Finding time, finding space.

Writing is no longer the priority it once was for me. This is sad, but not the end of the line. I haven’t given up on it, as such. I just now find it much more difficult to fit in around an ever-increasing number of monsters eating up my time and energy.

I’m here, though. Despite the difficulties, despite that writing doesn’t come to me with the same ease and fluency as a couple of years ago, I still come back. In the last week I was introduced to the Ghazal form of poetry. Looking into it I realise there’s a lot more culture and history behind them than could be shown to us during one short workshop. So I guess the poem I’ve begun to craft isn’t a true Ghazal. But it IS a poem, and it is mine; that is enough for me.

I plan to do some more work on it and have 12 glorious lines of verse posted here within the week. I also plan to have read up on Quantum Mechanics and Physical Fields by then, but I think I know what I will end up doing, given the choice!

 

It’s good to be back.

Getting here.

It’s hard, isn’t it? Trying to fit everything together, laying out your unfinished jigsaw, your life’s works, thinking:

“How did I get here?”

You try to put back the pieces, but some won’t fit. Take a hammer to them. The fragments still don’t quite match up, and wait! The colours are all wrong there.

Stop. Take stock. Hunt for clues.

Photos are flat, steam-rolled with the life squashed out of them. They never show you what you want to know, anyway. Can you even trust your memories?

They’re alive, you know.

They wander around inside your skull. They grow and they die. They eat each other, sometimes, which is just confusing if you let it go on for too long.

You can go on for too long if you don’t catch yourself.

The past twists, knots behind you.
It happened, sure. But what is ‘it’?

The present is but a single knot in your tapestry.
Not much, I know.

Ahead? In the future lies:
_____     ___ _____  ____ _______ _  ___ _    _    _          _