by Lucretia | Apr 27, 2019 | create your life, let go, Life |
My house looks like a rubbish tip and not a well-organised one. I’m moving and my previously ordered (mostly) belongings are now strewn haphazardly around the place as if thieves ransacked my home last night. But there have been no thieving visitors, only me and my random packing methods over the past few weeks.
It’s a strange feeling to be putting all my stuff into boxes. When you live in one place for 13 years, you accumulate a lot of memories and items to go with them. I’ve rediscovered artwork from my childhood and travel documents from my first solo overseas trip. I also found three small figurines tucked into the back of a sideboard. I can remember proudly buying them at Paddy’s Market with my very own pocket money when I was about 12 years old. As I held them in my hands I was transported back to a time when my life felt softer and gentler somehow.
As things are moved, packed or given away, my emotions tumble this way and that – just like I hope the boxes won’t do in the removalist’s storage container on Thursday.
Anxiety, optimism and
fearfulness have paid a few visits. Tears have been shed as I’ve recalled a
fond or painful memory. I’ve pictured my two cats SuperPuss and Mirabel, now
passed, wandering then hallway and keeping me company, showing me love and lifting
my spirits. I’ve seen again in my mind’s eye, my body on the floor sobbing with
heartbreak over more than one man who did not deserve the love I offered.
I wrote and published
my first anonymous blog post in this house – terrified that someone would know
it was me. I also wrote and published my first book here too and began my first
business enterprise.
When I move into my
new home, it will hold no memories for me. Instead it will be a clean slate; a
new place to create a different life.
The thought of that newness
and letting go of the known of this place is scary and enticing in turns. But
before I reach that place, I must first navigate and bring order to the chaos I’m
currently surrounded by.
And get my hands on
some more boxes!
by Lucretia | Apr 26, 2019 | Books, poem, poems, poetry |
I’m not a very
consistent writer. I never have been. To sit down and write at the same time every
day doesn’t come naturally to me. Whether I’m working on a book, drafting a
blog or creating copy for a client, there are times when the words will not come
no matter how long I stare at the computer screen. I can find myself writing,
then rewriting the same sentence to no avail. It will still be crap until I finally
abandon the exercise and stomp off to another part of the house, muttering with
frustration.
But there will be
times when the ideas simply flow through me and onto the pages so quickly there
is almost a word pile-up as my fingers struggle to keep up. That’s when I am
thankful for the strict edicts of my year 10 typing teacher Miss Dunn who taught
me to touch-type on an electric typewriter back in the 80s – yes, I am that
old.
Those times of natural
creative flow are so effortless and when it’s done, I always know it is good. Or
at least, it meets my own exacting standards of good.
My Muse is annoyingly
elusive though and can disappear for hours, days or weeks. But she has
vehemently demanded my attention when I’ve been in the throes of abject misery –
recovering from heartbreak or struggling with anxiety and despair. She often
thrives in those environments of emotional turmoil and my creativity can feel almost
uncontrollable. I once felt her call every night for a few short months. More than
200 poems, some several pages long, were the result.
A colleague once showed
me pictures of the huge, beautiful canvasses she would paint when depressed. “When
I’m happy, I can’t paint a thing,” she said. A lot of artists will tell you
their creativity thrives when they are in emotional pain. Perhaps that is the
Universe’s way of giving us a helping hand in difficult times – giving us something
to cling to as we ride the glutenous seas around us and try desperately not to
drown in the darkness.
Pain has certainly
sparked my creativity many times but living a life that is inspiring has done
the same. I can remember years ago, leaving my Monday night university class
where I taught a bunch of smart, eager students who couldn’t wait to learn, travelling
home, walking in my front door, grabbing my laptop then hurrying out to my back
deck where I would write a blog in 20 minutes or less. The energy of my
students was so inspiring that my Muse was jumping with joy.
Over the last few
weeks I have started to hear the whisper of the Muse in my ear once again. I
was afraid she had died or disappeared forever. I’m thankful she has not.
Half-formed ideas now occasionally
bob to the surface of my consciousness before disappearing once more. But
knowing they are there, is enough to make me feel hopeful that the creative tap
is beginning to drip.
I am not struggling
with despair but I am consciously seeking out the inspirations of books and art
and passionate conversations. Perhaps this shift has heralded the Muse’s return?
Only time will tell.
When does your Muse
visit you?
