Time I was writing something for this blog! I have been busy recently but life has been good and I tend not to write so much when things are going well. There is definitely something therapeutic about writing. I guess its true what they say - its the process of writing not the content that is important in making you feel better. No doubt this is why many journal entries have that "poor me" quality, a point discussed in Tristine Rainer's book "The New Diary" where one journal writer talks about the "negative" vibe to much of her writing. The book explains how it is by writing this stuff that we let it free from our life and so move on, whereas people who try to avoid dealing with negative life events store up a lot of grief which will ultimately surface in some form or another. So, I for one will keep writing my worries away, it is doing me a power of good.
Struggling to write any poetry just now too - thank goodness for that you might say - but hey! it does me good and you don't have to read it. :) Just thought I would share this little gem which came to me a few weeks ago while out walking at lunchtime. It was a stressful day.
Narcosis is familiar to divers, it clouds your judgement and the effects are exacerbated by depth. You can end up believing that going deeper is ok when really it is time to bail out.
Again, I descend through the trees.
Free of work for an hour I try to unravel
the knot that holds me
in this seemingly eternal pattern.
Futilely seeking the future beyond that black veil
which hangs before me,
forever just beyond reach.
Like diving into the dark abyss of Loch Striven
all those years ago, (two lives soon to be lost there).
Perhaps, if I just turn around,
as then, I will see
the diffuse green light revealing my steep descent
into the blackness yet illuminating a way back
to a brighter, warmer place.
Pushing on down into the cold and dark
searching for - something?
Some knowledge of myself ?
Or seeking a purpose, something to make
and fear worthwhile.
The experience is everything, or so I once thought.
But now - older and in a job that no longer,
if it ever did, resonate with my sense of self
or what I want to become - takes me to new depths.
Feeling my way through this dark
uncomfortable place that erodes my soul -
yet makes everything possible for those I love.
I could make them once; deep in the sea or high on the crag.
Why then, this agony of indecision as life slips between my fingers?
If only I could see just a bit further.
Maybe there is a light - a bit further
- a little deeper down.