The beginning of writing as a sense of loss

The beginning of writing is a sense of loss. Loss of safety, security, identity, something that was there is suddenly missing but was slowly eroding over time, a long time ago and through writing we try to understand and define that loss. Writing takes us beyond itself and is letting us explore our world real and imaginary

(The loss of the lightness of spring, spring invigorates the body and soul in ways few things can, and we are light-hearted, lightheaded, we start fresh, new slate, new leaf and new buttons appearing where only last summer there was a huge crown of green. But as with all new start, the old catches up and we let it resurface and it eventually pulls us down. Summer will need a strength of its own to walk it through.

Life between the end of May and early August becomes heavy again. Shoulders aching with too much ballast, needing to find the ground again to walk on and stop flitting through life as an infant with no care and worry.)

{A part of who we are, were we are, is gone to never return. I have lost the sense of safety and security in this flat, my home has been invaded and has become alien to me, a strange place I do not recognise which is not mine, anymore. My things look alien too, have I ever owned those armchairs, why did I buy them, did I ever like them or where they just utilities, useful for a time that now has ended.

The beginning of writing is a sense of loss, something we thought we possessed and was ours but was never ours to begin with just an illusion of possession of something belonging to me, making me feel safe and at home. My home is now no longer home. Evil has contaminated it. It is nobody’s home and will from now only ever be somebody’s place of rest for a short time. The flat will be useful but never a home again.

Who lets evil survive and spread and does not react to it strongly, condones it and supports it?

The beginning of writing when do we start writing

The loss of a child’s neediness is unbearable for a parent. The adult needs to be accepted as an equal with less life experience and no longer a grown up that needs parenting and bullying and feeding. Do we all start writing then or become watercolour irritators to create a function to fill the gap that will never be filled and made whole. That void has to be looked at always and that pain feeds us to the end of our days. Envy for the childless, not really but being ripped apart by that loss of purpose is impossible to put into words.

When you become a parent your life fills up and if you have a job and a busy social life, things have to give and be put on the back burner. And often we sacrifice the wrong things, and when those children get ready to go or just go and get on with what they were put on earth to do. Then the loss of what we had and neglected and did not make the only thing worth living for, for a short lapse of time will haunt us forever.

But we do need a healthy break from our children whilst we have them 24/7. Is school the answer, after school club, grandma, and granddad, we need a balance so that by the time they go we are happy and relieved to see them go in the certainty that we tried the best while they were a daily part of days.