The Answer and The Alchemy
I recently met an author of Science Fiction and Fantasy novels, who also has a Masters in Physics that he enjoys writing papers on too. During our meeting, he said that he once wrote something outside of his norm, a very personal true story about witnessing his father’s journey with Parkinson’s disease. But he had written it and that was it, confessing he was “too close to it” to revisit or publish it.
I related to this feeling well, and mentioned how I’ve been on my own exploration of understanding that the best way out is through. When I suggested that maybe he’d find some peace in revisiting his story, he replied, “I don’t think I can. It’s too emotional.” Again, relatable.
From the Return Of Spirit oracle card deck by Cheryl Lee Harnish
A day or so later, I received an email from this writer and I was surprised to see it came with an attachment of his short story. He wrote: “I'd mentioned about my dad's Parkinson's and the little paper I wrote up… Here it is. Let me know what you think.” After hearing his initial resistance, I was a bit shocked (and touched) to see that he trusted me enough to share such a personal story, especially since we had only just met.
At the bottom of the 10-page story, there was a date printed with the year 2002. He wrote it 19 years ago. I hadn’t realized from our conversation that he had written it almost two decades ago. This delicate grain of truth rendered me speechless. I was proud of his courage to shine light on a piece of himself that he had hidden away in the proverbial drawer for such a long time.
Round about the same time that I had the privilege of reading this writer’s story, I came across a poem I had written. Sometimes I call these stoems (story-poems), like a piece I wrote called “The Emerging.” But sometimes they’re more wild and free than that. They’re like…blobs of words? Blurbs. Yes, poetic blurbs I guess. Plurbs.
My plurbs are mostly words that my subconscious needs to get off her chest, but they’re a little messy, so I can’t quite fit them neatly into a song or a story. So I let them rain onto a page and land where they fall. I don’t try to make them work too much. I just allow the words to pour and when it feels like the storm is over, I call it a poem and call it a day.
Anyway, I came across one such plurb I almost forgot about called “The Answer” that I started writing in 2019, and then revisited a couple times last year, raining more words on the page with each return. Earlier this year, I read it and thought about how interesting it was to re-experience the variety of feelings I had felt during the times when I wrote it, but from a new perspective. Like being on Chapter 11 in a book and flipping back to reread Chapter 7. Remembering in a new way. Some parts that I had written in present tense (at the time) were really reflections on past memories. And single words of expression are splashed on it like paint on a canvas.
When I recently read it again after so many months, it was like touching different timelines of existence morphed into one. I could feel the present me having compassion for the past me, the past me having gratitude for the present me, and both me’s having hope for the future me. There was a sense of healing, but at the same time an acknowledgment that I was never broken in the first place. Writing the words may have been crucial medicine, but reading them back was its own alchemy. This is partially why writing is so special to me. There are ever-unfolding layers of magic.
Albert Einstein said, “The distinction between past, present and future is only a stubbornly persistent illusion.” (If you want to go down a VERY interesting rabbit hole, I highly recommend looking into the growing block universe theory of time, also known as the block universe theory. Jump in and I’ll see you down there!) To me, it resonates that time isn’t linear, and everything is ever-present. I can’t think about it TOO hard (I’ll leave that to the Physics writer), but if it is indeed true that all times exist simultaneously (past, present, and future—the everlasting now), then that means all the versions of us exist at the same time too. And it’s quite illuminating to view alchemy via creativity through this lens.
Maybe the reason why certain poems or songs are written over time and not in just one sitting is because they need that time to infuse more wisdom necessary for the story being told. It’s not so much writer’s block as it is wisdom block. Perhaps all the me’s needed the other me’s in order to complete writing the entire piece of “The Answer”—a patient platform to allow all the me’s justice in telling their truth. My past self counting on my present self’s growth to express the full tale. And even though a lot of the feelings expressed in this poem seem like lightyears away now, reading it back was almost like channeling all the me’s perspectives while standing in each of her shoes.
“The Answer” is a winding and revelatory labyrinth of a story within a story. It’s because of the concurrent nature of creativity from different phases of my growth within the same piece of expression that I find purpose. I find (re-find) myself. Hopefully, Mr. Writer also found some solace and strength on his personal healing journey by revisiting a piece of his own creativity, which is of course really, a piece of himself.
Postcard by author and light worker of You Are Luminous
I talk about healing a lot on Creative Owlchemy, however maybe “healing” is not the most accurate word, since we are only ever whole, even when we don’t feel like it. Maybe the best of ourselves is revealed through the uncovering of our truth—an unbroken truth. More of a return, than a discovery. It only feels like a discovery because we’re coming back with a new level of perspective. Different stair, same staircase.
And perhaps when we revisit our stories, whether in short stories, in poetic-blurbs, or only in our minds, we reconcile with the wholeness of who we are because we can touch all the timelines we exist in at once. And the pain of it being “too emotional” is really just temporary growing pains. Only a minuscule paper cut while turning the page to the next chapter. What a beautiful opportunity that creativity offers us…
At any rate, here’s a plurb that several versions of me wrote about returning to myself called “The Answer.”
—
The Answer
Knock, knock
Who’s at the door?
A nagging shadow
Why won’t she go away?
I know what I’m doing
I hold it together
But I’m a frame
Only a frame of the woman I’m meant to be
Where did the home inside me go?
She won’t show up
I am alone
Tick, tock
The wheel keeps turning
Creaking and churning
It doesn’t care about me
I’m left behind
Like I’ve always been
Not seen or heard for what I am
Abandoned
Abandoned
Time, you’re still here
A pest
But where did the home inside me go?
She left
He needed me
I was there
I needed him
He was too tired
I understand
Long day
I cooked him dinner
He made me breakfast
Isn’t that forgiveness?
I needed me
I was neglected
Hopeful
Desperate
Rejected
Pretended
Cruel
My tongue bleeds
Suppression
Thinking of nothing
It occurs to me
He doesn’t know my favorite song
He never asked
I never told
Music is my aura
The alter of my colors
My song comes on and I’m a Christmas tree
It lights me all up
He answers his phone
He turns it all down
Unnoticed
Air
Vanishing
Disappointment
Raised by rock and roll
Pinned under a boulder
Flatten me out
Thick skin
Wring me like a rag
Twist and shout
I’m not underneath after all
Break me
I’m inside
My foot taps
It keeps him awake
Inconsiderate
Headphones on
Private syncopation
Rearrange the arrangement
Lonely
(But music is there for me)
Ordinary minus extra
Just another day
I wish I were a guitar riff
Chugging and wild and free
Skipping, hair blowing in the wind
Uncontainable
Transcendent
City streets
Angel beast
Unleashed
Or a tambourine
Rattling with excitement
Sparkling high
Sprinkling sugar
Cheerful
Heard and wanted and sweet
I spin my ring
Habit
Dust on a vinyl
Dirt on a vow
Water to tread
Making my bed
Waves are swords
Words are water
Spill my cup
Liquid emotion
I’m cut in two
A magic trick
Dark cold blue
An apparition steers the ship
I swallow water to get to him
Harmless and rosy
Damaging
Charming
Dangerous and nice
Good intentions
Ruby roses
Promise is a pretty word
I don’t know what it means
Piece of mind
For peace of mind
Chip away at me
One wave at a time
Can’t rock the boat
Roll me away
Breach and sink
Rocks turn soggy
Anchor round my ankle
Throw me overboard
Rock and lull
Drowning
Groove me
Move me
Adventure is a movie
Real life is a safety net
I’m stuck inside a sticky web
Safe and settled
Comfortably numb
Dead weight
Suffocate
He doesn’t know my soundtrack
He doesn’t know what made me
He doesn’t know what I’m made of
I am a key change
Don’t you think I hear her knocking?
The wind carries her call
Why won’t she go away?
It’s raining outside
Tattered
It’s warm in here
(It’s cold in here)
Dependable
But I am only a frame
Don’t you think I hear the ring?
It’s getting louder in my ear
Stubborn
Urgent
Piercing
Mournful
Pleading
Innocent
Loyal
On the other side of that heavy door
If I’m not careful, it will turn into a scream
If I’m loud enough, maybe I won’t hear it
If I stay quiet, it makes me cry
Wooden slivers under her nails
The moon a vague sliver in the sky
“How was your day?”
I open my mouth
But he doesn’t wait for the answer
He talks like he’s always done
Loud
I listen like I’ve always given
Proud
I laugh in my mind at the routine
Careless
She bangs on the door
I smile
She screams
Nights like this are a life like this
He speaks but won’t look at me
I look but don’t see
Like the reverb of a cello
The frame is real but only an echo
Fake vibrato
My throat pulses
Blocked
Denied
Shocked
Denial
It hurts to talk
Cement
It’s an escape to sing
Lament
I’m not here
(I’m still here)
Colorless reality starts to tilt
Suddenly, not suddenly
It’s off the axis
It doesn’t match
It drips
Wrong
But what is right?
I don’t even know it exists
I never knew it
What is “it”?
Can I believe in what I don’t know?
Frustrated
I only find a weird distant memory
A hint
Remember when I was funny?
A glimpse
I don’t know what it is, but I miss it
Can I long for something I’ve never known?
I hang on
Impossible
I forget
Paying no mind cost me
Never mind
Homesick
A long slow walk into the kitchen
Trance
Carrying dirty dishes
Sleeping Beauty
But I don’t touch the light switch
Zombie
Maybe that’s why I hear it
I can’t see
So I see
I feel it
And I know
In the darkness, I surrender
In the darkness, I feel a glow
I open the door
She falls to the floor
Straight to bed like my whole life didn’t just change
But I knew it did
It would
It has to
It has
Years took a day
A day took forever
I finally sink into sleep
But I don’t dream
Which one is real?
I’m awake asleep
Alive
Tired
Rest
Fire
A lullaby
Long lost embrace
The shadow was smoke from a flame
I had never left myself
I dimmed
Still, I stayed
Even in the cold
When I didn’t want me, but I needed me
Knocking my door down
Even though I shut me out
Waiting for the answer
Wishing to be let in
Determined to unfold
Unconditional
Fierce
Rescue mission
Savage
Empress
The ram in me
I am strong
It feels so good, it hurts like hell
To welcome myself back inside
To hear the stillness where there was once a bell
Click my heels
Fortress
I am the same
I will never be the same
The tower fell but I have risen
The beginning of forgiveness
Warm your hands
Have a cup of tea
It’s been too long
Remain with me
The morning is in between
Old and new
Known and unknown
I know what’s coming
It’s already come
It’s already gone
I know what I knew all along
Time, here it is
You never stopped turning
I wasn’t forgotten
I belong
The foundation gave
It drops
Landslide
Beautiful mess
Castles in the sand
The clock hands are spinning
Cycling
Recycling
Creating something
Recreating something
Made of everything I’m made of
The heaven and the hell
I love myself
I love myself
I stare at the painting inside my frame
But I don’t hang it on the wall
I hold it
I’m home
I cry and smile
I breathe and kneel
And I just hold it
I hold it for what feels like the first time
I hold it and don’t let go
