Why? That's the question on the lips of the people. Or of me, one of the people.
Here's my latest assessment of the--I'm not even calling it a problem, not yet:
- sometimes you let writing get far away from you. (by "you," I mean, obviously, "me.")
- when that happens, you have to be patient while you find your way back to it.
- "finding your way back" means agreeing to be a rank beginner again, facing your lameness, pressing on. You've got to be strong for that business. Or resilient, same thing.
- I don't worry--much--that I won't find my way back. I've been here before. I know how to get there.
In the meantime, I am working on feeling good most of the time. This means, for me, right now, walking with Bruiser, taking my bike for a spin, reading, cooking, stepping out into the green world, cultivating a feeling of unhurry, and most of all, letting go of the belief that if I'm not working really really hard, things are falling apart.
Philip Levine once said that if you take care of poetry, poetry will take care of you. Maybe that means, at this point, letting myself be open enough to it; making time and space for it; then getting down to it.