Skip to main content

Half-sick of shadows

I am sitting by a marsh, breaking my long silence in Winter Light.

I asked myself, what could I write that was worth reading? I still do not know, but I write now to record a moment.

Darkness has lain heavily on me, but here there is no darkness. I am sitting in winter light-- a cold, clear half-light that can never satisfy. I wonder why I always come here in winter, when it is so brown and dead. I guess I come here in the summer, too, but my feeling of acute longing for the place isn't the same.

I will confess my worries to the trees:

Health, which always submits to the passage of time.

Mortality, so transient. Death, intangible.

Purpose, which will drive me to madness.

Age, which is only imaginary.

Love, which will break me again and again.

I don't know-- I don't understand what it is you do. But I am here, and as soon as I find the way to you I will be there. Even though I don't understand anything-- not why life must be this way, why things fall as they do.

The wind is cold. The leaves are brown. The ground is wet, but this is no ball gown I'm wearing.

This is the place that has been made today. Tomorrow it won't be the same. Perhaps there will never be a marsh that looks like this again. That is the way the wetlands are.

But now I believe that everything is possible. I can feel the shadows of past places and I am there now, and I am the same. This is not me, but the girl who wandered woods who is fortunate enough to have a Treo in her hands to record her thoughts instantaneously to the world.

The lady is wandering the woods. I can smell the smoke from a travelling caravan. I can feel the restless excitement of the travellers. I want to be with them, not wandering in the woods alone.

What will I sell?

I want to sell my talents, not my patience. Not my hours of sunlight. Not my pride. I want something to want the craft wrought with these hands. I want to belong to myself every moment of every day.

I am telling you these secrets, trees. What should I do now?

Popular posts from this blog

Snow White and the Prince

I dreamed in darkness, cold and alone. Phantasms shifted around me, frightening me, but I was powerless to escape them or even move, as I was sealed in a casket. I thought of the Queen, my Stepmother, and tears dripped from my eyes as I considered the quasi-poignant moments we had once shared, when we might have been considered to be close, when the Queen had nearly been a mother to me, and the face of love had shone radiantly upon me, before eclipsed again by the storms of Venus. I thought of the huntsman, stung to consider that my only friend had been poised to betray me, to kill me, and again in my mind I felt the horror of his shadow, of waiting while he came behind me, knowing there was no escape for me from a death he would inflict. My heart lifted as images of the Prince entered my mind, his grace atop a white-maned horse, always out of my reach, just beyond the words I longed to speak. If only there had been more time for us to fall in love. He might have saved me from those...
more &

Where does it lie

I look out onto the yellow and brown vegetation beneath my window, at the castle-like buildings far away and wonder where do I lie in all of this? There was a time when I was unfettered. This was a time before I entered the working world, before I was independent. My heart was free as a bird when I was in college. I did not know what happiness I experienced in my creativity because I had never known different. In other aspects of my life I knew pain but my stories, sprung up lately from a gothic mist into an immersing Pre-Raphaelite painting, were a richness and the most beautiful thing I had ever known. That the most beautiful thing I knew to exist happened inside of me made me very happy, even though I didn't know it. Now I know the sun is setting, even though I can't see it, because the bank of brown, twisted trees and shrubs is lit gold, like a reflection from a golden chalice. Slowly, slowly it will fade until everything is a homogenous, uncertain gray. This is the nightma...
more &

The day was described as unseasonably warm

The day is so beautiful, but I do not feel beautiful. I feel like a void. The world will not be any more beautiful if I go into the park and enjoy the sunshine. The birds will still sing whether I go or stay, and this person does not seem capable of feeling any kind of happiness. I have been going through old entries, and find the same things I have always found when doing this. I have the same feelings and interests as I always did, I feel the same pressures and struggles as ever. I have been tagging things, but it is a never-ending task. I have nearly 800 posts in this journal alone, to say nothing of paper journals and other notes on the Internet. I thought I would organize my notes because I do not feel capable of imbibing any kind of information or communicating anything of importance. However, I am tired. I did not sleep well last night. It is as though at some point years ago I lost some sleep, and I have been losing it ever since. I have a strange, lost feeling when I thi...
more &