The Gables is filled with this palpable, thick hum of energy today — it’s practically sonic and moves in waves of green and light in every room I walk through. I feel so revived by it. I feel sensitive to it. The doors seem to have wings, the windows are all thrown wide open, out in the blue spruce the squirrels and birds have gone berserkers. The dogs are riotous. They can feel it too.
I have attempted to take a few photos this morning to capture a slice of what I can see and feel around here and everything has come out blurry — perhaps I managed to capture the hum and thrum of here decently, after all, now that I think on it.
I woke up this morning and suddenly found myself in a routine. I rolled out of bed, washed my face, popped the ferns in the tub for a day long soak, fed the beasts, ran the pointers over to the park to get the ants out of their pants for the early part of the day, pushed a delicious French press and fell on my journal for three solid and voracious pages of kinetic words, metaphor and purge.
These days, I ache, deep in my chest, for my husband. These feelings are sharp. My emotions run just beneath the surface of my skin, oceans and tides of love for my man who is so far from here. My life is full and continues beautifully with experience and growth without him, but somedays I can’t believe how far away autumn is. I pine for him. I do. I continue with my living here, most robustly, I’m doing my best to suck the marrow out of life, but I miss my partner more than I can say. I haven’t talked about it much this summer, preferring to pour myself out on the mountains and on paper…but there you have it.
Dammit. I miss my man.
I have been spirit weary.
Yesterday, I was in and out of bed all day long.
I don’t recall sleeping much, but laying with my eyes closed seemed like one of the most restful things I could do. The wind was wrapped up in the trees. There was a pair of robins singing throughout the day. I wasn’t sad. I was tired.
I didn’t know what else to do.
I’m not sure if I’ve mentioned it here, or just in my journal pages, but I sense a massive shift coming with respect to the work of my hands. I don’t know where I’m headed but I feel I’ve had my toes curled over the edge of a precipice for months now. When I’m in the studio working, I feel restless. Perhaps it’s just the season melting away my self discipline and sweating inky patches into my resolve (because, you know, doing this takes so much self motivation and resolve and discipline). I’m excited about the coming change, whatever it is. I like transitions.
I’ve been reading the autobiography of Daniel Lanois which is something I RARELY do, read autobiographies, that is — it’s excellent. As a result, I’ve found myself listening to the albums he has produced. I’m spinning Wrecking Ball, by Emmylou,*** until it’s dizzy and it spins on its own. Seriously. Bob Dylan’s, Time out of Mind, has me on the edge of my seat. Lanois is passionate about creating sound, full sound, and I’ve loved the story of his life and feel such an appreciation for his own music as well as the top notch albums he’s produced. If you like music, if you are music, you should give this book a chance.
I hold that book in my hands sometimes…overcome by the inspiration of it…it’s so
honest. So true.
I love it for the questions it asks, for what it represents — the regular and steady struggle and flow of questions that apologetics attempts to answer.
I cherish these words and maintain that Annie Dillard has, on multiple occasions,
changed my life.
Also, and importantly, I picked up a copy of Daybook by Anne Truitt at Walrus and Carpenter (my local used book nook) the other day and began reading it last night at midnight. It has captivated me. The writing is strong, compelling and intelligent. More than anything, I relate with it — I feel championed by it. I don’t know if that makes sense. But to read the journal entries of another artist dealing with fatigue and self-definition is just…..well…..it was destiny that I would find a copy of this book this week. Destiny.
What’s inspiring you these days?
Direct me, if you will, to the things that make your heart swell, the things that zap you like lightening bolts,
the things that shoot you through to the core and braid the ribbons of your soul.
I want to know.
I hope the energy is thick where you are,
go ahead,
cut it with a butter knife and spread it on some toast.
go ahead,
cut it with a butter knife and spread it on some toast.
xx
***I just had to add here that I think Emmylou is so tragically beautiful. When I look at her, when I read about her, when I hear her sing, I just know that she has accidentally ruined a handful of men in her lifetime. She’s that kind of beautiful — one just can’t help but be gloriously wounded forever when rubbing up against the brilliance of her soul.
***I just had to add here that I think Emmylou is so tragically beautiful. When I look at her, when I read about her, when I hear her sing, I just know that she has accidentally ruined a handful of men in her lifetime. She’s that kind of beautiful — one just can’t help but be gloriously wounded forever when rubbing up against the brilliance of her soul.
