Dusk settles over our city. The allure of pink-tinged clouds pulls my gaze upward, to where they sit atop a row of tall buildings on the high street. Darkness soon folds in, where two lanes of illuminated steel and tyre create an ebb and flow of white noise. There is the constant reminder of many self-contained lives in each passing of muffled drumbeats, hands sounding horns and revving of engines.
As I sit in the café window, pondering on events of the day, a warmly lit shop window beckons from across the road, a timely antidote to the surrounding ‘busyness’. Beautifully displayed are all things calming, like carved wooden Buddhas, Shamanic dream catchers and glowing lamps of quartz crystal. I recall enjoying a strong sense of ‘other worldliness’ as the sweet, heady aroma of Nag Champa enveloped us at the door.
I’m a little confused, having experienced the oddest sensation whilst reading last week’s article. Although the content seemed familiar, it felt rather disconnected, as if written by another’s hand. And it occurred to me that the process of creativity may not be ‘something that you do’, rather it is ‘something that you are allowed to do’.
Elizabeth Gilbert (of ‘Eat, Pray and Love’ fame) spoke about this in one of her TED’s talks. The ancient Romans believed that the act of creativity was through a guiding spirit known as a ‘genius’. She tells the story of a poet friend who would have to launch herself at pen and paper as she sensed the rapid approach of inspiration for a new piece of work. On those occasions when she failed to reach them in time, the idea would leave her entirely, as if looking for another poet who was presumably better at long jump.
“What, then, if this bewildering enjoyment of ‘wordiness’ abandons me, for greener pastures?” asks my scared imagination.“I suppose that the logical thing”, comes the reply, “would be to follow it there!”
A familiar song playing in the background edges its way into my awareness, where it gradually dawns on me that it has some significance. I’m struck by how wonderful it is that, simply by typing a few of the lyrics into Google Search, the song is identified as ‘Jealousy’ by Labyrinth.
I’m not one for crying as a rule, especially when things are worth crying about. Every now and again, some inner voice decides to nudge me in that direction, finding other ways to experience that much-needed relief. At its insistence, I occasionally find myself searching around YouTube for those one-off performances, often by individuals who are virtual strangers to the stage, singing for their dream, or for a chance of a better life, or about their loss. And at the point where nerves and passion meet, some achieve the miracle, a quality that is difficult to define, but that draws us in and won’t let us go. It takes us to the very edge of our life experience and reconnects us to what is truly important to us; our ground zero; the very heart of who we are; our humanity.
I watched a humble young Josh Daniel on X-factor in 2015 singing ‘Jealousy’. Still heartbroken at the loss of his best friend, he changed the original meaning of the lyrics in his friend’s memory. Following his emotional performance, much of the audience and two out of the three judges were reduced to tears and rendered speechless. Simon Cowell included. In which case, my own reaction was truly validated.
I guess that there has to be a point where tearing up in public stops being embarrassing. After reaching for the headphones and watching again, I walk up to the counter with red-rimmed eyes to order a decaf coffee, inwardly smiling at the sympathetic reaction of the baristas, but choosing to refrain from explanations.
Autumn is becoming particularly beautiful right now. It is also a worrying time for some of us. Whilst it prepares us, gently, for colder and bleaker months, it is also a portent for more and more pain that all the heaters, endorphins, hot water bottles and woolly jumpers don’t ever seem to prevent. Like many others, I long for a generous and well-travelled spirit to guide me to hotter climes for the winter.
“So, what is the point right now? What has this time of year got to offer?” I ask myself, allowing a moment of pessimism and fully expecting a dark cloud of negative thoughts to delight in the opportunity to rampage through my head. The very act of asking the question, though, brings with it some surprising answers.
The darker evenings mean cosying up by the fire with pets, yet more Simon Cowell (although TV doesn’t figure in my life much anymore) and mugs of soup or hot chocolate. It’s a rather more home-based lifestyle, except for those occasional visits and meals out with friends. And a time to keep the pets safe from the random letting off of noisy fireworks, whilst enjoying the opportunity to get to know them better.
And there is something else even more important. In common with others that I know who share times of isolation for many different reasons, it allows us to empathise with anyone or anything that resonates with us and our situation. Suddenly, the life of that ladybird desperate to survive another year in the corner of the bathroom becomes sacred, as precious as my own, and I learn how to take care of it. The same goes for the young foxes that are driven by hunger to brave daylight hours down city roads, relieved to find food purposely left for them that would otherwise have been thrown away. And as for the birds that struggle on the lakeside ice that clamour for soggy bread, I shall be giving them birdseed, oats and defrosted peas this year, as current wisdom seems to be suggesting.
Impending winter is also a far more worrying affair for the unfortunate people driven to living on the streets. Not all of them are ‘hoodwinking us’ as the media seems to be suggesting. Regardless of the excuses that we find to blame them for their predicament, how could anything be worse for those who are genuine?
We’re living in challenging times,when caring a toss is really, really, REALLY important. (Forgive my lack of imagination with vocabulary at this point as repeating the same word seems to give the emphasis that it requires!)
For now though, it’s so very tempting just to hibernate, with steaming mugs of comfort and cuddly cats.
“I’m afraid we shall waste an awful lot of time.”
“Don’t worry,” answered Snufkin, “we shall have wonderful dreams and when we wake up, it’ll be spring!”
