Presence
and what it takes.
There’s a horrible, beautiful tension to writing. The practice encourages the flow of ideas, and it’s oh, so satisfying to see connections synthesizing right before your eyes: what was internal made flesh. Fresh. The blank page can be daunting, but it can also be a friend—a sounding board filling up as the noise you throw at it turns slowly to music, and you start making sense of it all.
But there are times when no melody can be found. Put simply, we get tired, and to push and pry for a tune that won’t come feels like insanity. And in many ways it is. I’ve previously called this “fracking” a poem, forcing a thing which should be allowed space to become in its own time. Kind of like us.
So what to do when the heart needs a tune, but cannot hear one; a tuning, but all efforts to do so fail? I’m sure there are more answers here than one, but I’m learning (pronounced “struggling”) to accept the simplicity of silence and presence in moments like these. Despite what our culture would tell us, the fact is we don’t have to be productive all the time. We don’t always have to be at the top of our game. Crazy, I know. I’m preaching to myself here first and foremost, but I think some of the best work comes after rest and reorienting.
How are we to interrupt the mad flow of our lives and accept things—and our selves—as they are in the moment? Ironically, I once had a poem came out of this effort to breathe, and see again. I hope you enjoy it.
Presence
Originally published in The Habit Portfolio.
My chest is over-tight, wound round and under in pretzel knots beneath the un-done day. My posture wants a change: fuller breaths are drawn looking up. So breathe in full. The air smells like nothing. But maybe everything. Maybe it’s the gray, dying daisies on the table, the dust atop the noisy clock, the lived-in-ness of the room its ticking fills insisting upon my sense gentle waftings of home: a scent so comfortable, familiar, friendly I almost miss the overwhelming love of it all.
But what about you, reader? What do you do when you’re in need of a retuning to where and when you are? I’d love to hear how you navigate these times of tension.
*This poem was originally published in The Habit Portfolio, a showcase from the generous collaborations of The Habit membership. The online community exists to provide writerly resources and space for like-minded writers to give each other a little more courage, and friends, it’s all that and more.
The first installment of The Habit Portfolio’s newest issue, Road Trips and Other Journeys, went live this week. Check it out!
It’s hard for me to ‘Be’. Seems like I’m always on ‘Do’. This poem is an encouragement!
Ah, the un-done day. You express it so well! For me, nothing renews like a literal grounding in nature--bare feet if possible, or body stretched on the ground. I remember doing this as a child, whether in a patch of moss or a snowbank. If I can find a forest, even better. I think it does have something to do with returning to a child-like posture.