nearly three months review

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Suddenly more months have gone past and I haven’t had a moment to look back.  Christmas, New Year, woosh.

But it’s a sunny Sunday morning and I am nearing the three month anniversary of starting extraplorer.  I have a few minutes peace between business trips and the perfect moment to reflect and be happy about writing.

Of course when I started extraplorer, I had bits of writing lying around that I could add to extraplorer when I liked.  That gave me a thrill of momentum, but it was not sustainable forever.  I wish I had more time to write, but I am also happy to have a busy life of adventures in the outside world.  I wouldn’t swap the balance, I don’t think, even though it sometimes makes me feel restless.

Only one person in my ‘real life’ knows about extraplorer – my mother.  I am very very lucky that I have a mother who is trustworthy with these small attempts at writing.  Writing and having her comments is one thing that has given me more confidence that what I am doing is ‘real writing’.

And having real readers is the other thing.  I find it amazing to think of readers reading my writing (thank you so much fellow extraplorers!).

Sometimes I feel sad that I have not invited all my friends to join and see extraplorer yet.  In a way it feels awful, like having a baby and then asking a lot of strangers to come to visit it in the hospital while you tell your friends they are not welcome.  I am very lucky that some of my friends know about my blog, and are happy for me to trying things out in secret.  In a way, my friends’ generosity of spirit is the third thing that is making my writing be able to grow.

Thanks to these three sources of encouragement, I am becoming braver and getting closer to the day when I can share my work more confidently with more people.

toppled

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I toppled
into
a
hole
the other night.

I didn’t realise
I was falling
until I landed
in the mud.

The cold mud
untouched by light
for
ever such a long time.

At first I thought
I was mistaken.
The cold mud started
licking at my
bare ankles.

I didn’t realise it was
pitch dark
at first.
My mind was busy.

But then the
cold crept up
into my heart
and I was afraid.

I felt too ashamed
to call out.
But an older
wiser me insisted.

I picked my most
reliable friends.
They crowded around.
The hole was too small
for a visitor.

They sent a hug,
a happy story,
encouragement.
‘You’ve survived
holes before!’

‘Don’t worry you’ll be
out before you know it!’

‘You only ever fall into
holes when you’re
concentrating on something
very important!’

Slowly, their words
formed a ladder of grace.
supplemented with
romantic comedies,
the ironing, and
favourite piano tunes.

But the cold held on.
Outside the hole,
I was afraid of falling.
Looked only at the ground,
missed the sky, and stars,
missed smiles and stories.

In the end, I stopped.
I dug my cold heart out
and warmed it in my hands,
whispered to it,
lifted it up high and
showed it all the wonder
of the universe.

‘The world is
full of hope.’
I told it.  You have
nothing to fear.
It is true that holes
exist.  But they are
rare.  Look!
The beauty of the
world is yours to
choose.  Do not
let it slip away
through fear.’

My heart sat
trembling in my hand.
Time stood still.
Eventually the shaking
stopped.  My heart
grew warm again.

I placed it carefully
within me,
and walked on
with a slight spring
in my still-cautious
steps.

in the wordsmith’s workshop

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Following a magical visit to the goldsmith’s workshop, now it is the wordsmith’s turn.

The wordsmith had visited the goldsmith’s workshop to help her with some writing because she does not find it easy to tell her story.

The wordsmith took the tools of her own trade with her to see the goldsmith – just a little silver laptop computer and a warm heart.  As the goldsmith talked, the wordsmith captured certain phrases, facts and stories.  Using questions wrought from the wisdom of experience, the wordsmith tugged at tales and pulled at pauses, and waited patiently in silence, knowing that in time precious nuggets would emerge.

Which they did, sometimes one or two, sometime more, with their own timing and rhythm as the goldsmith remembered, lit up, hesitated and shared.

At last the wordsmith shut her laptop, said goodbye and left the goldsmith’s workshop, ready for her own process of mulling, refining, and seeing what remained.

The wordsmith allowed the goldsmith’s stories to swirl around her imagination, and at last, sat down again with the goldsmith’s words, ready to start work.

As she pondered, she let the most important themes come to the surface.  Then she worked with them, adding little facts here and there from her notes; unwinding and bending phrases to become small facets of love and delight.  She brought the goldsmith’s passions and heart for people into a setting where they could be more easily spotted.  She highlighted the goldsmith’s bravery and pioneering spirit.

At last the wordsmith was finished.  She did a last check over her work, and then ‘ping’ sent it to the goldsmith’s team.

And then today, she visited them.

The goldsmith had loved the finished work.  It had helped her to recognise her own self, remember her great joy in her own work, its value and many riches.  It had helped her to see past the struggles and weariness, to regain her vision and strength.

The praise from the goldsmith’s team delighted the wordsmith.  She too suddenly realised the treasure of her work, its power to make things beautiful and full of wonder.  She felt encouraged in the middle of a day of challenges, and renewed for her own adventures into the unknown.

And now the goldsmith and the wordsmith are hard at work, in their workshops and at their desks, making…

I long for stars

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I long for stars,
look up and yearn for height,
brilliance,
light
and beauty.

Here in the humdrum
I am lucky if I get to dazzle
for even a moment.

I look down,
stepping carefully
to avoid pavement cracks
and bears.

There is a fog
of confusion
everywhere.
People proffer answers
to questions they
barely understand.

I long for stars;
we were kindred spirits
once.
Where did we lose
ourselves?

I concentrate on
simple tasks.
Stuck in skin,
I wrestle ceaselessly,
ceaselessly restless.
People tell me to
calm down.

I long for stars;
we are quantumly
entangled. Paired
for eternity, our
subatomic particles
duet.

I long for stars.
Waves of homesickness
overcome me.

I long for stars.