Love and Ink
July days are here. I’m sitting outside as I write this note to you. A chatter of chaffinch and sunbeams join the mix. Around me, seeds I planted months ago are now in bloom; colour bursts. A parade of wild pink roses sit on my table as greeting. The year spins with petal and promise.
By July every year, I am ready for a rest, and some play. After the busy academic months and full season for organisations, summer stretches out a bit, offering some gentler rhythms and time to plan. I took myself off to Seville last week, thankfully missing the height of the heat, and switched off some of my brain for a while as I wandered narrow streets and stared lovingly and longingly at art. Now home, between swims, I’m taking stock, taking time.
I look at the world, and my heart breaks.
I look at the bloom, and my heart sings.
It’s all here; the pain and the promise, so much of both.
Often in my journal, when I am feeling a little overwhelmed or unsure, I turn to a voice inside me. I call her ‘The Wise One’. It’s the ancient elder in me, the voice which is timeless and eternal. I believe it is in all of us - a part of us that knows what is best, what is the wise course of action. But I think it takes practice and time to find her. She is below the noise and the ‘shoulds’, she (or he or they or them- or whatever you choose to call), seeks the best for us. For me, she speaks with firm compassion, sometimes so directly it stings, sometimes so subtly it can be easy to doubt her power. But there she is nonetheless, speaking her wisdom.
Maybe all this seems too far-fetched, too ‘out-there’, but for me it has been a way of really discovering what is ‘in here’. Dialoging on the page with her, I find answers my rational and logical brain does not ordinarily extend to. It takes imagination and the voice of ‘another’ to reach to ideas and pathways which my noisy, overwhelmed brain would have dismissed. But the wise voice is consistent, persistent.
This morning, trying to plan my next few months, and feeling totally aghast, once again, at the news, I asked for her guidance. This is what she said:
The sun is here for you.
And this day: a blank page.
Your pen is here. And the marriage of ink.
Your love is here, let it write the next sentence.
That’s all you’ll need:
Love, and Ink.
Love and Ink. That’s what I have. My words. My art. My offerings. It’s not everything, but right now, she has reminded me of the gifts: a blank page, a summer unfolding, and ink to write it into being.
Hello. I'm Clare
I'm a writer, educator and facilitator, living in beautiful West Cork, Ireland. I love to share resources and learning to help harness the transformative power of words, place and story. I hope my work offers nourishment for mind and soul. Thank you for being here. Clare x
