Sunday Morning Coffee Love

I thought I could write on anything, until it occurred to me this year that I cannot. It was a mysterious development, and one I was not used to. Until I delved further and studied its roots more deliberately, just the other day. Then, it made sense- an infinite amount of the stuff.

In this instance, I speak of politics. Of a topic that was always ‘on demand’ simple in my brain. Until last November, when it turned my creative juices on the topic into a hazy shade of winter. And maybe this sounds crazy, but I can’t bring myself to write on the happenings since November changed the world we’re living in.

Perhaps I should make excuses. Like, “Hey, you can’t satirize satire.”, or “Why parody the parody?”. And I have done that, made excuses. But I shouldn’t be making excuses. I should accept what’s happened to this particular part of my brain and just wait it out. Because I know, full well, that there will come a day when the dam will burst and the words will come pouring out and then all those excuses will seem like elegant sounding absurdities.

So yes, I have learned I cannot write on just anything, at any time, as I damn well please. I have come to understand that there are some things to which I have no answer. And you know something? Good. Because it tempers me, humbles me, teaches me. About the writer I am and the process I choose and the treacherous path that begins with a blank white sheet.

The ability to convey your thoughts into some better sounding thing is a gift, and maybe I forgot that. Maybe I was taking it for granted. I don’t know. What I do know is that I am grateful. To be a writer. To know what writing means to me. And I am eternally thankful to one writer in particular. My favorite one. Because I talked this out with her the other day, and she listened. As only she can do. And her thoughts on the matter behaved as a salve to my senses.

She’s something I could write on. All day long. Which is why I’m plenty fine with throwing any political diatribes in the rear view, for now. Because I have a topic on which I can spin tales from here to the moon and back. And it matters more than all the other things I could write on.

It reminds me of a poem by Pablo Neruda . . . .

You can crush the flowers, but you can’t stop the spring. 

My political flavor has indeed wilted, and while it hasn’t died . . it has been crushed in the cycle of stupid that perpetuates our trending news. And she lets me know it’s a ‘so what’ proposition. Because there’s plenty ’nuff to write on. Like the spring time I feel in the ways of a girl who put a spell on me. So there.

Here’s to you, Cat Woman. I love your purr and your poetry, your rhythm and your rhyme. I love the way you make my world feel, just by being in the grand ballroom of my existence.

Like that.

 

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15 thoughts on “Sunday Morning Coffee Love

  1. god! i relate t this so much! I keep starting to write and then…AARRGHHHH!
    There is so much to say.
    I appreciate the reminder that there are other things, and I actually know it, but the pall that just looms over my every thought has really messed with me.
    I can’t write about it either, but i can worry and obsess and freak out and…you know the drill.
    Stupid mutha&*%$#, messing with my sanity! (not to mention my country!)

    • Me too!

      Any time I even THINK about writing something on the topic, it disintegrates quickly. And badly.

      I know I’ll come around to it, but up to now, there has been no way in which I can reasonably articulate my feelings. Because there is no art to my feelings.

      Only curse words. And lots of them.

    • So much of Eastern Spirituality (lumping Zen, Taoism, yoga, Buddhism and all that good stuff together) revolves around acceptance, forgiveness and bring presented with the lessons we most need to learn (again and again until we succeed in learning from them). I’ve really tried this year to embrace the Tao and to look at everything around me as gifts to learn from. It’s been challenging to say the least. I said elsewhere that I thought the lack of poetry led to my illnesses this year, but in reality, my illnesses started last November, back when I wrote that “Mood Indigo” post, like mild-grade depression, ennui. Poetry may be the medicine I was missing, but its absence wasn’t what made me ill.

      I’m rambling. I guess I too have problems writing about “it.” But here’s what I’m getting at…we pray for peace and contentment and strength, but we are not always given the end result, rather we are given the opportunities to acheive that which we seek. My mom put it best when she quoted a movie to me in a notecard:

      Let me ask you something. If someone prays for patience, you think God gives them patience? Or does he give them the opportunity to be patient? If he prayed for courage, does God give him courage, or does he give him opportunities to be courageous? If someone prayed for the family to be closer, do you think God zaps them with warm fuzzy feelings, or does he give them opportunities to love each other?

      I had to look that up from when I quoted it long ago at RoS. Interesting what I had to say about it then:

      If there is a challenge or test in your life right now, ask yourself if it’s an opportunity to learn, grow or develop. Usually the more rewarding the lesson, the harder it is to learn.

      For me, forgiving and letting go have always been most difficult. So somewhere mom is asking me, “Do you think god snaps his fingers, wiggles his nose, and ‘voila!’ . . . instant serenity? Or does god give you opportunities to forgive others and to let go of what you are clinging?”

      Ask yourself, what opportunities have you been given to grow? Are you taking advantage of these opportunities, or are you ignoring them?

      And if you are lucky enough to still have your mom, please give her a hug or a phone call for me.

      Anyway, that’s what I think about when bonehead tweets something stupid. An opportunity to let it go, to send a prayer of strength and competence to said bonehead, an opportunity to practice serenity in a storm of chaos. And I try to shrink my world to those that I care most about and to those things that bring me joy. And I try to remind myself that I’ve been sober 6+ years…that I guess 3 years in the great ocean of time is just a tiny drop of rain. That growth comes from upheaval; change and progress does not occur when things are calm…there is change brewing, the air is electric with revolution.

      And, most importantly, that this too shall pass.

      Love you both. ❤

      • So well said, Christy.

        It’s the chance. I think people forget what that means, you’re right. I think a lot of peeps think the wish or the prayer will lead to the fulfillment of their dreams, should it be answered. But no. It’s the chance to reach those dreams. That’s the thing.

        Love you.

  2. Your words always catch me in a particular place. Today was in the total apathy part that I have for government. The head of the executive branch is a narressist along the lines of very sick. Congress is made up of incompetent fools who couldn’t work out a problem if it meant their lives. I heard one of my friends say, “It is a good day when I don’t listen to the news.” It is sad but true. I used to feel some kinship to the government but not lately. (I guess I would say since November) To have elected that other candidate wouldn’t have changed things. Okay, I’ve said all I want to say on that subject. have a great week, Pilgrim and I’m glad you have love.

  3. I totally get this. I’ve followed politics my entire adult life. Written about it, talked about it, obsessed about it. Every four years I tell myself to step away. But I never do. The results of last November are beyond frustrating. It’s not that Trump won. It’s not that a Republican won. It’s how Trump won and what he has done with his victory in his first six months. Sure, I still read some political blogs on both the right and the left, and I follow the news religiously (unfortunately). And I have written about things the lead trumpeter has done, but my desire to do that particular act — the writing about him — just seems so frivolous and wasteful. What’s the point. Why bother. We as a nation have officially jumped the shark and there’s really nothing left to say other than that.

    • It does feel like defeat. At least it does right now. My news is cherry picked these days, and it’s really arduous considering how much politics bleeds into everything else.

  4. Purrrr…love you and that cat woman.
    I have no doubt that you could write whatever you want (and I will forever read it!)…but, there’s nothing the flows better than when you write about what you are passionate about. It’s the best.
    She’s my favorite, too…thank you for sharing 🙂

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