It’s been busy here as I pack up the old year, tidy up the unfinished business, and prepare to launch my vessel on a new tide. 2012 is waiting just over the horizon, and with it a fierce and shining opportunity to change myself as well. I don’t mean the ubiquitous New Year’s Resolutions (though into the sea trunk they go, too, as always). With the ominous lurch of the great clock’s hands, I will cast away from the dock I’ve moored to for six years – the bustling wharves of health care – and set sail across a dark, seductive sea for the Land of Writers.
I lived in that land once, toiling away at near-starvation level, yet happier in my ink-stained poverty than I had ever been before, or, perhaps, since. Other residents labored, too, in a fog of dreamy purpose, happy to be enslaved by the capricious Muse. The language we spoke together was sustenance to us. Words, words, words fill the air there with their bright plumage and haunting songs. In a single moment the weather can be balmy or stormy; night and day exist in the same breath. The sea that rushes upon the beaches there whispers unceasingly the most exquisite poetry. On the stroke of the New Year, I’ll sail for those beaches again, eager to indenture myself for the privilege of spending my sweat and blood.
Therapeutic Massage, where I’m currently docked, is a grand town. I came here when my ship cracked up the last time, storm-broken and seemingly beyond repair. My freight of words was sunk in the black depths, as irretrievable as Atlantis. I mourned for a while, then headed inland and made myself into something new. The things I’ve learned and seen! The healing arts are venerable. I’ve found fulfillment and wonder here; my hands have become instruments for something even finer and less tangible than words. I built a house here, and its halls hum with the quiet, but enormous, energy of compassion and serenity. I love it; it is beautiful. But the sea calls – the distant land of the word calls. On the eve of the New Year, I’ll lock the house and go down to the ships.
So, once more to the waves to take my chances on a new deck that bends and shimmies on the tidal thrust, with new sails that yearn to scoop the wild night wind from its bower of cloud, with a hold filled with words smoking and gleaming like a dragon’s trove. Back to the sea, like the great whales before me, to navigate by the stars. To find the Isle of the Book. To break and shift stone there until I build, and become, something altogether new.
As I embark on my year of attempting to write a novel (hung with motley amulets and desperate spells for success, with all my fingers and toes crossed and a prayer tucked under my tongue), I may post to this blog and visit others with less frequency. I will do my best to remain constant – or as constant as I ever get – but I beg your indulgence if I lapse into occasional silences. Thank you for being my readers, supporters, and friends. I wish you all a wonderful holiday season and a magical 2012.