It's taken me over a week to formula exactly what I want to express about life at the moment. A writer's life.
Last week, many of us were stunned into that shocked silence...not being able to put together the words to convey our sadness at the events in the centre of Paris. Although I've been to Paris at least 3 times in my life, I always seemed to parachute in for a day or two and never made it into the cathedral (just as I've never seen the inside of the Louvre). I am planning on a visit to Paris in the fall and was dismayed to hear that (my favourite way of travelling - with writers!) the Inkslinger's Retreat was scheduling a whole day in Notre Dame (cue weeping for it's not to be). Nevertheless, as writers are often called on to do, I was nudged into labelling my feelings the day after the blaze during a full day of writing (sonnets, this time) at James Dewar's monthly Poetry Sanctuary. And I did come away with 4 sonnets!
This week my brother called asking for words...My family has commissioned a set of carillon bells for the family-church steeple in the city and we've been invited to add an inscription. These bells are in dedication to my mother (who some might remember died in 2017 after a shockingly brief illness). Again, I was reminded of the grappling feeling of wordlessness. Reaching and stretching for the best words in the best order (the definition of poetry).
Much of poetic writing has focused on climate change in this past year. How to capture the emotion and the raw power in feeble words? That is the struggle of many a writer. Standing mute when it's necessary to formulate full sentences. Words are the building blocks of communication. Yet sometimes we need to take refuge in the awkward silences; the quiet practices; the stillness of nature to find those breadcrumbs...Do not be discouraged about taking that moment - that breath - that beat from which the words will spring. Those places are your sustenance.
Then, write on...
Poet. Writer. Teacher. Artist.