It started about noon. On top of Mount Batte / We were all exclaiming. Someone had a cardboard / And a pin, and we all cried out when the sun / Appeared in tiny form on the notebook cover.
It was hard to believe. The high school teacher / We’d met called it a pinhole camera, / People in the Renaissance loved to do that. / And when the moon had passed partly through
We saw on a rock underneath a fir tree, /
Dozens of crescents—made the same way/ Thousands! Even our straw hats produced / A few as we moved them over the bare granite.
We shared chocolate, and one man from Maine / Told a joke. Suns were everywhere—at our feet.
- Robert Bly
My new #writingspace has me racing upstairs to play with my characters every night. So grateful my sweet husband put it all together for me. Shout out to @ikeafrance for the beautiful desk and chair. #writersofinstagram#writers#write
Months ago, when I was at the place of being so completely and utterly (and very understandably) done with life (which you can read about on this page if you scroll back), I remember coming to a place of seeing humanity and the world for what it was in a way I'd never seen before. It saddened me on such a profoundly deep level, that I started to think, "I never signed up for this. I don't know if I want to be here." What a thought. Now I can hear some of you thinking, "Shame, she hit a crisis." But I personally think I hit the understanding of the reality of reality. You see, I think in many ways we all live in the version of perception that we can handle. Perception is reality ie your view of reality is purely a manifestation of your perception. And whatever bubble version of life I was living in, that I thought was already anything but a happy bubble because severe illness, was popped. I like to think it was a leftover residual religious veil that lifted. Beyond grateful I am. Now at least, as I'm far on the other side. Back then it felt like the very foundations of my world were disintegrating because what had always kept me going was my desire to be here. I never signed up for my genetic code to be triggered into illness. I never signed up to live on such a chaotic planet filled with an overwhelming amount of endless suffering. And that hit me. Hard. But I've come to realise that thoughts are things. They can be questioned, held, viewed and discarded. They are powerful objects, but not the steering wheel. And so as I analysed those two lines, "I never signed up for this. I don't know if I want to be here." as well as the thought, "I really want to live." Cradling these in tandem, I was struck by the interesting oxymoron I found myself in. Surely one set of thoughts would have to bow to the other in order to go forward? It was then that I realised you can actually only love something in fullness and in truth when you see ALL of it. Every facet. Every nuance. Every.little.bit. And me, well I'm a feeler, a seer, an empath. Continued in comments.. #write#writer#writerscommunity#writersofig#words#thoughts#ohselah#invisibleillness#chronicillness#spoonie
//A LETTER TO THE DEVIL// Hey Devil, 'As long as I remember, it was you and your smile that took my breath over and over again'. I read these lines this morning. They are of course so romantic. But they make me wonder what made me fall for you. As I dived deep into the ocean of my memories, I realised that it wasn't your smile or something cheerful about you that took my breath away. Rather, it was something so unpleasant that ignited the spark of love in my very cold heart.
I remember the night. The night when you called me. There was some sort of argument you had with your dad. It made you cry. You called me and told me the story. The story, baby, made me understand how hard it was for you in those days. As I listened to you trying to tell me the cause of the fight with him between your incessant sobbing.
The sound of you crying and howling made me sick. As if someone was churning my gut out. And then and there, it dawned upon me that I couldn't stand the sight of you crying. Seeing you unhappy was the last thing I'd ever want to see. Yes, baby...it was not the sound of your so beautiful laughter that I simply adore and want to listen for hours on end, but it was the sound of you sobbing into the phone and trying to tell me how hard it was for you.
Strange,isn't it ? But hey,it's not a love story until it's strange and breaks the cliche,right ? Me,being the alien and you,the chubby girl I used to play with in my childhood.
That was when I realised that I loved you. It was something very strange to my heart. Something very impractical and unfamiliar to my practical mind. As cliche as it may sound, but I really dont know what it was. It felt like I had something that I could tug on to in my hardest times. Like having someone who could make me wonder how on earth was it possible for a shell of a man who could never be his best like me to feel the matter of hearts. To understand the feelings that were conveyed without speaking. To Feel.
You, to me, my Devil, are what they call L-O-V-E LOVE. The person I can sing with. The person to share all my happiness and sorrows with. Basically, you are EVERYTHING.