Wise words,love letters and spiritual journeys
Looked all morning for wise words from writers and found nothing,truly nothing,till I read an interview with Rosamond in the Paris review.There she was lauding the soft feminine and giving her gripes about how feminists deny the feminine,what a relief to finally read a like mind.Talking about how women are intuitive,on spiritual matters and how writing comes months and months after an event that it's always too much to write of in the moment.Her and her little Etonian world and country houses which I do prefer.
I wrote 2500 words on Thursday,1500 words yesterday just various journalling/writing, I wrote about my spiritual journeys, oh what a mocked word 'spiritual' has become and never allowed to be part of a thinking persons vocabulary - it's diminishment distresses me.I wrote too about red how these notions,visions and specks of myself long lost since time began came dozing around me when I met him.
That never in my life had I experienced anything of that sort of certain.I keep thinking because I'm ill I cannot write and cannot make plans,but perhaps my writing will just have a sort of deathly desperation.I don't know.Ive definately hanged my coat up,I don't care about getting well anymore, I feel in good spirits regardless but I've given up.
All that matters to me at the moment is doing some good writing,pretty pictures,the hope of home and hearth,new life sprung up from old,and understanding the fateful journey I'm on.Why I met red,why I met the other one,why I have visions and see as a seer.I sometimes like to avoid the darker world of spirit,I want to stay close to all that's cosy and bright that's where it seems all my joy is,but there's such a mass of meaning in going further into what I've journeyed through,there's so much to be had.But for the sake of my well being I try not to venture out too far.
I'd like to work on 'Daughter of Ivor' and have been adding images to the board for it.Daughter of Ivor is about a young poet who inherits a cottage in Nova Scotia from her grandmother as well as an ancient brooch called the ballochyle brooch,she traces the descent of the brooch and her own mysterious family legends through their female lines to discover who she is,it's about life with her fiancé in their cottage too and I've having her as a post graduate student in Celtic studies.Its very 'how to make an American Quilt' now that I look at it and that film/book was very important for me and I think I will somewhat model the structure of that book,it seems to be not much that novel but it's symbols are deep.I like the idea of things being mythic,that a tale gets told in a certain way then a new version is told over it and over again over the years,the basic structure,archetypes and symbols are reused.
I'm just not sure if I'm suppose to be writing poetry,novels or something else altogether.
I'm in the mood for love letters and fine handmade chocolates at this moment, delicate little selections and weeping over a poetic echantment of words.
I wrote 2500 words on Thursday,1500 words yesterday just various journalling/writing, I wrote about my spiritual journeys, oh what a mocked word 'spiritual' has become and never allowed to be part of a thinking persons vocabulary - it's diminishment distresses me.I wrote too about red how these notions,visions and specks of myself long lost since time began came dozing around me when I met him.
That never in my life had I experienced anything of that sort of certain.I keep thinking because I'm ill I cannot write and cannot make plans,but perhaps my writing will just have a sort of deathly desperation.I don't know.Ive definately hanged my coat up,I don't care about getting well anymore, I feel in good spirits regardless but I've given up.
All that matters to me at the moment is doing some good writing,pretty pictures,the hope of home and hearth,new life sprung up from old,and understanding the fateful journey I'm on.Why I met red,why I met the other one,why I have visions and see as a seer.I sometimes like to avoid the darker world of spirit,I want to stay close to all that's cosy and bright that's where it seems all my joy is,but there's such a mass of meaning in going further into what I've journeyed through,there's so much to be had.But for the sake of my well being I try not to venture out too far.
I'd like to work on 'Daughter of Ivor' and have been adding images to the board for it.Daughter of Ivor is about a young poet who inherits a cottage in Nova Scotia from her grandmother as well as an ancient brooch called the ballochyle brooch,she traces the descent of the brooch and her own mysterious family legends through their female lines to discover who she is,it's about life with her fiancé in their cottage too and I've having her as a post graduate student in Celtic studies.Its very 'how to make an American Quilt' now that I look at it and that film/book was very important for me and I think I will somewhat model the structure of that book,it seems to be not much that novel but it's symbols are deep.I like the idea of things being mythic,that a tale gets told in a certain way then a new version is told over it and over again over the years,the basic structure,archetypes and symbols are reused.
I'm just not sure if I'm suppose to be writing poetry,novels or something else altogether.
I'm in the mood for love letters and fine handmade chocolates at this moment, delicate little selections and weeping over a poetic echantment of words.
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