I am pleased to say that the chaos of recent has subdued significantly, which thankfully happened far sooner than I was anticipating. I have more time to myself. That can only be a good thing, right?
Firstly: I did a creative writing workshop in a primary school the other day, and I took some photos of the children’s work. Have a look! I had a great time, and the children were an absolute pleasure to work with. I really enjoyed reading their work and looking at their pictures – it was so heart-warming. A child’s imagination is truly a most wonderful thing. And, the best bit is, I got to keep a copy of it all. It was such a great feeling to see them enjoying the workshop, and enjoying the glory of imagination.
Secondly: I am going to confess something to you all. I am really struggling at the moment – in fact, I have been for months. So, I apologise if the occasional grim or depressing post pops up. Although I go about my daily business the same as always, I do so with a heavy heart. It is as though my hope is a helium balloon and I clasp its string in my hand, but the string is slowly slipping through my fingers… and I can’t seem to reclaim my firm grasp. One day, will I release the balloon completely, and helplessly watch as my hope floats ever farther from me until it bursts high above? I am very, very rarely a negative person, but unfortunately, negativity occasionally creeps up on me, and I cannot outrun it. It does not help that my few dear friends are miles away from me; it would be nice to sit beside one… Hey, Mint: shall I pretend you’re with me when I gaze out to sea, and think of you when I hear the singing whistles? Hey, Stew: shall I release my strength when I sigh, to be carried to you upon the wind? Hey, Camel: shall I laugh when I stand by the cliffs, and remember the howls of the wolves? But I wish them well, always, for they are following their hearts, their dreams. And that is a special thing.
This struggle of mine extends to writing. I have never been so close to giving up. It feels like everything has been against me for months, and I have not had the ability to fight it all off. It’s hard to fight it all when you stand alone. I am missing so much. You are free. I am hating so much. I am waiting. I am hurting so much. I have far too much to say.
Sing me the song of the distant mountains…
I realise that parts of this post might not make much (if any) sense to people, but it’s just stuff I need to get out. Is a blog the best place to do that? Probably not. But I don’t have anyone to talk to (apart from God, of course, but at the moment it would seem His words are falling on deaf ears. Not to say that my faith is waning, because it most certainly isn’t.) But anyway, I know every writer struggles from time to time, and encouraging words from someone certainly wouldn’t go amiss right now.
I have been very musical recently. I usually play any random, improvised tune, and I sing whatever falls from my tongue. The music dictates me – I do not consciously think about what I am saying. And then, when I understand what this music has decided to be about, I write lyrics accordingly. But recently, the same theme keeps emerging. The voice in the ‘song’ has either lost something or someone, or is waiting for something or someone… The most recent song I’ve done (which was yesterday) is called ‘Here in the Meadow’. What is it about? Waiting…
Why am I obsessed with waiting at the moment? Everything I have been writing recently – poems, random paragraphs, lyrics – is about waiting. I don’t understand. Am I waiting for something, without even realising it? Is someone trying to tell me something, since I seem to be deaf right now? I don’t know.
May you all have a wonderful weekend with peace and contentment filling your hearts. I hope no one else is struggling. But, if you are, may the light guide you out of the darkness. You’ll be all right. Take care.