Time. Time to stop. Stop the thinking of the mind. The racing pace of the heart. The tight and swollen belly. Time to breathe and settle. Time away. Time to separate from the world. Time to have space. Simple fresh, untouched space.
Do you ever desire such?
I was due to get a blog online last week. Pressure only I had put upon myself. No one else. Only me. Yet, I still felt the pressure. There in my mind. Telling me, asking what I will share. Which poem? Will I write a new one? How will I connect with it in this time and moment? What will people think if I do not stick to my word?
All of this thinking had me decide to stop and step away. Not helped by the worries of life and health. Not aided by the tired mind and body. Not quite strong enough to separate from the world and write. Perhaps this is good. Perhaps this is me actually listening to myself. Not forcing, not worrying. Yet, I so miss my creativity, playing with colour and ideas, having my hands spill the words and visions of my mind onto paper. I think of them, I do. I have made space, I have made a table, I have a board and thought about what is where and the materials I have. Yet, I cannot step beyond this point and create. Spill and develop. My life is on hold. As much as I strive to keep this sense of living up; I am tired. My mind and body are tired. This brain I have ruled by the tumour that fills the space within it is strained and tired. Trust me. I am determined to not let it be my ruler. I know of all the other pain and worries in the world and I know so many are in places so much darker and harder than mine and oh how I would adore aiding them if I could. Yet, I cannot do as much as I desire. I am tired, so tired. Friends, family, people of the hospital are impressed with how well I have withstood it but now I want to be me again. My energy and soul enlivened with the big heart and playful mind I have. That of a woman in her thirties. Not long though until an op. It has been nine months since the first date I was given. Not long I say. Not long say the hospital. Not long please. Quite possibly tomorrow. Let us see.
Then of course this blog should come with a poem. Back to the question of what do I share. Today it will be this gentle piece of life.
I found a feather upon my shirt
In a land without birds
Yet here it somehow is
Its softness sits
Gentle and smooth
As if a brooch
One of love
One of pride
Opening my soul
Love to all today, tonight and tomorrow as life opens.
Bethan loves the tales of life. From a moment of truth to the journeys we create with our wanders and imagination.