I want to ooze colour and light. I want to scrape out the shadows. I want to rake up the essence. I want to illuminate the truth. I want to squeeze the goodness. I want to write and write and write.
But I can’t. Not because I don’t want to. Not because there are no ideas. But because there’s this thing happening that short circuits every attempt to be creative. It’s an unbloggable thing unfolding in the life of my family. Where I am legally unable to speak of it. We have already endured so much in the last two years. It is painful. And it is hanging over us like a wrecking ball.
This morning I sat at this desk and looked out my window. I sat there choking on my anger. I sat there hoping for justice. I looked out from my tiny inner world to a bigger world of garden and trees. I tried to find the answers out there. Out there is full answers, did you know?
Out there is the garden of your soul.
Out there is glorious comforting sunshine.
Out there is vibrant mysterious nature.
Out there are soothing balms of blossoms.
Out there are sweet drops of Spring.
Out there is restoration.
Out there is lightness.
Out there anything is possible.
We may not find all the answers we want. But we can feel alive again.