Isn't blogging selfish? Does any other creature on this planet actually care to know anything that's on my mind? Am I just being vain? I put these questions to a dear friend who was trying to urge me to plug in and write again. We chatted yesterday; it was a wonderful surprise to connect at that time. I don't know about her, but I had a good cry as I fumbled for the keys. Our conversation soothed my soul as only dear friends can.
I am astounded by how self-centred and vain we are these days with our selfies and our blogging. I am under no illusions that I am doing this solely for me. If it happens to be read it's either because someone stumbled into it by accident or more likely, because a friend is trying to support me into once again joining the human race. I do wish, though, that I had the confidence to think that I could entertain with my words. Perhaps someday.
Writing has been my love and my salvation for so long. I lost it, or rather it slipped away from me years ago when I experienced a tremendous loss. It was like the motivation was ripped from my very soul. I lost the confidence of my words and I began to feel that I no longer had permission to use my beautiful imagination. There are two Tarot cards that illustrate where I have been without my writing and where my life is at this moment, they are the Hanged Man and the Hermit.
The Hanged Man is sort of hanging around upside down, tied to a tree. It can indicate a time or situation in which there is stillness and maybe even sacrifice or a sense of surrender. The Hermit, well, he hermits. He is all about solitude. The wonderful thing about this card is that wisdom can come from this withdrawal and aloness.
I tend to be alone in my head and often physically, as well (not necessarily because I wish it to be). Writing seems the natural way to use that aloneness. Of course, I'm whining about how I need to make it more than just a way to use the inordinate amount of time I seem to have. I am forever waiting for the next event to happen; anything, running into a friend, hearing that the world is coming to an end, hearing the news that I can once again move forward in this slow life. I'm forever hanging around as I try to puzzle through the obstacles and nudge the stones from my path.
Were this 18th century England, I believe I could have made a living as an ornamental hermit on some gorgeous country estate. I wouldn't have had to wear underwear or do my face or hair. I could twiddle my thumbs and when someone approached, I could pretend to be wise and maybe even helpful. There would be a very good reason for my aloness. What earning potential, too!
People would quite understand when I didn't reply to their e-mails in a timely manner - how could I when I was a-hermiting? I just made up that verb: a-hermiting. We shall go a-hermiting on the morrow, me laddies! I wouldn't have to trim my fingernails so they wouldn't get stuck between the keys as I typed. Nobody would notice if I wore the same pair of socks for two weeks. I'd have no laundry. Talking to myself might very well be part of my job description and I could give up the ever anxiety-producing FaceBook for something friendlier, like carrier pigeons.
I have been transitioning from one culture to another for the past eight months. This has been my time of gestation, a time of rest and a time of gathering myself as I try to step out into the world again. I'm scared and although a human being could not have better friends, I am in the depths of my aloness. I force myself to talk to my beloved ones, I feel almost sick when I open FaceBook because I'll have to communicate. But then I come away from it all the better for the exercise of having communicated.
I had a chance over the holiday weekend to meet a few new friends; I had been nervous and fairly dreaded having to interact. But they were beautiful. And they made me feel welcome. The Hanged Man may be here for a long time to come, but the Hermit is on the way out the door. He walks very slowly, giving me time to reconsider my aloneness, and even in writing this small, selfish bit, I'm helping myself.
No comments:
Post a Comment