Sunday, March 8, 2009

Tangible Creativeness

I've been neglectful of this thing recently... I'm apparently no better keeping up a blog than writing in my diary as a child. I never kept a diary on a daily basis, but I did keep journals. I would write in them sporadically as the mood would strike me, often after swooning over the boy I liked, or having a fight with my mother. Someone once gave me one of those dairies that locked, and had the dates all pre-entered so you could write every day. I did try writing every day, stuff like, "Today I ate an orange." The sporadic journal was much more interesting.

Now days, my life generally keeps me away from writing. I think about what I want to write, but then someone has a poopy diaper, or supper needs to be made, or laundry needs to be folded. I never seem to get a chance to sit down and do the things I want. Such is the life of a grown-up, I suppose.

I didn't keep the journals, but I kept a lot of the "creative writing" stuff that ended up in it. My goal was to someday publish it (I was foolish enough to think that I could some day be a published writer!). I even had a name picked out for the collection: The Better Half of Works, Undone. And I would lead it off with this piece:

Instinctive Writings

Word of mouth
Bird of flight
I see the shadows
I believe in light
No falling down
No place to run
The hunt is on
To find the sun
Darkness fell
The light protrudes
I can’t decided
Know not to do!
I cannot see
Seem to breathe
Falling shallow
Set me free
Purple wars
Welcome doors
Open sores
Pages torn
Instinctive writings
Word of mouth
No use fighting
I’m falling down

Dryness reigns
Terror parched
Life begins
The soldier marched
Seeing blind
Holding on
Blackness choking
Life's own song
Autumn rising
Summer sets
Winter looming
No springtime yet
Instinctive writings
Word of mouth
No use fighting
I’m falling down

I used to possess this creative energy that allowed me to write and compose music and paint and draw... of course, I was horribly, horribly depressed and would occasionally contemplate suicide, but that's besides the point. I would never desire going back to that state of psychological illness, but I do miss the creativeness that flowed from it. And while I have creativeness that flows from me in other ways (the songs I make up for my children, the meals I cook, the projects I undertake around my home), I often feel that they don't have the same tangibleness about them.

Of course, in return for giving up that aspect of my creativeness, I have my life, and for that I'm thankful. And my husband and I have created a wonderful, beautiful life together and two gorgeous children. Why I didn't think of those things as tangible until just now is beyond me...

1 comment:

  1. I have mourned the loss of my once creative...energetic...cute...perky "ahems"...self often lately. This post was very moving for me... Thank you for baring your soul!