Notes from a Pandemic: Uncertainty

I’m feeling uncertain today about a lot of things, inner and outer.

Whether to go further inwards into books, meditation, yoga and writing or to engage and ‘stay outside’ with video calls,social media and news. The instinct goes towards both; swinging wildly back and fore; the desire to sleep a lot or the anxious ceiling staring hours of not sleeping, the calm mindfulness of presence or worrying about the future, the act of eating everything in the cupboards or having no appetite at all, of there being enough space in the flat for two and not enough room to even breathe alone, the fear of an unseen enemy and the desire to run outside shouting, ‘come on then, let’s get it over with.’ The yin and yang of it all. The balance of that.

A feel sometimes as if I am nosediving into nostalgia; re-reading old notebooks full of yearning and potential, feeling the empty space at my side of all those who have gone already, re-feeling things. Wanting to go home in the truest sense of hiraeth, that inexplicable longing for a place or moment in time that no longer exists; a time of safety, of grandparents and estuaries, sepia photos and bikes with stabilisers, playing in the garden and believing the stories we were told; before we knew better, before we knew that we we should have known better.

And curled around that. The deep peace of having arrived at this moment as I am. Of being here now and having to accept what is and what will come. Falling back into it. Trusting. Noticing small details; watching the birds each morning and evening over the rooftops; a flower has opened purple petals and is reaching for the sun; the voices of friends; the rise and fall of my cats breathing and the softness of their fur; a heartbeat –  mine or his that means we are still here. The feeling that all that has been lived has been lived well because I have learnt, survived, adapted and forgiven.

The simple act of putting of one foot in front of the other, no matter what is behind or in front that we as humans we are capable of; even after great loss or even with great joy; one breath, one step at a time – leaving or arriving or simply resting on the way home.

 

© Carys Shannon, September 2020. 

Notes From the Past

 

notebooks 1

These are my notebooks, if the building was burning I’d go back for them, they are years of pouring heart out onto pages, ideas, reflections, sketches, poems and writing. I return to them regularly, it’s a beautiful act of time travel to go back into your head before you knew what you know now.

I love reading them they are raw and inspired, honest, sometimes uncomfortable but always great tools for reflection, and the purest memories of feelings, sensations and moments that needed to be written. I’ve only every thrown one away… into the fire, an act of spiritual exorcism at the time, the first part of a chronicle of a mad, passionate and unhealthy love affair that nearly took me out, I’ve got the second part, and often wish I could re-read the first. Not for the memories, I’ve got those to work with but for the words, the choice of the words is everything, the shape of them, the way they were thrown onto the page, exhaled or bleeding, the form they naturally took, line breaks, space the gaps between things happening.

I couldn’t sleep last night so I got these out looking for a specific poem that I wrote and used to perform at readings, I didn’t find it but got lost in another dream of things written when life was all sea walks, music and night fires. I wrote another one looking from here to there and knowing a lot more, a blank page was filled, a little more expressed, and I found one, a recent one about dreaming of rain and I breathed some space into it on the pages. It feels full of something, a notion that’ll come clear reading it back years later, and so I write my truths, and for that life is good today.

 

notebooks 2

© Carys Shannon, September 2020.