The Leaving

Dear you

You didn’t kill the black cat

It was tangled with the black snake

You didn’t kill the black crow

It was tangled with the black cat

You didn’t kill the black dog

It was entangled in your

Love

INSPIRED BY LAURA LAWSON

On the 20th of August 2010 I posted my first entry on this blog

Its time to give in and let the journey begin.

May I firstly be inspired beyond my minds belief and the inspiration guide my spirit to

BE AND BELIEVE!

There are two key things here GIVE IN and BE AND BELIEVE.  I think (perhaps at times over think) the world.  I am not always convincing in my thoughts and probably at times present myself as less intuitive than in fact I am.  The reason I began this blog was to discover myself through my words and USE the words to speak through the darkness of living with Retinitis Pigmentosa.

A year ago I began the search for other young visually impaired artists, particularly writers to follow and be inspired by and I began following a gifted young woman, Laura Lawson, on Facebook and reading her blog Believing is Seeing.  This was the first blog that I found, ironically I soon discovered Laura too lives her life with RP, she is a gifted artist and was presented with the loss of sight as I was at an age where her life was full and the dreams were budding, the heart was alive and then BANG the"gift" of RP fell in her lap.  Today, on my train journey home from work I read an article that Laura wrote for Motif Magazine, which has cemented me in a place I have never been before.  I have had moments throughout my life where I have known that where I am is right, but after reading this article I felt a sense of self that sits in my heart.

The article is titled Believing is Seeing(page 29) http://motifmag.com/index.html

I want to highlight the word gift because I think that there is a curse of losing your sight when you paint, write, create anything through sight, where you heavily rely on visual cues to provide inspiration, direction and creation and to be faced with losing the key to the creation means you are losing your dream, your purpose,YOU.  However, once working through the grief the realisation is that the loss is also the gain, the gift.  This is because you are forced to open your heart, your mind and your soul to a world that would not have been experienced without the loss.  I personally draw most of my inspiration through what I don't see visually but what I see through my spirit and from this I write.  What I write I admit is not always uplifting and mostly about loss, but for me this is part of the acceptance of the gradual loss of sight.

Yesterday I was trying to work out how I can convince my world how much I have gained through the journey of loss.  I realise its not something I can convince anyone of, its something felt or experienced. For ME I find little joy in struggling visually, but I hope I do make it to a safe place where I can accept that I am NOT just my eyesight.  Where I am at now is still in a mixed up churning river, caught in the current and am trying to swim to the shore of safety.......in the mean time it is the observations and poetry and hundreds of photos of fading sunlight skies and breaking dawns that will help me to float.

Earlier this week I was told "tell a story" and you know what THIS is my story, the shades of light and dark, the shadows, the fear of loss and being left alone and deserted.

a story

tell a story

feel the words

the fumbling

know the sunshine

wear it like the dress

with the pink button

you know that dress

folded into the yellow

and orange pleats

is the child

who danced

and glided in the air

holding out little hands

she still cups her hands

towards the sky

given away dreams

as the stars fall

from the neatly draped

night

buring the child in the soul

the rich earth

which feeds the presence

the child never forgets

her heart remains nestled

beside the longing spirit

her love endless

even when the darkness falls

she will remain

KNOWING HEART

I knew

I know

I have moved

My heart sleeps alone

I am now not the same

Violent violin

As I long

For the belonging

As my heart wants mending

Darkness throws wild threads

Around the edge of my dreams

The hurt doesn’t believe anymore

As today is confused

By yesterdays light

Comforting tomorrows fear

Surrendering to the dread

That makes the soul bleed

Breaking the dream of flying

I walk

Dragged down by the heavy step

The path hiding the glory

Shadows glide from the falling sun

Playing tug of war with the measurable beat

Drowning the thumping heart

As the sound won’t change

Feeling its deepest tunes

Empty words you have given me

Washing me with a wave of confusion

Lingering in my standing presence

Your free soul burns

And I continue to crave your warmth

But my chance has fallen away

As the truth hides behind the beat

The habit clutched in the hearts

Waiting for to me be fixed

The man with the red suede boots

Observes with his fountain pen

And crumpled paper

He lies about the heroes

That still cry

I knew

I know

THE BLACK RANGE

Given the gift of nature, the gift of the past, the place between the silence and the storm


like the black range covering my back
the hate like dirt, it sealed my fate
hands full of movement
covering my face
colour fades
physical compulsions
fists clenched
crashed into my pockets
buried deep are flesh pieces
suffering through his words
hatred like wet mud
drying and setting the path
of unknown moments
that are presented on doorsteps
hollow creatures
moving through the bushland
that covers my back.