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!
