Sunday
Was perhaps the most beautiful day in June
I’ve seen
Sunny all day
Nothing cold
(It’s supposed to be winter here)
I gardened
And pottered
I drank tea
And afterward
I wrote a post
For SubStack
I haven’t written over there since March
I got to the end
And nearly left it sitting
As a draft
Laptop lid closing
But I realised I was sitting at a crossroads
Whether to be a writer
Or just a thinker
I prefer writing more
Because in the passing of a thousand thoughts
Nothing forms
And it all just comes back again
But when I write
And share
I discover who I am
Which allows me to move
Into skin
Bone
Fingertips
Of an evolving human
And the success of the thing, it isn’t about someone reading
It’s about being
Who I’m supposed to be
Writing for me
Is living
*lately WordPress has been regurgitating old posts – three or four from over the years all the way back to 2016 and I’m reading them and remembering.
I wish I hadn’t discarded old posts as I turned them into books – most of which I subsequently unpublished. Still, what remains is a significant amount of writing.
And the beauty of building a body of writing is not for other people, it is for ourselves. Because the person who wrote those pieces is me. There is something about poetry that is deeply authentic and I write from a place that isn’t connected to the surface level confused and conflicted human. It is connected to something deeper, some subconscious or even meta conscious part of me. That part is worth revisiting to take advice.
That output is worth both the writing and reading. Even if it is just me going backwards to the records that exist now and thinking “that was hard and then it was easy and then it was hard and then it was easy”
And so cycles end
And begin again
And it’s all just living
The header photo is a combination of my dog Bodhi and two trees I planted long ago.
I planted those trees before Bodhi had come into my life and without knowing they would become markers for her grave.
I planted the trees with Mum in the sunshine, chattering and laughing, not realising she would develop alzheimers and so be stolen away from me, piece by piece.
Through it all, the ups and downs, nature surrounds us, changing and growing. Writing reminds me that a similar cycle is happening internally. We are not separate from nature, we are part of it. Writing makes visible our seasons and new forms, old habits and thoughts.
So through it all, writing.
Life. It’s worth it, keep going.
Kate, to read your words,…to “see” you…particularly…today. It’s no coincidence, dear friend. We are oceans apart–yet, our souls and thoughts intertwined.
New seasons, my mom’s memory fading, my dad’s heart failing, my body tired and still fighting, my kids and grands growing and away….I’m left with my words. Thoughts. A bad arm and tired hands. Tired soul.
But for Finn. Even her little heart has congestive failure. But I planted flowers today that I had begun in my hydraponics. I almost let them die as I waited too late to transplant them. But like them, I felt buried. Also, I believe the sun and my love will perk them up.
Just as your lovely words, through the ups and downs for which I’m sorry, my heart hurts and understands your hurt, reminds me that I too am part of a new season.
I’ll keep going like you, dear Kate. Life is worth it. Sending much love and hugs. What a joy and miracle it was to read your words right now. THANK YOU THANK YOU! ❣️❣️XO
Hi Karla the ups and downs, we cannot escape those ups and downs but it’s no small thing to reach an age where we have known both so know also there will be more to come. I was talking to a man last night who was so happy with his life right now that he was worried …about the other boot dropping. Isn’t it awful how life teaches us that way – that for every up there is a down coming, I felt for him as I am still in a down right now looking for my up – somehow that felt better in the moment then vice versa. Firmer and more real. I feel for you my friend, what a battle you continue to fight – but the sun paints the sky with the most glorious colours every evening and morning – and the stars are gorgeous. Birds still sing. Nature catches us – sending you love and hugs X
Such truth and rawness, dear Kate. Yes. I understand this all. XOXO
❤️
Is there a way you can turn your own posts into a book? I’m curious as you mentioned it. Wonderful post!
Cath, I extracted my poetry by transferring into books and then deleted those poems from the blog – over a hundred, so quite a few. One book is published the other one I am currently redoing. You can download and export your blog using an app I think. Have a google around. There would be a way to do it I’m sure.
Thanks!
It’s sad that you lost Bodhi, and it sounds like it’s been tough for other reasons too.
~
I’m sure much of your character and strength is in your published words but I also feel certain that that is but a meager measure of you.
Be well and do good, Kate.
DD
Thank you DD, Bodhi has been gone a little over a year now, I wrote a thousand tributes to her in my heart, and that helps the grief move through. She was a very special dog. It has been a tough twelve months and for so many reasons. But that’s okay, I’m sure there is an upswing coming – storms run out of rain as they say. Thanks also for your company it is so lovely to return after a hiatus and pick up conversations with lovely people
I’ve a hopeless memory Kate – accumulated blunt and not so blunt head traumas – so forgive me if recall of losing Bodhi slipped my mind.
Alzheimer’s is a bugga and I hope somehow I avoid that end.
May we all avoid it DD and please don’t think of it, I don’t think I wrote here of Bodhis passing so it’s doubtful you forgot:
Loved it Kate… welcome back! 🙂
Thank you ✨😊
Beautifully written
Thank you, you are very kind ✨