It’s dark in January, but there’s light ahead, and light within. Revisiting this wonderful poem by John O’Donohue.
Capacity
Having recently experienced an enforced re-start due to job loss, I couldn’t help but notice that despite initial anxiety and sadness, my capacity increased almost immediately. Following several months of stress at work (and knowing deep down that all was not well with the project funding) I hadn’t realised that I was withdrawing. It was little things at first: saying no to invites from friends and feeling like I was moving in slow motion. Then it was bigger things: feeling flat about something that usually brought me joy, being easily irritated, sighing a lot.
In short, I was not myself.
When I cleared out my shelves of all the printed stories and poems – the ones I had brought into prison groups over the last few years – I finally accepted that my dream job was over. Being able to show in practice what literature can do, even in the darkest place, was honestly one of the best things I could have done with my life. With The Reader (they read! for work!) I had found my tribe. So as I nudge forwards towards the next chapter, I’m grateful that my capacity for joy has returned. I notice things. I laugh easily. I can breathe again. We tend to sit under clouds and hardly notice that the sun is no longer shining. Days become days and the world turns.
My return to colour has involved Shakespeare, cats, nature, and time alone to process. New seasons are inevitable. And they are welcome.
Image by Nini Kvaratskhelia on Pixabay
Hold On Tight
Well, well, well, if it isn’t February already. People have always said that time speeds up as you get older, but I didn’t really believe them. It’s still a New Year, I reckon, and I’m trying to get used to it since January lasted about four months. It’s dark out there, in more ways than one: winter winds, unwelcome change and big bullies ruling the roost. I don’t like it.
Penny the cat recently squeezed into a tiny cardboard box and slept all evening. I felt jealous. The thought of climbing into a cave, curling up and switching off the world was very attractive. But there was more to it than that. It was the thought of being enclosed and tightly wrapped, as if being held. A feeling of safety and security. I wanted that.
Even my clothing, I’ve noticed, is tight these days. Base layers of thermals and clingy polo necks are the thing. Skinny jeans have had their day, I know, and I don’t miss them (my knobbly knees are also relieved) but there’s something about the cosseting sensation that we surely all need these days. Therapist-speak calls it ‘emotional containment’.
There will come a time to let it all hang out again, a time to feel free and safe as we move through the world. But for now, I’m wearing those vests and putting extra blankets on the bed and even asking for hugs when I need them.
For now, I’m simply holding on tight.
Thankful Old Year
‘And from the granite of some secret sorrow, a stream of buried tears loosened.’
A poetry reading to end the year. None better than the words of John O’Donohue. Reading from ‘To Bless the Space Between Us’, Convergent Books, 2008.
Happy New Year
I never really know what to say at these times so I’ll leave it to John O’Donohue. Read or listen, and thank you for joining me in the shed throughout 2023. I wish you all good things as another year arrives on the horizon.
At The End of the Year As this year draws to its end, We give thanks for the gifts it brought And how they became inlaid within Where neither time nor tide can touch them. The days when the veil lifted And the soul could see delight; When a quiver caressed the heart In the sheer exuberance of being here. Surprises that came awake In forgotten corners of old fields Where expectation seemed to have quenched. The slow, brooding times When all was awkward And the wave in the mind Pierced every sore with salt. The darkened days that stopped The confidence of the dawn. Days when beloved faces shone brighter With light from beyond themselves; And from the granite of some secret sorrow A stream of buried tears loosened. We bless this year for all we learned, For all we loved and lost And for the quiet way it brought us Nearer to our invisible destination. John O'Donohue from Benedictus, To Bless the Space Between Us