I’m on a poetry trip again. I keep coming back to Four Quartets, and its ideas that an end can be a beginning too, time (and life) circular not linear. I’m never sure I understand Eliot, and I certainly can’t find the words to convey the Big Thoughts he makes me think, but I love the sound the words make, and the pictures in my head.
That beach from t’other day is still in my head too, and that’s helping. I don’t know where it is, somewhere way out west, but I can hear the waves and the gulls, smell the salt, feel sand between my toes and sun on my back, sense the Celtic atmosphere. I kind of expect I’ll find myself sitting there during the summer, surprised to recognise a dream picture become reality.
It may look like I’m not in the best place right now, but I’m doing so much better than I have done in months, or even years. There have been (will be) some terrible downs, but I’m moving on, and I’m getting (back) to that good place.
I just wish so much that I could do this without hurting someone else so badly.
(G, I think this must be my midlife crisis, I’m spouting so much therapybollocks!)