There’s nothing so ? As the Leaving .

Or words to that effect. And spring is showing its face this morning as I walk along the river .

Lemons for the taking

For ages , it seems , days have dragged drearily and greyly on ( In our short winter ? ) Each day is grey, rain falls, it’s cold and we’re rugged up. Not true really. But this sunshine and flowering appears and life is wonderful . Why am I leaving this brightness, the wide spaces and clear water ?

My garden is coming alive too . I spotted a poppy amongst the forest of tall nearly flowering, sunflowers

I’ve been weeding , and planting cuttings that have been lying around for ages. Do I want to to pull a muscle again 2 weeks before departure? Inside the house we are moving stuff around, taking the unwanted to the Resource Center and various Op shops., and binning. Used / beautiful ? Neither, and it’s gone . All laudable , except we are also juggling remains around to create new liveable spaces . We won’t be here for quite a while , so why ? Cleaning , tidying , sorting; the stuff of life. And re creating and affirming possession .

Is this a sort of “ I’ll leave everything in place in case … “ Anne Patchett has confessed to leaving stickers on her current piece of writing so that a designated person can carry the story , and she maintains that her close writing friends do likewise. Well I’m not so sure about the worthiness of my writing, but I have definitely sorted , culled, copied . And one of the stresses is completing a few pieces before that cut off point of departure .

I guess we need to leave in order to recognise the wonder we already have. There is also, I suspect , a little voice which gets louder as we age , trying to keep us where we are mentally as well as physically . The reluctance may be another strategy to keep us with what we know .

Not just the outside , flowers budding, leaves emerging slowly from dry branches. But once again I like my hotch potch decor, the startling colours on walls, the mismatching furniture , the inefficient corners , even the rafters on the top floor I regularly trip over and Robbie’s jarrah staircase which we have to use many times a day. Slowly walking with hands on the wall . But the light streams in . .

If the beauty doesn’t pull me back from thoughts of another place and another reality, my body attacks with sprains and blisters and newly discovered wrongneses. Then there’s the usual tugs of family : x needs me .

Poor George
What’s my foot doing here ?
Love you Díaz

But I’ll ride all this . After all stuff will still be here tomorrow , or whenever I return . Adventure won’t be . Time and Tide wait for nobody

Ha writing room will still be here

Spider Webs , the Lady of Shallot and Getting Away.

Just look at the webs that are gathering in our house this change of season : these cold mornings and crispy skies as the sun emerges .

The spider when you can see him ? Or her , seems content just to be left alone in it’s web slowly creating a home, a shelter . I wonder though if it ever wants to get out. Does it find it difficult to disengage, untangle itself from woven , clinging surrounds? I reckon it’s daunting both ways – building that web takes hours of physical effort as well as mental agility. But getting out must be nearly as hard, just all that untangling and destroying what took hours to create.

Poor spider

They look happy here in my bathroom

Look what happened to the Lady of Shallot when she left her web, left her loom. Next thing she’s floating down the river , dead . And all for Lancelot who could only fling off “ By God she had a lovely face. “ That was it.

One wonders about the worth of the bid for freedom. Maybe just for an instant between the moving outside and the floating down that river, still looking beautiful mind you, she felt joyful . She’d taken a huge step after years of a dreary room, endlessly spinning.

I do wonder if it’s possible to prop the window open and climb back in . Or keep one strong thread tied to that leg so spider -like one can quickly, invisibly weave a shelter again .

I no longer want to fly away completely.But I would like to get up , move above and see the huge sky again.

Let Go – but it’s not so simple.

What could you let go of, for the sake of harmony?

Sunflowers keep popping up

A prompt from the Jetpack on my WordPress ( which I rarely use) . But as I’ve not been blogging lately , here goes :I’m using the prompt.

Particularly as there appears to be some serendipity in this particular prompt appearing right now. Right now as once again reflecting, no grappling with not what to let go but how much and how to do it. So my first reaction is that letting go is more complex and fractured than appears in the gentle unflurried yogi- like phrase of ‘ let go’

The author of article Finding Serenity etc describes the 6 steps involved in letting go,: releasing resentment, control, limiting self beliefs, attachment to past trauma, excessive material possessions . So just fling them off . To be fair, that’s my interpretation. Fling off the myriad of attachments to our life as it is , and then what ? Where are those threads that bind ?

I’m not arguing that we should keep all those bindings, but I am conscious of the complexity of discarding or at least minimising their impact. This is my and, I hazard a guess, others’ pasts.

Life after letting go is a blank slate to write on again . Sometimes there is no more energy or time left to start another story.

But I’m taking this too literally ? Maybe . For me I have woven and continue to weave those resentments, anxieties , memories good and not so good into the fabric of life now as it is being lived. I’m hopeful , always hopeful , that simply being alive is powerful enough to carry me along . The threads are there to remind at times , to caution , to connect. Just not to bind , I’m living my life warts and all.

Rejections. So I’m still writing.

It’s hard to stay strong, or strongish . Or believe that I can write .

Just a ‘ not suitable for this journal , we’ve had a lot of submissions ‘ , and I forget the ones that I have had published . I also forget why I’m writing, especially poetry.

The old competitive streak re-emerges: I have to put a No against the table I have , listing what/ date submitted/ result !!

It’s such a balancing act . To take in the feedback but not let it annihilate my voice . Or obliterate urge to write . And here I thank SPM for their feedback .

It’s their feedback which will keep me at it . Keep me writing , I know all the factors working against my success : age, motivation, academia ( ha yes,) There are more but not really relevant .

I’m still becoming confident with my found voice . I’m getting better with the structure and presentation . Still struggling with technology of submission and confidence . But I’ll get there.

Like my favourite , sunflower

Augusta Time

Here I sit in the fading light. On the verandah at Augusta house.Looking out to trees and more trees and only the occasional sound of tyres as people return home at the end of the day. Even the birds are quieter . But I’m watching the growing wasp nest near my head. Those wasps had better enjoy their last night .

You’re not staying

Time and more time. Here there are fewer things to be done , and it takes a while to create a new routine to the day , so late rising and sitting here with coffee and sitting some more. While Doug cuts up logs .

Busy

Then the short drive to the town and more coffee at the something or other Robin.

Today I had a swim at Flinders beach and it was surprisingly warm . The sun has been out all day and only now is the slight chill coming in , and time to light the wood fire.

So it’s been a day of coffee, swim, basking in the sun, walking, op shop ( good one here!) , hardware store to tighten the electric saw, food shopping, reading and writing. Because I have time, I cannot escape writing. Busy Augusta day.