I lost a notebook.
A notebook that had the only bits of poetry I’ve written.
I am so afraid that I threw it away.
Why would I have done that?
I combed my room looking for it the other day. I was down on my hands and knees on my dusty floor in near tears at the thought of losing the closest thing that I know to a child–my writing.
I ripped through half a dozen other old notebooks. Those were all old notes. I even had some from college classes. Why would I save my women’s history, dramatic literature, note and Building a Character notes and not my little tiny scribblings and ramblings of poetry and dialogues with musicians I adore?!
I am even about to cry right now. I spent the past week re-editing the first 20 pages of what I am certain will be my first novel. Yes, FIRST–because I love it so much that I feel more and more in me!
I put so much work into that. But, that is just one of my babies. I had others before it. They aren’t fully grown yet. What have I done?!
The poetry in that is the ONLY poetry I’ve ever written. And their wasn’t much. But, what was there was Truth. And Raw Truth. Something from a deep place. A place I forgot about until recently. For some reason I feel that place again. And it was deeply painful. But, I am ready to revisit it and heal a part of myself that I left back there.
I feel it is unfinished business. There are wounds not fully healed. They had stitches put in and now those stitches need to be removed so that the healing process can finally be over.
I am ready to revist those poems because I am ok with letting those feelings be fully processed by entering into the space of my real life. Not just left on a page for me to let out all that is inside. Now, they (and I) may be ready to be taken in by others. From my insides to another’s insides. Helping me heal and helping another feel.
What do my words sound like aloud? Poetically, how do they sound aloud? I do not know. I don’t even know how some of them FEEL to be read aloud.
How do they feel to be shared? Feeling in others and in me. A me let to escape and travel into another. Another I may never know…or even scarier, another whom I do know. One I know too well. One I already feel. One who has, can, and does feel me.
That is scary.
And I am ready to move right into the center of that fear. I am ready to grow in courage by moving into my fear.
…and just when I’m ready, I have lost my marbles…er, my notebooks. But, same thing.