Meeting with a Strong Woman

Work in progress from the series 'The Best Songbirds Learn To Sing In The Dark'

This week I wasn't sure that I had anything that I wanted to contribute to All About You. I was feeling the pressure. The pressure to have something valid or even interesting to say. I don't like to write out of a sense of duty, I don't like to see even a hint of 'I ought to' inbetween the lines here. My head and my heart have felt full the last few days, they have felt the busyness of processing all the stuff that life imparts, good and bad. I didn't want to show up here and say, I have been shouty and impatient and insular for the last few days. I didn't want to talk about that nor examine it. All the I know why and I don't know why's, it is both a familiar cycle and an unfamiliar one. There are subtle changes that let me know I am just on the cusp of figuring it all out and I just want to yell out to those close by, 'I'm so close, so close … just wait a little longer'.

I met with a friend for coffee this morning. She is a person that sees very clearly, she is a strong, purposeful woman, one who really champions other people, one who really champions other women. She helped me so gently to clear my head, she listened. She fed me when I asked to be nourished and summed up my disparate words with clear and concise choices. It felt like she was handing back my hopes and dreams, like she had readily opened a book, my book, my story and turned the corner on the the very same pages that I would've turned also. The pages that you want to return to, the ones that make it all make sense. The pages that sum you up, the pages that sum me up. She opened a door and let me in too and I was able to read more of her story, pages that had up until now been left unread. There was an exchange and a sharing that felt very special, and a clearing of thoughts on my part. I was able to lean on her and I am not a leaner, it does not come to me readily or easily, in fact I furiously resist it. I'm not sure if she can read this in me, I'm not sure if she knew the restorative work she was doing for me. I don't know if she was leaving feeling drained as can sometimes happen when another pours their life and soul into your lap. I hope not. Although, a selfish part of me, is simply proud that for once I was able to offer my vulnerability and unsureness without immediately feeling idiotic. This is progress, no? I do at least know for sure that this would be pleasing to her.

Today I met with a strong woman and I put my black heart in her warm hands and after a time my heart began to redden once more and for that I am grateful. It is such a challenge for me to ask for help and to accept advice and counsel and teaching from others, I think I have always been this way, a proud and stubborn creature. An awkward creature. It is part of who I am and I accept it even though it saddens me and makes me feel rage and envy at those that are able to seek and accept from others so easily. I suspect that forever more I will be trying to redden my heart with the help of others willingly and unwillingly but mostly unwillingly. I am but a work in progress, never complete. Never complete. 

That feeling ...

Sometimes I get it when I run my forefinger around the rim of a glass and it makes a sound that lingers. Or when I'm out and about and I hear the sound of a train in the distance. When I put on a fresh pair of socks and turn over the cuff so that I don't have a sock mark. When I'm waiting for the kettle to boil and there's enough time to dip my banana into a small plate of salted peanuts, when my eldest is at school and I can eat nuts guilt free, because he has an allergy you see. Sometimes, it happens when I sing a song and I find I can hit that note that I couldn't before and all without going into falsetto. When I've scrubbed and moisturised my children and combed cleaned hair and prepared it samurai style ready for bed. I get it when I glance at the fresh flowers my mum buys me. I get it when I buy a film I really love and I leave it in its cellophane waiting for a perfect moment to watch it. 

I've had that feeling a lot the last few days. I started drawing again. I have a clear project in mind, it's been brewing for a quite a while. It's taken some time to get here and there has been much hunting and gathering and piecing together and now I have a story. I know how it begins and I think I know what's going to happen in the middle and the end, well, I have an inkling but we'll see. I feel excited. I'm waking up in the middle of the night and making notes kind of excited. I'm happy about this, I've missed that happy restlessness. 

Today I chose a title for the work that I have begun. Sometimes a title comes at the end after the work has evolved. This time it has come earlier, it has been stirring me and calling me. I must trust it, that feeling. Trust that it is telling me something that I need to hear.  I'm willing and I'm listening, listening out, for changes, for danger, for story. I am believing without seeing and drawing close to the warmth, to what feels like home. And when I close my eyes and darkness becomes me, I think of the lesson that I am learning, that 'The Best Songbirds Learn To Sing in the Dark'.