the mental quiet

 
Quiet: the dearest of friends,
not a foe.
Never.

It was perturbing, at first,
to have silence inside and out;
only silence spinning a web in the eaves.

But the absence of a heartbeat,
no more creaking bones became
the most tranquil way of existence.

My mind let out a whir, infrequently:
a sound akin to raindrops
brushing past
the outspread fingers of the trees.

(Sleep on,
sleep on:
never dream aloud.

Bite back those thoughts.
Any sound might
melt this trance.)

Wishes slipping,
visions tripping:
the eventual souring of sleep.
I wake in a soaked, black-scribble bed.

And it haunts me the only reason I pray is
to remember you to God.

For now my soul has been opened, eroded
by the aggression of tears.

But...

How long until
I don't care again?

------------------------------------------

This piece is a strange combination of poetic license and a mélange of reality. I suppose that's hardly atypical, but I felt the need to mention it for some reason. The poem (as I suppose it is) was greatly inspired by the fact I've not been writing for the past... three weeks, I think? At first, I didn't really care; but finally it started eating me up inside, just eating me up. Yet I didn't want to force the issue, and the few thoughts that gleamed in the distance never felt worth pursuing. (The line between laziness and weariness often becomes saddeningly blurred for me. *sigh*) Scary things happened in vulnerable moments; I'd think, "Why do I bother writing?" or "I've had it with struggling with my music." Several mornings in a row, I nearly fell to pieces while trying to decide what to wear that day; I was that tired of having to get up every morning and live. But the Carole King song 'Beautiful' kept getting in my head: "You've got to get up every morning / with a smile on your face / and show the world / all the love in your heart..."
I've kept that song in mind, and, thanks to the fact my writing drought has ended, I'm trying to be more positive. While I haven't got the smile down yet, I get up every morning with a lighter heart, at least. And I'm extensively relieved to finally be writing again. I'm trying to make sure I never lose sight of my dreams again by remembering that, while writing is hard at times, especially as a possible career, ultimately it's what I love most. Haven't felt brave enough to work on songwriting again, but we're getting there.

Now I'm just hoping to be hit by some Christmas spirit... :) Maybe if the warm-ish weather would go away that would help. Please?







{Song is 'Beautiful' by Carole King and the painting is In Bed by Federico Zandomeneghi.}

Silence is priceless.

I've been try to weave a tent of words to hide in... but the softest wind topples it to the ground.
Why can I never be alone? Their abrasive voices always find me.
I would so love to be alone...
Because when people are nearby making noise, I am reminded of their presence.
Even if it's just a sniffing or a rustling... it ties me to the real world.
The sounds they make are ropes, binding me to the things I want to escape.
Silence is much more precious than gold.
Silence is priceless.
I wish people would stop referring to silences as awkward.
Why can't we embrace the quiet?

If I have to fill my silence it will be with the sounds of my favourite musicians.

I've been listening to the girl with the lemonade voice again. The songs from the days when it was just her and a guitar and a boy and a guitar.
I've missed them.
I've been missing the place they sing about.
And I don't even know where it is...

Ah, my lovelies. This past week there has been an inexplicable sadness trailing behind me. It's nothing serious - I hope it is just the winter settling in my ventricles. But I am unable to concentrate. Probably why I have been endeavouring to find silence; in hopes it will give me what I can't hold.
So, I've been holing up in my room, re-reading books like Miss Bishop and I Capture the Castle. And listening to The Finches, remembering summer days swinging in the backyard with my ipod. Back when sunlight barely pierced the canopy of leaves.
I have felt rather absurd in my quest for quiet and solitude. Indeed, it has wreaked havoc on my affability. But still... I desire it more than anything at the moment.

I am curious... what do you, my dearest readers, want at this moment?

{Both pictures were taken by me. I messed with the contrast on the first one. It kind of looks like I have red hair. I don't really, the light was shining on my hair and I have [natural!] red highlights.}