I have been in a “slump” lately. I assume it is just the state of the world as it is that is compromising my ability to write anything coherent, or cohesive. This month’s due date was creeping up on me. I could feel its breath on my neck, and sense the impending doom. I. CANNOT.WRITE. What was I going to do? I cannot back out and jeopardize my beloved blog spot, it means too much to me. It took me a long road to get to writing in a public forum and I do not believe in going backward.
Should I write up some cheesy how to survive quarantine guide chock full of tips on how to live on wine, chips and Netflix? I could certainly expand that into something self-deprecating and mildly entertaining. Or? Maybe I can talk about the adventures of online schooling with teens? Certainly easy to summarize those uphill (and downhill) battles at this point and a great way to publically embarrass a few teens I know. Hmmmm. Maybe I can write about how many times I wanted to run away from home during this lockdown? Nah. Can’t do that. That would just be another woe is me, but here is what I am learning on this emotional rollercoaster and no one needs any more of those rides right now. Stumped. Truly, utterly, completely, stumped.
Nothing was drawing me in, appealing to my brain, or my heart, or my emotions. At least not in a way that I have faith in enough to sort, clear and write about. I could talk about the state of the world, I mean, its relatable, right? … But lord knows that if I think too long about that, I am likely to jump off the nearest bridge after… and that’s not good either.
I started searching through my writings. Things I email to myself when I have a random thought, or for a bit or piece of what might become something. The little engines that could of my writing. Because, you know, in the end, that little engine did!
Well, I did find something. Not a blog. More of a poem I wrote. I do not lean toward writing poetry much these days. Not since I was an angsty teen. But this, I jotted it down to myself one morning before walking in to work and sent it off to my mentor telling her it was raw, and unedited, but I thought it might become something. She told me in no uncertain words, not to do what I usually do and “fuck with it” trying to make it perfect. She said it was not supposed to be. That in its raw form was the beauty, the imagination, and the openness to interpretation.
I got busy that day, week, month, whatever, and kind of forgot all about it. Well, I did think of it once or twice, but just for a moment. The inspiration to perfect it (I CAN’T HELP IT, STOP JUDGING ME!), never came. There it has sat in my email every day since. Until now.
You see, in lacking inspiration, I found some beauty of my own imperfect design. So I am going to borrow it to share with you this month. Hey, I’ve got nothing else so I do hope you enjoy it,
*Disclaimer: I may have fixed a spelling error or two (I will not sully my spelling reputation), but that’s it. I promise this is as it was written the day I typed it out in my car, outside of my office. Inspired by the beauty of our beloved Mother Nature.
Morning brain: the earth definitely pulses with the energy of a divine feminine. She cycles with all of the passion of one. Barefoot I can feel the rhythm of her heart.
Autumn is my favorite time, she is like a woman in a love affair that won’t last but she gives in to her impulses anyway… it’s like heaven laying its fire on her and feeling it spread through her veins and watching it seep out of her pores into the world around us and then painfully watching it slip away.
Winter is her time to retreat, to calm, to rage, to heal… we can feel the ice in her veins and the calm as she heals and see her calm strength as she purifies her soul.
In spring she is reborn, like a young girl and offers us the innocence of new eyes and a fresh start. Slowly and with trepidation we can feel her grow, and bloom, and light with love again.
Summer is the calm and passionate heat of being in love, being satisfied and content in herself and the world around her.. she is warm and envelopes us with the hugs of her blades of grass like hands reaching for our skin ever so lightly to let us know she is at peace, she kisses us with gentle tears to remind us that she is love…
And so she cycles again, always being reborn, always opening back up to us. She is woman, beauty, rage, and grace. She is a lover, warrior sister, mother, and friend. She is undoubtedly divine and magnificent.
I still think it should be more, and that there’s some poetry in there somewhere but I may never find it. For today, I’ll be happy with the moment.
Love and Light,
Joan Poirier is an Empath, a goddess, a woman, a wife, a mother, a sister, a friend. She is you, and she is me. Just a real woman, embracing her age and her wisdom, and not afraid of opening the dam and making some waves during her short time on the wild ride of life. She is on an ever-growing quest to live better, do better, be better and taking all the lumps that go with it.