Cocooning

It’s hard to let go of life when it still has to be lived, but I am so burnt out I have worn myself down to bare bones. I don’t know who I am anymore. 

The world is simply too much, and I am far too little. I can’t make sense of things, outer or inner. What I know seems irrelevant; what I don’t know seems daunting in its immensity.

I have just begun four whole weeks away from home—to look after a sad little dog—and I will be using this time to cocoon. Of necessity, I have released myself from expectations:

I won’t be making any art for the foreseeable future. This is a huge burden lifted. If the creative urge returns, I’ll welcome it; if it doesn’t, so be it. 

I will share writing—most likely of a poetic kind—if and when it comes, but am releasing myself from any requirement to produce shareable work. 

I’ll be reading less, and more slowly*—after reading Iain McGilchrist’s books I’m sure many things will seem flimsy in comparison anyway—and avoiding most online content. 

I’m finding that I need to avoid as much unnecessary stimulation as I can, so will be attempting to be online less, to rest eyes, ears and mind. This is tricky because online interactions with people are a lifeline, so I will still be responding to messages, and posting things occasionally. (I do also have better days, when more is possible.)

My existence feels flimsy, dissolving. Formless and purposeless. I need to find a way to re-solidify, repair, reinvent. I need more entanglement, to be knotted back into life.

There is nothing I need to do for a whole month other than take care of myself (and doggo) and try to begin to heal after what has been a year of struggle. I’ll drift through the summer days, wandering, unsure, trying to find solidity.

I barely have the will to be, let alone the ability to become. Though I cling to the reassuring notion that the future is unknown, and therefore contains unknown potentials, some of which I may want to welcome, so I do have to hold on. But right now I must move slowly within a dark circle of stillness and silence. 

*I most likely won’t hold myself to this. I devour books when I am dog-sitting!

Gleanings: III

within the womb of winter 

travel to the self long-concealed 

find openings. but no way through 

is wellness possible in this world? 

keep seeking and discover darkness 

firelight (and a circle of women) 

creates quiet and discloses a centre 

that finally opens so 

reborn from the belly of winter 

the heart is ruptured, spilling, red red 

into a surging spring 

outside is where I go in 

to grow downwards 

to connect with the ground 

and root into dreams that flow with 

the shimmer-song of summer 

I become the opening I enter 

into the interior where 

birds sing and silence speaks 

and I am seen and see 

profusion 

can I mould my life to the shape of this vision? 

or will I forget infinity? 

sliding into autumn blue and loss 

the melancholy turning 

I trust my heart to the seasons 

even concealed again 

all worlds are connected and 

I am still journeying

(October 2023)

Gleanings: II

worn down and drowned
a nub of rough stone
entering the undertow
sinking down to be claimed
by the riverbed

submerged

cold water slips over the surface
of a small stone heart

what is the language of illness? of immersion in the undercurrent?

sounding out the depths of
the dim life down there
rolling with inner tides that riffle the mud
tugging at dreams that attempt to surface
dissolving what is known in the murk
softening in silt
gentling stone to quiet
darkness and deepening
inhabiting the liquid of malleability

there is no fixed point, only flow
even for stone
transformations in a ceaseless stream
a confluence of cool moving waters
soothing, wearing smooth

until the nub is grasped, fluent in the hand

(September 2023)

Gleanings: I

parted from self 

mind awry 

in dark grief and 

bound within 

enclosed spaces 

heart locked away 

opening up my chest 

singing out sorrows 

everything is black and red 

something ends then 

I want to shed my skin 

to discard the numbness 

I have used to clothe myself

and seek suitable blessings 

to hold my attention, to deepen towards – 

gentleness and flow and allowing 

I long to be borne by 

many hearts, many hands 

so I am carried 

still heart-sore, but knowing 

I am swimming in the body of love 

and if I start slowly from 

a low-to-the-ground place 

I find my frailty has been my strength 

opening, the fragile flower of hope 

for even what is lost might still seed

(September 2023)

An Update from the Burgeoning Spring

With all that is going on in the world at present I have not felt disposed to posting here, yet I have been sharing a lot elsewhere (and finding it a lifeline in difficult times). So here is a little, mostly visual, update on the past few months.

Some images from my trip to Canberra in July to see the Feared and Revered exhibition, including a turquoise parrot (a species new to me) and a lonely black swan.

Some knitting I finished a while back. I have never been a yellow person, but I’ve developed a liking for mustards and golds. I had more yarn than expected left over from making the jumper, so was able to make a scarf as well.

A paragraph from The Matter With Things by Iain McGilchrist, from the chapter on creativity.

Away from home, dog-sitting, and finding orchids, who told me not to fade away.

Feeling this (from the poem ‘In This Motherless Geography’ by Elaine Orr).

Home, finding treasures in the garden, and assembling little poems on the floor of my studio, plus a quote about purpose from The Matter With Things.

After a particularly hard day, a walk to the lake for the calm of water, and a white-faced heron!

Another brief trip to Canberra, where the moon rose amidst the branches of an antlered tree.

I finally finished reading Volume I of The Matter With Things, and here are some more choice quotes.

More garden treasures, including a white-browed scrub wren.

A grey fantail, dancing.

And remembering to have the patience of the snail. (This year, though extremely difficult, is turning out to be very interesting also—so, though I am lying fallow at present, I hope to find the creative flow again soon.)

Flow ~ Vortices ~ Spirals

The above four images are taken from Iain McGilchrist’s The Matter with Things, with quotes from Friedrich Schelling.

Below: 

Cycladic vase, c. 2800-2700 BC (Pat Getz-Gentle, Ancient Art of the Cyclades)

Spiral designs from Old European pottery, 5800-5500 BC (Marija Gimbutas, The Civilization of the Goddess)

Classical Cucuteni vases, 4400-4200 BC (Marija Gimbutas, The Civilization of the Goddess)

Pot from Butmir culture, early 5th millennium BC (Marija Gimbutas, The Civilization of the Goddess)

Entrance stone at Newgrange, c. 3200 BC (Marija Gimbutas, The Civilization of the Goddess)

Cycladic ‘frying pan’, mid 3rd millennium BC (Marija Gimbutas, The Language of the Goddess)