passing time
passing emotions
passing seasons
passing clouds
passing by

fleeting moments of time
troubled emotions
changing seasons
cloudless skies
leaving

time stands still
we forget to breath
winter seems interminable
another day
gently & slowly life ebbs away

​passing

Views of Maunga Taranaki, early August 2018. In memory of Aunty Kui who passed away on August 18th 2018 R.I.P.

Inside my head every thought I have, no matter how complex or simple, is easily articulated & makes perfect sense.
I have became aware of an inability to hold a coherent conversation with anyone & I find I have trouble explaining things clearly. 

Even though you could quite easily fob that off as nonsense, I have been spending time thinking seriously about what happens to humans when our language & ability to communicate is compromised.

I can still communicate in conversation, just not as well as I used to & my vocabulary has definitely reduced since I stopped leaving home to go to work.

Why is that ?
Isolation I guess & not needing to explain things - definitely. 
I don't miss my old job(s) but I do miss the conversations.
Practise (or should that be practice !?!) or rather lack thereof . . . yep, absolutely.

So I have decided to do something about my loss of words.

In November last year (2017) I enrolled in 27 days of Wild Writing with Laurie Wagner & it was fabulous.
Laurie's method in this online course returned poetry to me.
I hadn't realised just how much I had missed hearing poetry read aloud.
I sat down every day for 27 days & played with words.
The words in my head scribbled down in the order that they appear & as fast as they come by the pencil in my hand onto a page in a kid's cheap scrapbook I bought in the supermarket.
Just like that !  
Without punctuation or grammar correction. 
​
Initially just a practice to practise, the wild writing has become equal parts cathartic & therapeutic.
It is possible for me to work things out by writing from my stream of conscious.

Wild writing has also carried me back to books.

I got out of the habit of going to the library. (That would be because I basically didn't leave the house for 2 years.) 
Recently I walked into the library & the first book I saw was a book of poetry titled  'Alzheimer's & a Spoon'  by NZ poet Liz Breslin, which I took as a sign.
​Here, in one book, is a poetic rhetoric of everything I've been thinking about.

From here it's been easy to find my way back to books.
Books to lend from the library, books to borrow from friends, books to buy.
It's a different dialogue this one between book author & reader.
I've missed it & I'm glad it's back.

I've set myself a challenge for 2018 which is to practise wild writing once a week.
I've made a journal especially for the practice & assigned a day to sit, set my timer & do it.
I've recently bought 2 new books which I love.
​One lets me know I'm not alone in the world & the other has been integral in getting my creative groove back &, for that, I am grateful.

I think a lot about language & communication.
Loss of language leads to loss of culture.
Loss of culture leads to loss of identity. 
Inability to converse leads to isolation & loneliness.

Not all language is verbal. Not all language is written.
​I'm choosing to articulate & start conversations through artworks these days but I'm glad to have words back.

Words are such beautiful playful things; individual letters lined up together to make words lined up together to make sentences lined up together to articulate thoughts, facilitate discussion, evoke emotions & create connections.

Words : lost without them