Life turned gray,
and my soul exhaled dust.
Black and White, the two coasts between which I float.
I see shore, but never reach it.
Lost in misdirection
with no darkness to discern evil,
no light to feel hope.
Just a vessel of indifference.
I used to dream in color,
basking in a vibrant palette.
Life carried a technicolor joy
that swirled through my veins
like honey in hot tea.
Over time I melted
and clarity and meaning did too,
steeping into a neutral ink smudge.
All that remained was a slow, careless shrug.
Life turned gray,
and my soul exhaled dust.
Like nearing the last pages of a book I don’t want to end, long shadows fill me with a sinking melancholy. It isn’t darkness I fear; it is the end. As something to be faced and met with openness, it requires a vulnerability from which I wish to flee.
Sunlight fades below the standing trees. I begin to mourn the loss of now.
High above my shoulders, singing its glory overhead like a crown of shining jewels, brimming with vitality in its prime. That now. The best of now.
And even though I understand the fall of day drops below my feet into the promise of tomorrow, I mourn. Long shadows fade to no shadows.
Day three hundred sixty-three of my 365 Day Writing Project.
Wow, I cannot believe I am two days away from one year since this project began. I just returned from vacation – a lovely break from reality, work and family obligations and everyday stresses – during which time I did very little writing. I thought about it a lot, but having afforded myself the opportunity to let go for the first time in many years, I decided to Really. Let. Go. And it was bliss.
Now that I am back I am ready to jump into writing again. I’m quite excited about it, especially since the timing of the end of this project is serendipitous. It is now time to expand my blogging horizons. I am ready to devote this blog to nothing in particular, and everything in theory. With the 365 Day Writing Project about to end, I feel inspired to have the freedom to just write what I want to write. And so I will. Soon.
Day ninety-two of my 365 Day Writing Project.
I’m recovering from an emotional couple of days. It has been interesting to see how the drain on my emotions has affected my writing. It hasn’t necessarily affected the quality, but it has affected my desire.
You see, writing is in many ways a release for me. It helps ease my stress and allows me to tend to my emotional well-being. I work in a profession that has very little room for personal emotion. I must be strong, intellectual and self-assured most of the time. It’s exhausting. Writing allows me to tap into my emotional self, to release and use those emotions that I have spent great effort to stifle. It has become a necessity for me to do this, because therapy isn’t enough to alleviate the buried graveyard of emotions this gal has.
Interestingly, because I have been dealing with some upsetting news the past couple of days, I have had no choice but to let my emotions loose. I haven’t been stifling and burying them. While I realize this is healthy for me, it has left me feeling listless. It’s as if I don’t have enough emotion left to put into my writing. Do I really believe that? No. I’m sure if I dug deep enough I could tap into what I need. After all, I am still writing. I think I’m just too emotionally drained and tired to dig deep.
Thankfully, I know this listless feeling won’t last, because time is healing.
Day forty-two of my 365 Day Writing Project.
Time: 1 1/2 hours
My progress from Day 40 and 41 was 400 and 600 words respectively. Today, I did much better, but to be fair, it was a very busy weekend with travel again. We won’t be doing any traveling for some time now, instead filling our weekends with the kids’ soccer games, birthday parties and fun fall events right here in Vermont. Finding time to write every day continues to be a challenge, but I’m learning that even on the craziest of days I can usually find a little time. Even if it is only for 15 minutes. No matter what our plans are, it’s never dull around here. While it can be exhausting and often feel too busy, life is always full of inspiration.
Inspiration is a funny thing. I used to think I had to do great things to find inspiration; it had to be something special. As I get older, I recognize that inspiration can come from even the most mundane, normal experiences and be just as powerful as the extraordinary. The key is to allow yourself to be open to it. In my younger years I might have been wrong about where inspiration would find me, but I was always right about the simple fact that it would find me. Now I find inspiration in a ridiculous number of things in a day. These things are nothing special in the usual sense. They are daily experiences or typical things seen on a typical day. Upon allowing myself to be more open, I see that these things actually are special.
Inspiration engenders a will to do something. It compels. In my case, it compels me to write. But one must be first open to being compelled before one will actually feel it. And art is an expression of one’s feelings. So don’t fight it. Don’t search for it. Don’t force it. Even if all you do in a day is go to the post office or the grocery store, inspiration will come. Let yourself be compelled. Just be open to it. It will find you and it will be special.