Time/Wasted

This, a few days ago. A little wasted time births poetry from tired mind.

I
Weeping, the face of your brightness now obscured, beauty in despair
Aranea glistens as frosted morning fades


II
Within the grey, eyes still bright … stars remember the glory of the day … ah morning, come softly into the quiet of our dreams


III
I pale as stagnant waters puddle behind my eyes, tired dregs of longing, th3se yesterdays and tomorrows struggle in endl3ss eddies, desperate for release

Intangible

Instagram is becoming a closer friend. For quite a while, I had the app on my phone but seldom looked, even at posts from friends. 

Lately, I’m posting pictures …. paintings actually …. reflecting moods in my off hours. At home, after work, before work, alone is too much. I need something tangible to ground me.  So much of this time hurts the intangible. I ache not knowing how to fill it. 

I paint, write, email. I phone. I struggle.

Today’s painting reflects the weight I feel. And strangely, the lightness of being alone within it. 

 

Isolation

It has been a strange month. Isolation is all around us. Whether at home or work, I feel it deeply. There is a weight to it. The smells are louder. I’m allergic/hypersensitive to the cleaners we use at work. Benadryl helps, but not completely. I was given a mask by a lovely lady in town. I’m wearing it, realizing it may do nothing against germs, but it creates a  buffer between me and the wipes, sprays and continual cleaning. 

I live in a place of in between. I’ve lived here before, but that was more abuse and fear of the tangible, approachable implications. You could see and hear it coming. This is different. Everything looks the same, well nearly. There are the lineups, blank spots on store shelves, less cars on the road, so much more quiet to the day when I sit here listening to the simple sounds outside. Dogs bark, they must be walked. Some cars pass by, there are almost no sirens. I noticed that last week or the one before. It startled me, hearing a siren go past and I suddenly realized it was an anomaly to my now usual day. Before I’d hear at least two or three each day heading somewhere. We must be safer locked inside. I hope we’re learning the lessons that slower provides.

The first week or two at work were chaos. Angry, pushy, at times long distance and self important shoppers demanding things I could not give. My body remembers and shifted gears. Within a day, I noticed it … the alarm of crisis in action … I was perfectly calm and steady.  Aware, heightened awareness, attentive and ready for whatever came. I moved with speed and accuracy between my self check area and the door. I shifted into teacher mode – Jacob mode – and was giving prompts with encouragement, focusing all our attention (mine and the customers) to the task of keeping the flow. Instruction mingled with story, I wove connections and got smiles. We were a team. Back and forth I went, encouraging, thanking them … three out, one in, get the flow, break congestion at the tills, switch gears, one out one in, thank you for helping. On and on. 

 Yesterday it was one month, exactly one month since my other job closed. Medical. We had to. In that time, my life consists of the constant back and forth between store and home, store and home. I work as much as I can, pick up shifts to make up for the emptiness January and February fed my bank accounts. I feel guilty appreciating the opportunity to work and make it up. I shift between high and low, distance and alone. It’s an odd little melodrama I play out all alone. Its peaks and valleys are fine some days, but others the fog rolls in and I barely cope. In the good moments, between low and high, I write and I paint. Let my body share the distress with a tangible medium. My only real contact besides the cleaning surfaces, and they give me nothing back. 

My goal, for now, try to write what wants to come. Then try to write what needs to come. And try to write the things I planned and struggle to get out.  Here. Instagram. Facebook and email groups. Lift my head, look and see, let it out. Share me. 

For today, a link. I’ll post them here too when I have a moment to remember how it work. Right now. Find food. Pack lunch. Head to work. 

ART of LIFE in this ISOLATION:

Painting emotions this month Inner ‘isolation’. https://www.instagram.com/p/B_IQX2NAHo4/?igshid=1h7nr4c6zpd92

Reflection

pexels-photo-405238

pexels-photo-405238

As today is one of my down days (non work days), I slept.  When I woke I sent a brief note to an art group keeping each other company through emails … and wrote this:

Poem / Reflection

A cup of tea to toast the day and hope to wash my yesterday whose isolated state was bathed in lysol-laden gestures drawing hope upon the air and touching light on momentary contacts I hope we do not share.

All stop and start and wait and run exhausts my inner gears. Ah rest, you’re welcome,  though in bursts a little hard to bear. I have forgot, but toast and tea and quiet gives me time to think and stare at mental notes and images; reflect upon them here.

Continue reading →

Remember to Breathe

sandy-bassie 20200410_153100

2020 sandy-bassie Swirl

Two days off … I slept.  And when I wasn’t sleeping, or listening to TV talk about Covid-19 news, I made art. Words, Paint. Music. Something to fill my spirit with light. Not artificial light of my apartment or workplace, but nature’s light, creativity’s light.  I need to move and too often in this time, movement is given only to coping. I am so glad I have art and creativity to remind me. Breathe.

I belong to a number of groups including art, writing and music. These are my favourite ones because they let out my creativity … on the days I allow it space … I can feel life inside me. Worlds bigger than the routine I follow. Keeping these creative things in my life gives and costs me. How is hard to describe…

I had an email recently from a friend leading one of the arts groups. She spoke about reactions during this time of self-isolation; fight or flight being common, but freeze was new to her.  It made me think.

Freeze is well known to me and has been for years. Still, I don’t understand. I recognize it lives in the PTSD. I see the ways it shows up and know the pattern, but knowing that has little practical value. I have words I want to share – publish – submit. I make paintings and am learning to accept them as they are – free flowing – awkward, messy, at times (as a friend said today) impish. They want out to play. They want a home. I want to submit them to magazines, sell them to people, see others enjoy the smiles they can bring. Freeze. Creativity, like my attempts at ‘career’ rather than ‘job’ gets hits hard by ‘freeze’. It is a part of my isolation, not just during this time of Covid self-isolation, but all the times PTSD slams doors I venture to open.

Acknowledging the word, my stomach gets queasy and I sense a need to burst into tears. Why remains mystery, even to myself.  I try to explain, but it has no meaning, just swirls like colours in the water jar before they turn to grey. At least in saying that, I believe my art friend will see something of my experience.

Thank you to friends who check in, who laugh and share moments online, who post pictures and poems, who refuse to give in to the places we fear. I appreciate you all. I need what I said at the start … I am so glad I have art and creativity (and all of you) to remind me. Live. Laugh. Breathe.

And one day, the colours will dance rather than gray. They will not freeze. They will release into the world taking hope, light, joy.

Continue reading →