A new door is opening…

Inspiration comes like a thunderstorm – unexpectedly, tempestuously, like a tangible change in the air – and in the case of tonight both literally and metaphorically.

I don’t want to write because I have to, I don’t want to be contrived, I don’t want a tick list, an anticipated audience, an agenda, I’m throwing away all the rules like old clothes that don’t fit (there’s no charity to take away my expectations for a good cause.)

Who am I becoming? I feel like an apartment block, still under construction, full of tiny rooms and I’m just opening door after door of these unexpected feelings – the builders couldn’t be so careless as to leave their contents after the job was done but we’re not like that, we’re afflicted, we’re untidy, messy little humans with closets full of yesterday’s clothes & forgotten tastes  and we never know which door we will open upon ourselves and what will fall out of that room…

But sometimes, sometimes it’s like putting on a dress we haven’t laid eyes on in years and that voice inside us is screaming

‘it

fits!

it

fits!’

We’re like landing aeroplanes bewilderdly descending in circles, returning to the same spaces again and again – even though we are blazing forward the paradox is we’re pulled back, pulled back to find our feet…

…& sometimes finding your feet, isn’t a soft walk in the countryside, but sometimes it is. Not in the way of a smooth descent – it might even be a plane crash but it’s the most graceful nosedive you ever witnessed, falling into something like you sink into a winter sweater, no, it’s sinking into your own skin when you’ve been painting over your favourite part  – it’s finding a lost photograph – or- the one for whom you screwed your nose in disgust but she’s actually beautiful – she’s you, she’s been growing in the back yard, even when you haven’t watered her – there was too much to do but look at her, honestly, earnestly, let all the curtains fall down, you can hear her, leaking with fragrant words like a spilled drink – it’s spring again, you’d forgotten she’s more than just another green shoot –  she’s a book thats been written all by itself –

You don’t need to edit her. She’s full.

I spent time with a friend I haven’t seen in years – I realised through my ears, I’m not that wallflower, I’m not the girl that cries in bathrooms (any more), I don’t simply pass through people like ghosts, maybe sometimes I’m on another frequency like… infrared… but that doesn’t make me a snake – maybe some people need echolocation to find the whereabouts of my heart – but they can’t find their own either and that’s some busy work.

Speaking in tongues is charming – to the right species.

There’s a brand new door opening tomorrow – what will it be? Sometimes you think they are just empty – a paling whitewash of disappointment

– or –

 

Somewhere for starting to unfold that closet.

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