This blog is an epistolary tool – letters to an implied reader. A means to open up space for thought – to place that wild gnawing feeling of lonesomeness on a swept floor.
It’s been a long time since I’ve blogged regularly. A couple years of intensive, layered cycles of work. A lot of it with other people, I think, in other places, with a lot of thought devoted to what will happen when/if/then. There simply was neither time nor space for reflection alone, about what’s going on for me now.
Today I was washing dishes – trying to return the kitchen to some semblance of normal – and in the silence I recognized a feeling, thick and brisk, an emotion and a motion at once. Feeling how it moves down into my belly and out to my ears and tips of toes. The echo chamber of my insides. I am lonely. Which, today I have decided, means I am in the wild. It is quiet out here. “I should maybe try blogging again.” For the first time in a long time, I am in the driver’s seat of the work I am doing. And there isn’t anyone sitting next to me. So in the moments when I stop to take a break, there isn’t anyone to talk to, nor can I count on anyone to show up or stop by for a visit, not soon, nor on the regular.
Letters to an unknown reader, that’s what I’ve got.
It’s not lonely. It’s wild.
This is a clearing in which I sit with the wild thing. Hello, what’s this, how is it?