When writing is what you do, you are taken to the pinnacles of joy when it is flowing for you, and the depths of despair when your brain is so full of stuff there is no room for the tranquility that plying your craft can bring. I have used the written word to express myself since childhood. I have always been an avid reader, and early in life discovered that I too could create fictional worlds with just a pen and the power of observation. I don’t know which comes first. Is it the observation of all that goes on around you that produces the work, or is it that the word craft requires you to be observant?
With having lost my life partner, I have spent the last few months being nurtured, loved, invited by family and friends. Warren and I were pretty much joined at the hip. Did everything together – worked, played, travelled, talked and could easily just sit and be silent together, especially in the bush. Although we did of course socialise with friends periodically, it wasn’t vital to us to do it often. We had each other, and were often just ‘out on the road.’
Like mother hens around chickens in trouble, my lifelong friends have rallied around me. It has been a rich time. Friends and friendships are indeed to be treasured. I have truly loved my time with them all. But we are warned that ultimately the activity around the death of your partner subsides, and it does. And that’s ok. It’s up to me now. I know I can call any one of them at any time and they will still be there – not just for me, but us (them and me).
The violent storm of shock and loneliness and grief diminishes, and if we are lucky we find a new place for ourselves- where love still lives, among the people who are beautiful as spring, who are rich with the life experiences that give them their character, who share your loves and interests, who recommend favourite books, and best of all, who you can talk to, who understand your unique inclinations.
When you are confronted with the reality that life can be taken away in an instant, it makes you realise how important it is to recognise the opportunities we have for happiness each day, and to accept them graciously and without guilt. The purpose of these morsels of joy might just be for our healing.
Over my lifetime friendships have been forged over letter writing. It’s one thing to write for yourself – a very insular activity actually, but then of course if you are published, your work is to be shared with the world. Letter writing between wordsmiths can become a bottomless well of perpetuating art. When I think of it, I have reams, I mean kilograms of poetry, expounded philosophies, short stories, songs I have shared with like-minded people. I wonder if some of it might find a home here on my blog pages. Maybe I’ll begin compiling some.
From 1977 –
Early morning haze surrounds
my solitary beach walk
Breeze, waves, sunlight gentle
Shells and tiny pebbles like spilled Smarties in the sand
Eyes discerning scan the conchological mass
whilst my cupped and salty hands collect
the most unique and brightly hued
Benign and modest pelicans skim in
in avian choreography just above the water
and then in gangling disarray skid in and float
like bobbing boats in winter
Homeward bound I walk beside the morning’s footprints
Child of solitude
Seeker of the light though not afraid of darkness
At one with sea, the sand, the wind song
Homeward bound
where Home is Love
It’s good to be back. I know I must blog more regularly, be true to my craft. It’s a matter of clearing my mind enough to begin, because stringing words together in a beautiful way is what I love to do.
Cheers for now,
Sue
PS. My memoir ‘So Big The Land’ has been on Amazon’s Best Sellers list for Australian Biographies for 11 weeks in a row. Thank you to all who have purchased a copy. Sometimes I have to pinch myself.