it short. To that end, I sing my gratitudes as follows:
1) I am deeply thankful for the ability to pour my thoughts and emotions out onto paper. For the gift of written release. For the still place that I go to when I write, and for the clarity and relief the written word gift me with.
2) I'm thankful for the light and the dark that live inside of me. Both help me to be the person I am, and to write the way that I do.
3) On some odd level, I realized tonight that I'm thankful for the insight my depression affords me. It makes me more patient and more compassionate. I've seen and lived in the basement of my soul and can therefor understand, on some level, the struggles of others in my life. Without it, I'm not sure that I would be able to understand with an open heart the sorrows of others.
4) Cups of tea and true conversation with dear friends. Makes my soul sing. Thank you, Laura. :)
5) Photographic learning curves. Spent the day trying to photograph jewelry for my dear friend, Joshua. I learned a lot, and hope that I got some shots that will be usable for him. His Etsy site is here: http://www.etsy.com/shop/lioncraftstudio
6) A warm place to sleep on a cold winter night. I do not take this for granted and I am So thankful. So very thankful.
7) Not having to go to work tomorrow.
8) Having time to edit a couple of photos from my March trip to NYC. See below. :)
8) Wanting to keep writing these but knowing that I need to sleep and being smart enough to recognize that. Hee hee!
Good night! :)
Why yes, that is Anubis on a barge heading towards Manhattan. Why do you ask? *grin*
The hand of Liberty.
The hand of Liberty.