Leaving the safe haven

“So don’t be frightened, dear friend, if a sadness confronts you larger than any you have ever known, casting its shadow over all you do. You must think that something is happening within you, and remember that life has not forgotten you; it holds you in its hand and will not let you fall. Why would you want to exclude from your life any uneasiness, any pain, any depression, since you don’t know what work they are accomplishing within you?”
― Rainer Maria Rilke, Letters to a Young Poet

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The woods in autumn rain

Inspired by

Nothing stirs, nothing moves
in the still damp air
green leaves turning
to silent shades of brown
hanging lifeless from
lonely reaching branches
tears dripping down on soft earth
sparkle, then drown
in dark pools of sombre sky
smoke from a distant fire
drifts through the hushed wood
invisible and invasive
as a memory
I stand alone beneath the grieving trees
joined in sadness.

Disconnected

In the spaces between my words
something breathes
and cries
It’s tears run wet down my face
I can touch them there
but they flow from
some other reality
some alternate world
just as
the thing that moves when seen
from the corner of my eye
disappears when I turn to look
maybe it is some other version of me
one that remembers
one that feels
a child me displaced in time
peeping from between
the spaces between my words.

In these last days of summer…

In these last days of summer…

I feel the chill breath of autumn on my skin

the sun rises cold in a clear sky

and I watch each day end

with sadness in my heart

Someone wrote in a comment recently about the deep sadness she feels every day as a survivor of childhood abuse.  I also feel a similar deep sadness that is always with me.  Her comment made me think about how I live with my sadness.  This art journal post is the result but so, I think, is my whole blog.  My sadness fills every page and post.  It looks through the lens of my camera, it powers my pen when I write and it guides my hand through every creation.  It pours into every creative thing I do.  It is maybe like the image of the old journal that I use for these pages.  Its age and experience is there in its stained, yellowing pages that colour everything created on them.  It has lost the clean whiteness that comes from something pure and newborn, it has been shaped by the life it has lived.

Although I would never have chosen the life I have been given I find profound beauty and solace in poetry and photography that I may never have experienced if I had lived a different life.  It moves me that my words and images find a place in other peoples’ hearts and that they can express something personal for each person, whatever their situation.