And, all apologies for any worry caused by the last post. It’s tricky to write about dark places in real time and sometimes I’m not sure where the boundaries should lie. I’ve been feeling uncomfortable with that last post, but not because of the content. I’m OK with raw honesty. My remorse lies in the context, in posting it as a part one instead of waiting until it was complete so you could have the whole picture. It is only a beginning, a true moment experienced as its written, but still not the whole truth. The rest of the story (here are the Cliff Notes, because I’m not sure when I’ll have time to finish) is me reaching an understanding: I can either keep going at this pace, meltdown and get help afterwards or chose to seek support (with child care, time off, whatever), to get rest to avoid coming undone. I choose the later. And it’s a hard lesson.Please know as long as I’m lucid enough to write it out and post, I’m fundamentally OK. Even within the moments of terror, I know I’ll come out of this OK.
And, in the hours of post-posting neurosis – I’ve been equally bummed that the start of the story (which has a kind of circular ending) just drops off without coming back around. That my biggest worry is about the quality of the writing (considering the content). I’m not sure if that makes me more or less crazy!
All love!
Anyway, I chose Attics of My Life as one of my songs for the workshop disc because it best defines what this circle is to me. The version is from Autzen Stadium, Eugene, OR: June 17, 1994 – a show I was at, my first trip to Oregon. I went back to Ohio after that trip and immediately put notice in at The Columbus Dispatch – where I was working as a reporter. There is a whole other story about Scott and synchronicity at those Eugene shows but that is for another time. And this is for you:
Attics of My Life
~Robert Hunter
In the Attics of my life
Full of cloudy dreams unreal
Full of tastes no tongue can know
And lights no eye can see
When there was no ear to hear
You sang to me
I have spent my life
Seeking all that’s still unsung
Bent my ear to hear the tune
And closed my eyes to see
When there were no strings to play
You played to me
In the book of love’s own dream
Where all the print is blood
Where all the pages are my days
And all my lights grow old
When I had no wings to fly
You flew to me
You
Flew
To me
In the secret space of dreams
Where I dreaming lay amazed
When the secrets all are told
And the petals all unfold
When there was no dream of mine
You dreamed of me
LOVE.
I have adored that song for many years--thank you for bringing it back to the front burner for me.
ReplyDeleteAnd thank you for this post, although your bravery and honesty in your last post was so appreciated, and is exactly what we're all here to do.
What I didn't address in my last comment was: the writing was spectacular, really. I would have been JUST as riveted if it was fiction. You can bring us back around to the mountains at the beginning in due time, when you're ready.
Ditto Kim! You are such a gifted writer, Holly, that's where your future income lies, that and in advocacy.
ReplyDeleteI was born and raised in Eugene, Oregon, that one in a million town!
Your writing is as remarkable as you yourself, Holly. Like Kim says, you'll bring us round to the mountains when you're ready. We'll all be here and waiting.
ReplyDeleteThe song is new to me. Thanks for the introduction. And what you say makes sense for all of us--as long as we're posting, as long as we're talking to each other, we've got a pretty decent grip on reality.
There is such strength here, such grace among us. We each will take turns as holder and as held. Few things greater than a circle where that's both safe and accepted.
Always.
I'm glad you're doing okay, Holly. It is sometimes shocking to see our deepest emotions in print and even harder to look back and see how we felt. I'm with the others, though, that's why we're here for each other.
ReplyDeleteI can't wait to hear about the mountains, too, but mostly I'm glad you're reaching out for help. Love, love, love...
I trust the whole process, Holly. Your spirit is strong in the writing, beautifully clear, even in the moments of terror. Just to write those places out is a great thing. Let it be your boat. And we are boatwomen, we can help along the way.
ReplyDeleteWhen I read you in crisis, I simultaneously understand that sometimes you're not in crisis. I hope that's helpful.
ReplyDeleteI got this image from some Buddhist quote or study somewhere. They remind us that with just one whisper of wind in the clouds, a grey day gains the sun, and just as quickly, it loses it again. Such is the nature of circumstance. But the sky is always the sky. And you are like that sky. And your power, whether you're feeling it or not, always comes through. Every time you write, it connects, gets me here (points to heart, points to head). Don't question it!
Oh -- Love Robert Hunter! Secret dream: to take some of his unsung lyrics and put them to music...
Okay you! Rest up :)
xo
Holly, your honesty is so beautiful. I'm glad you're choosing to take care of yourself and letting the circle hold you. Your last two posts have helped me understand in a new way the okayness of down and up and down and up again. Thank you for your incredible words and life. Love!
ReplyDeleteI love what everyone else has said here, not sure what to add..... This post is just so well said. I think we are so blessed with all the honesty going around lately... If we all keep going, who knows where we'll be in 6 months or a year...!
ReplyDeleteReally great song.
So so much love.
It's the darkest part of writing that releases so many things. Your writing is superb Holly. No one can take that away. Just keep writing. As Prema said, it will keep you afloat.
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