Being Made Perfect In A Short Space:
She Fulfilled A Long Time
For Her Soul Pleased God
This epitaph, for years, guided me both as a person and as a writer; I used it to justify decisions and explain behavior. It structured writing ideas, characters and volumes of journals.
Today I revisited this place; this temple of my past, where I spent years justifying bad decisions. Writing through my uneasy conscious. Writing through my short space. Because what happened in my short space, didn’t affect real life. Or so I made myself believe.
A week ago, I had a very poignant conversation with a man about writing, my writing. I don’t talk about my writing with anyone. I share here, in this short space. I shared with him.
I don’t think, in fact I know, he had any idea the significance of the conversation, or how profoundly his words spoke to me. All these years I’ve been trying to make these pieces of writing, of myself, fit together. But why? They don’t need to fit. They are my journey. I am a journey. I have become more than the sum of the pieces of my past. I am me. My writing, all of it significant in its own right, doesn’t need to fit together to make a whole. The pieces are what matter.
Being here, in this city where I still feel at home, my course has shifted. My writing has shifted. Who I am, makes me happy.
Sometimes I try too hard.
When I force things, whatever “things” are, nothing happens, or I struggle and get frustrated. Often times, it’s the process of letting life happen that brings about the most rewards and opportunities. Not that I sit around complacent and lazy, but occasionally just letting the world happen as it will. I feel like, well, Tegan and Sara said it best, “my body moves, like curtains waving in and out of wind, in and out of windows.” I’m all about grasping opportunity and not letting life pass me by, but so often I have stressed and struggled over aspects of my life, just to have it work itself out independent of my freaking out and doing something about it.
This morning, as I sit on my front porch, drinking my coffee while enjoying the cool onset of autumn, I am trying not to get overwhelmed and stressed out about the state of my life. I’m feeling a rare moment of peace. Everything feels like it’s working today and I don’t want to screw things up by getting involved.
the earth didn’t move and the sky didn’t fall
it was sweet with the taste of great potential
it happens when I least expect it
the sound of thunder that starts quietly far away then
shakes the walls
comfort found under the cover of darkness
it’s right there brilliantly teasing
how would it feel
the red dances through the
I would tremble
dormant years emerging uncontrollably through my skin
that ebb and flow
along the shore
kissing my naked feet
it’s all I hear
it’s all I know
it’s all I feel
its what drives me into tomorrow
the feeling of adrenaline
movement caused by
anticipation and an
hunger and need elevated to
out of reach
a touch that changes everything
words that touch the soul and
falling through the space between my thoughts and
in outstretched arms
feeling what is unseen
seeing what can only be felt
knowing there is more to life and not being scared
questions with multiple answers that
into the grey
the ache in my chest that
lets me know
I’m still alive
the hand that understands without words and
the words that
words that push
losing my way through lyrics that
uncover the power of
getting lost in myself
in someone else
his eyes told the lies she was longing to hear
It’s been a weekend.
Just writing that sentence exhausts me…emotionally. Navigating life through this fog of uncertainty has proven to be more of a challenge than I originally anticipated. Today was supposed to provide me with relief in the form of digging in the dirt, working my garden, quieting my mind through hard work and satisfying results. However, the extreme heat and humidity have banished me to my computer and my thoughts trying desperately to find an escape through my fingers on the keyboard.
It started here, about a week ago. My lifetime of writing, previously stored away from the prying eyes of he who couldn’t handle who I am, brought back to me in a flood of coming to terms with who I am and my past. I’ve spent a lifetime apologizing for who I am and the decisions I have made. Explaining up front, to so many, I am unlikable and it’s best to stay away. But I am likable…I just have a rich and colorful past. That past has made me who I am, and I will no longer apologize for who I was or who I have become. I’m sorting through the pieces. The journals, scraps of paper with scribbled sentences and words, research with notes, beginnings of stories, torn journal pages with poetry, and so many words…words upon words upon words…stuffed in a bin to be ignored, sorted, embraced, and read. The journey transcribed through different eyes at varying stages of life. Everything from immature high school imagery to the devastation of a woman whose life is being torn apart. I look to Evermay to make sense of it and give fragments of it a voice. She will tell her part of the story. She will be likable. Those who read her story will cheer her future and forgive her past. I will find her voice through my words of yesterday, today, and tomorrow. She will be made perfect in this short space.