Love in a Mist, nigella, has gone to seed.
The hawk, let's call him Cooper, swooped down to snatch her up, that is what hawks do. But she flew into the window. I tried to save her, she stayed for a while, and in that moment, I felt we spoke the same language. And then the light in her eyes was gone. I have experienced that many times. The light and how it leaves. There are no words. Like a silent breathless exhale. A deepening. For a moment you are totally alone with it. Nothing. I buried her under a rock, hoping she could become soil, undisturbed.
Today I sit thinking about story. There are so many ways to tell a story. Even the same story, from person to person, is a different story. To witness is unique. To process is unique. To tell, in a way is to illustrate, to show, which requires a language that the audience can understand, at least somewhat. Language can be unique. Language can determine who listens. Even the purpose of telling a story is unique to the teller. Sometimes a story is an attempt at truth, sometimes it is an attempt to deceive. It is certainly an opportunity to confuse, bewilder and control. Art gives form to story. There are many choices in the telling. Is it important that what you are trying to say be understood? Yes, in my opinion it is. To pass on one glimmer of true self is very important. To be a seed you must be true to form.
The thing is, how do we know our true self ? We have been told so many stories. Which ones have shaped us? What was their purpose?
I hope this post wasn't confusing. It just fell out of me.
(laughing, needed to)
Writing is so different than talking. The form the story takes. Thinking about that too.
how fragile we (all) are . . .
The commin language
So much here to think about. I printed, so that I could re-re-read throughout the day. Thank you for your thoughts!
❤️
Some of my selves are caught in nets in my heart. Perhaps like a patchwork, with life in some squares and unsettled wanderings and wondering in others.
My telling is true, but there is more.
Does that settle I wonder? Perhaps with the electricity at the leaving.
You have helped me to ponder.
I feel happy that the bird found comfort held against your heart.
I think we just need to keep going, let things move around, through us. Maybe unsettled is just who we are.
Your post today is a story in itself, so well expressed.Loved reading it and found myself nodding in acknowledgement and agreement very often! So, so many stories held within ..I struggle with their expression often…that seems a large part of my journey….maybe if I stopped thinking there is much to share and let it just fall out, as you say! :):)
yes, telling can be a relief.
things need to move through.
I think my story cloth started for that, story catchers, a way for me to let it out, making space in me.
I needed this post today. 🙂 I think we are always creating story, when we are living life. And sometimes as we tell stories we are trying to figure out who we are… To create understanding, that’s so important.
YES, we are the story. I think we tell ourselves stories all the time, with the same opportunities to help or confuse ourselves. what if understanding is just making peace with ourselves?
The human mind is a story-maker.
I would even say, to tell, to create stories is to be human. It defines us. And yes, we need to understand ourselves most of all. 🙂 It’s really why I write. Thinking about it…I am wondering about how the different ways we express ourselves (writing, speaking, drawing, making….) might tap into different parts of ourselves sometimes.
Our Selves. And yes it does. Our imagination sets us apart…and brings us together.
“The light and how it leaves. There are no words. Like a silent breathless exhale. A deepening. For a moment you are totally alone with it.”
Today would have been my husband’s 74 birthday. I have spent a lot of time today thinking of being with him as the light went out of his eyes and I was totally alone with it. Nothing is more sacred. ❤️
These are the moments that shape us. They bring is so close to the unknowable, the unutterable, there is a shocking clarity. A kind of sudden knowing everything at once. We can truly know each other by finding ways to share the learning in such witnessing.
Thank you Teresa, for simply saying.
I read this post early today and was blown away. As good a piece about storytelling as I’ve seen anywhere and I have a lot of the books. Do we write to reveal or to conceal? Does it matter that we are understood or not? I read this to my writing circle this morning and it set the tone and some amazing writing followed.
One of the hardest parts about the back room-status of my novel is it not being seen. I used to think I wanted money or some mild acclaim. That’s shifted. Now I just want people to be able to spend time with my characters. Well, back to querying next week (she said).
being invisible. this is so close to me because I am so shy in real life, but then I tell stories to make parts of me visible. It is a confusing aspect about my self. selves.
Being of the story. Geez, what if that is who we are?
and thank you Dee…
I don’t think we ever know ourself and we are different people to anyone who knows us. No one knows us exactly the same. I have no idea how anyone else knows me. Probably for the best.
I think I am feeling an early fall in the air. I hope anyway. It could be 100 again next week but for now it is delightful.
I think we are our experience, which is always changing. If we can find a way to share something useful to others because of that, we can be like a seed.
I feel the shift big time today. A little more heat and rain tomorrow but really we have reached the edge. of change anyway, who knows what season will look like this time around.
This post so resonated with me … who are we really?? How did we get here?? How did we become the person we are today?? Man oh man so many questions .. but what I know for sure is that I’m so grateful for you along with the rest and all the other that take the time to share your thoughts. As always Thank You!!!
hey thank you back
Love these thoughts, Jude, well said! Writing is hard for me, I find it easier to tell stories visually – it leaves so much room for each person to hear their own story from seeing/touching what we make. Good work with the bird, she was lucky to have you care for her at the end . . .
Yes, I think the visual is more forgiving and welcoming in some way .
You saved her life so she could die in peace. Thank you for sharing that moment with us.
I had to sit and ponder this post awhile, thank you for helping me think more deeply. Sometimes it is so much easier to skim the surface of thoughts but to truly feel and possibly understand I have to go deeper.
It definitely is wood stacking time.
Wood stacking helps me think.
“…how it leaves. There are no words. Like a silent breathless exhale.
A deepening. For a moment you are totally alone with it. Nothing.”
It’s like a moment of truth settles in ones heart. An awareness, an acknowledgement of the fragility of aliveness.
Visual art is so different than speaking or writing. Yielding to some unspoken truth or something there are no words to describe.
Love your thoughts on storytelling!
Thought provoking post!
Thanks for sharing.
visual creates more room for interpretation I think. Especially for those who don’t use that kind of language.
Nothing is always shockingly new.
Sitting with that cloth is more than enough today. But then your words very much do make sense to me. I’m slow, thoughtful with writing/with words, hating to be misunderstood. But then is that not a curated self?
yes, curating. Can we help it?
Yes, thank you Jude. Your words often just shift something for me and today’s post resonates. ‘How do we know our true self?’ Maybe the biggest question of all.
is there one? Bigger question.
This is beautiful and thought-provoking, Jude. Well-told.
And yes, how much of all the stories we were told shaped us, and our perception of self, over the years!?
While cleaning out the physical ( the studio—in a way a building of Self) & working thru some emotional clutter, if you will…I had a sort of “epiphany”; missing certain individuals in my life, and then wondering if what i was missing was who/what I had PERCEIVED them to be once upon a time, not who they really were/are?
Yes, the Life Story is confusing….
And speaking of which, I noticed your spiral …here comes “Lee”! (& That’s confusing!! That’s our weather, not yours! 😅🤦♀️)
I have a love/hate relationship w windows, good for us, bad for birdies. 😥
Thank you for the story today. 💚
Yes, confusing. The human mind, capable of anything.
yes Lee is coming. But I think mostly a coastal issue. The sun is put today, at least temporarily. Stacking a bit of wood.
I believe writing is a way of thinking out loud … of deciphering one’s own thoughts to make some kind of story/meaning out of them
I find talking to be more immediate, especially because I am so prone to edit what I write, rewrite so to speak. The talking in the moment reveals more to me in terms of thought catching. No chance to make it more palatable. If I truly talk as if to myself. Writing is more of a physical form, like painting to me. It builds on itself. The real journal though, the doodles and notes, that is more connected to my thoughts.
Your writing is wonderful 💙
Thank you Jude!
thanks, it is not my true medium tho.
Oh, yes, writing is something special, requiring the author to imagine, or re-imagine that experience…and then recreate it in words. I LOVE things gone to seed…and that description of the Light leaving recalled so many similar experiences. I shall ever on describe Death as a “Light leaving…”
The first time, my one and only dog, I remember it so clearly, I gasped in some silent way, to know death.
Oh, Jude…💙
thank you for this beautiful post.
thank you for considering my words…