Pages

Friday, April 12, 2013

on account of my lightness





“I am the most tired woman in the world. I am tired when I get up. Life requires an effort I cannot make. Please give me that heavy book. I need to put something heavy like that on top of my head. I have to place my feet under the pillows always, so as to be able to stay on earth. Otherwise I feel myself going away, going away at a tremendous speed, on account of my lightness. I know that I am dead. As soon as I utter a phrase my sincerity dies, becomes a lie whose coldness chills me. Don't say anything, because I see that you understand me, and I am afraid of your understanding. I have such a fear of finding another like myself, and such a desire to find one! I am so utterly lonely, but I also have such a fear that my isolation be broken through, and I no longer be the head and ruler of my universe. I am in great terror of your understanding by which you penetrate into my world; and then I stand revealed and I have to share my kingdom with you.”


-Anaïs Nin




I know all too well what Nin speaks of - that insanely tired feeling. And it's not just because of the bouts of insomnia, it's a weariness with how things happen to be, how they are, how life is. It's about the utter loneliness, but also about fearing yet desperately needing isolation.

But then, one of my Facebook contacts posts this video interview with Patti Smith. And it's a good reminder, that things can be beautiful too, but that life is struggle. The artist/writer path particularly. That's just the way it is.






I was tired, am still tired, when I look out at the front lawn and see four feet of snow. And the forecast is for more on the weekend. So, yesterday I asked Rob to buy me flowers on the way home from dropping Chloe at school. I was expecting a little bunch of daffodils or something, but he walked in with roses, with lilies and some red daisies. A floral feast for the eyes....







This morning I woke up to a nice email, an acceptance of a poem (from my manuscript Asking) in an American literary journal I respect, and whose name I've always loved. (Eleven Eleven). I can't tell you how uplifitng that is...

The orange roses in the morning seem as though they're on fire.




And there's something about the red that clarifies things for me. 

The flowers go on being flowers, whether or not anyone looks at them or not. 









1 comment:

  1. You always inspire Shawna, and point to inspiring things And congratulations on your poem!

    ReplyDelete

Related Posts Plugin for WordPress, Blogger...