also for Writer’s Island prompt #15 SPELLBOUND… what is it that has you captive, awestruck, mesmerized, blown away, under it’s control
This time I went to the Thesaurus, not the dictionary. The synonyms for the word new (when used as an adjective) are as follows:
And that is exactly what I am finding. An added awareness, another level of knowing, something else other than what has been the norm, something extra, farther down the path of my journey, fresh as in bright new day, further than I have ever been, an increased level of perception, more like a whole new world, one that is directly supplementary to the old one.
I saw two pelicans, the day before yesterday. Double the buoyancy (see blog titled Gifts, this site). I think they might be a consequence of the oil spill. Don’t know that for sure, but it sort of makes sense. Old environment no longer safe, one moves away and starts somewhere else. That might be true for the pelicans I am now encountering, but it is doubly so for my own person.
That is not to say that my environment has become unsafe, it hasn’t. But, it has been totally altered in the last three months. When my Mother passed away, I was naturally lost in the loss for a time period. But, even in that lost period, I was aware that I was now free to move forward on my own journey. And yes, I felt a few pangs at the seeming callousness of that reality. Pangs or not, I suddenly had a lot of time on my hands rather than the obligations and responsibilities I had been moving through for a couple of years.
There were decisions and choices to be made. And although I thought I was moving slowly and with care, I seemed to have moved with a bit of pent up vengeance and speed. At least it now seems or feels that way. I look around me and what I see is totally new, right here in the same old space and place I occupied before.
For example: my writing. Have been doing that for years. I am here on my blog sites, doing what I have always done. So what’s new about that? In the past month, I’ve written two pieces of fiction. I have not attempted to write fiction and present it to the public ever before. Just didn’t think it was a genre I’d be any good at. And then there’s the poetry. I’m writing far more than I have in the past.
Before, I simply waited for a poem to appear on the horizon, and then wrote it down. One at a time, that’s how they came. Now, I find myself with three or four poems in progress all at the same time, and another one or two still dancing around in my head waiting (somewhat impatiently, I might add) for their turn to see daylight.
And that’s not all. The context is different, new to me, as well as form, and the manner in which I actually proceed has extra elements I would have rejected in the past. What’s more, there is a degree of confidence in doing all of these things that was not present in the past.
A very strong willingness to explore, attempt and discover where all of this newness might lead. I find myself actually grabbing at the newness, rather than hesitating, hemming and hawing around until I convince myself to, once again, stick with what is safe (comfortable). And in a very real sense, what I am doing is honoring that loss that prompted this newness.
At some point, someone might click in and point out the fact that it might not be the genre, the context, the form, the words and their connections, or my environment that is new. It just might be that it is I, myself, that is whatever this newness is really all about. But, when I get still, reach in to make contact with what is there, it is still familiar, still essentially the me that I have always been. But, maybe with a few warmer areas, brighter lights exposing a new perspective on a few things, or all of them.
And with that contact, I am also aware that this has happened before, not once, but several times. If I look carefully, and I am doing that, there are definitely connective links to those other times and this one. Similar areas that have come to light, and been warmed by that light. Similar, yet different as well.
Light bulb! This is just a wider place, one that has always been here, always waiting for me to step into. The light wasn’t bright enough to reveal its true dimensions. And, if I’m honest, I don’t believe I was ready to see those wider, broader measurements. They would have frightened and overwhelmed my senses, sent me running for whatever comfort and safety I could grasp.
Each of those other experiences was circumscribed by my own fear, which tempered not just my awareness, but also my ability to move freely into that awareness. ‘Don’t show me too much, it threatens me.’ And then the second guessing would begin. The nattering ‘what ifs’, and all of the ” but, I can’t possibly do that/s.”
Despite all of that, I did move forward each time. And it is the awareness of time that is new, this time. I have moved into the latter portion of my existence. Have become aware of the swift passage of time in minutes and hours. Aware that all of that dithering is a waste of those increments ever moving and passing.
That’s doesn’t mean I haven’t felt the fear, just as I did before. It just means that this time, I have confronted it far more readily and smoothly. All that prior practice actually found fruition. It’s about time.
And that is exactly what I am finding. An added awareness of time, another level of knowing time as limited, that something else has quickened whatever time remains, something extra in each minute that passes, farther along the path of my own time, fresh, as in the time of sunset, rather than sunrise, further along the time allotted than I have ever been, an increased level of time perception, more to do with less time to do it in, directly supplementary to that older, already experienced time.