If nothing else, those of us who love to read and write are curious about what other people love to read…
But what I find fascinating and heartening about your comments is that in responding to Fran (let’s call her Fran—I do) and her ”open book” approach, you have been willing to share a bit about your own reading habits and personal philosophies that reveal other connections between us.
My dear sister in poetry, Colorado Susan, often reminds me that the language is ahead of where we are as poets. I think that can be true of prose as well (though the effects, because they are less concentrated, may be less immediate), if we are willing to be authentic.
That’s just a fancy-schmancy way of saying that when as artists we are willing to write-paint-sculpt-sing-build (etc.) the truth, we grow from darkness into light.
From buried root up and out into limitless sky.
My father always used to tell us “pain is good.” I loathed that comment while I was growing up—until I began to understand what he meant.
Change is painful; it is the death of the familiar, even if we are stuck in a rut. Even when we are unhappy.
In the seemingly unending search to know ourselves, it is our willingness to say and to be known that links us to one another—often in ways we would not have discovered had we not risked putting words (or paint or plaster) to our private and often painful experiences.
I like the photo that accompanies this post for what it captures, but more for what lives outside its borders: roots below, branches and green leaves above. Consider the knothole an unblinking eye looking back at you. What do you see reflected there?
Dear blogopus readers, thank you for sharing your thoughtful and heartfelt responses to Fran’s first post. If you haven’t yet read the comments I encourage to do so and invite you join the conversation.
Sounds like pages turning and birds in branches…