We are living in a world where noise is valued over silence. Trump likes to make a great big noise. I prefer not to sound out until I can’t help myself. These last few weeks have been noisy. Can I even sigh to join in all the noise? I feel the Silent Scream may be the most appropriate.
My husband came in to tell me we have a mouse living in our car which is parked in our sub-zero garage. I can’t fault the mouse for trying to find a way to a hot engine (no longer hot), but they stupidly eat their way through wires. I need that car to function by the end of the week. Like the mouse I am not enamored of the cold that reduces us to zero in our body and soul. It is a hard time when temperature drops . I lived in London for three years in the 60s without anything resembling heat. I understood why Dickens named a book BLEAK HOUSE, Now that I am old and not in great shape I value the ability to have and to pay for heating oil and warm coats and the like. People in London kept telling me we were being tested. That their lives were valued by their ability to endure. I don’t want to endure. I want to excel and to excite and to be excited. If there is a kindly God or Goddess, He/She will have warm breath, a warm heart, and a warmer hand to extend to us.
Here we go again, slamming the door on one year and opening it on another. A long series of years in my case. A charcoal landscape from my window shows winter’s own depression. I have, however, things to do and places to see. Scotland is already there in the Spring. The heather on the hill is already rooting the imagination. If we could not find the way out of this year, it would be a pity beyond our own . The world waits for the opening doors and the closing ones.
I have struggled to start writing again after mostly a summer of performing. Writing is a stop/start thing for me these days, but finally I am learning how to use my meditations that seek to empty my crowded brain so new ideas have room to show up and be noticed. While I admire writers who can produce long pages every day, this little ten minute play I am working on has taken its toll. I can see the end of the play since this morning when I looked up at the gray clouds in the charcoal sky and saw the sun break through with a vengeance. Nature teaches us how nothing is static, even our moments of doubt.
Oh those dreams that come as seasons shift bringing winter winds to our windows to disrupt our desires with their own. It is when these dreams shift too that I start life in a Minor Key. The carpet of gold leaves blows away showing the destruction of the year beneath. My dog does not linger in the outdoors. Poets love the melancholy proving me no poet. I want the light to fall from the chalice of the Universe spilling over every day. I want the splatters to shine in the dark matter that eludes us except as a glue from image to image.
The election has happened. Like many people I am floored by the results. While I was waiting for history to happen – for a woman to win- I was missing the discontent of people who had different values and concerns than I did.
If the election had been rigged by the enemy it could not have made me feel less satisfied. Democracy has a bitter taste when the ingredients make a different dish than that expected by the taster.
The above words were part of a song that came to the surface during the feminist surge. Perhaps we should sing it again….or roar it again. A woman is running for president. She has been bad mouthed by men all her career, and yet she is still out there. Men are supporting her too. Let’s all roar together and make a new sound from sea to shining sea.