My Dear, Love Hasn’t Forgotten You
As of this writing my third book of poems is now available. And with that it brings a myriad of emotions: excitement, joy, relief, gratitude and also tears, exhaustion and an odd sense of loss.
I can’t fully explain it but the feelings are intense.
When we finally gather all the pieces to a book and pour ourselves into it, and then release it — we are exposed. Nevertheless, I don’t know any other way to be.
Here is is the introduction to my latest book:
I never quite know how to introduce a new set of poems because I’ve been wearing them, and my heart is exposed. This collection holds me together as much as it frees me. Poetry is an artistic expression of my everything.
Patti Smith, an American singer-songwriter, musician, author, and poet skillfully captured the sensibilities of a poet:
“You write poetry books that maybe 50 people read. And you just keep doing your work because you have to, because it’s your calling.”
Later that same day synchronicity bewitched me when I read the words of Dr. James Hollis, a Jungian psychoanalyst and author:
“We may choose careers, but we do not choose vocation. Vocation chooses us. To choose what chooses us is a freedom the by-product of which will be a sense of rightness and a harmony within, even if lived out in a world of conflict, absent validation, and at considerable personal cost.”
“vocation, even in the most humble of circumstances, is a summons to what is divine…. ultimately, our vocation is to become ourselves, in the thousand, thousand variants we are.”
How true. I have to write. It is my vocation. My calling. And nearly every day I sit down at the kitchen table, sometimes my desk, or the back porch, and write.
I stare out the window and look at the trees. I follow the flight of a hummingbird. I welcome the garden bunnies. My ginger kitty is the best listener. He seems to know when to herd me to a flat surface to close my eyes and give my thoughts a deep rest. I daydream frequently and have notebooks nearby for when words are heard in the liminal shade of spirit, I must write them.
This often brings me tears. Tears and poetry are the closest language to all things divine, unspoken, spoken and felt.
With that, as you read along, please know my spirit is with you in these pages.
Hollis, James. Finding Meaning in the Second Half of Life. New York: Penguin Random House, 2005.