Every time I think of shuttering the door and pulling the curtains closed (on my blog) I cry. Not because of the quiet, still keyboard or the hush, hush sound of decay. No some days computer keys wears me out and I feel the bones crumbling and desire numbness towards it all. Why I stay is for the friendship of many of you who leave kind thoughts on posts or the daily cheering of my attempts to write. The pursuit of reading your blogs knowing you are miles and hours away immersed in a culture I know very little brings me joy.
I know, you think another self-absorbed, wanna-be writer who thinks only of her self. Ha ha ha I do laugh at that because I know in order to be anything creative there is an inner life to cultivate that the world will and can never understand. Think a moment, could Van Gogh paint without emotion or Carl Jung delve into another mind without knowing themselves first, inspecting the daisy in the blades of grass while the rain falls from a darkened cloud eagerly waiting for the sun to appear? And was it wrong for them to slip away into themselves with a pursuit to brighten a small part of their (our) world? As the story in Aladdin explains, it is a whole new world. We should love being part of it. My attitude today is different from the days I wished for death. And the days I know death will wish for me. And the day I succumb to the inevitable. Along with me, my blog.
Saying good bye is never easy. No, I am not going to shut the window (on my blog), stop the air flow in my face because my heart would break. But I do think of it often. Quitting. Mainly because I am tired. Tired of seeing the brokenness, trying to repair what seems unfix-able. I am worn from the worn out world. I mean how much longer can we bear the unbearable. Jesus cried out before His execution “Why have you forsaken me?” and I do think we have forsaken ourselves, abandoned to the worst in us. I ask “If God had forsaken us would we still be here?” So perhaps the condition of the world is our fault and the blood does lay at our feet.
Church is poetry. Poetry is life. A life well lived.
This blog has been my world for a long time. There were absent years where the earth lay dormant, the garden grew weeds fed by catatonia. I sat beleaguered by anxiety and depression. The past 1 1/2 years I have written regularly with a loss of a few random days. I am living again. I hope with good intentions to banish shadows. The courage to be met by a few followers who I treasure immensely. If you are reading this know you mean so much even though I know very little of you. My heart beats life as Joan of Arc confessed her loyalty, with eagerness to make the days count, you as my witnesses.
In fear and trembling, destiny’s road perishes.
With courage, horizons come to light.
I live in the borderlines. The margins released so I can fly. I soar in the words of my heart and share them eagerly with you. Thank you for letting me be part of your world.
Happy writing, J