Breaking the ice

There are many projects that I have not touched in months. This website is one of them. My brain has been struggling to prioritize one thing above the next. I’ve been searching for stability, for solid ground beneath my desk.

I’m living in a city now. The poetry that felt so potent on the road, feels complicated, murky and challenging. Time feels like its slipping away.

I’ve moved houses three times this year. Each time, packing and unpacking the organization of my brain. Nothing is habit, everything is anxious. I have been writing but it’s scattered across notebooks and loose pages. For this, I feel bad. For this, I feel chaotic.

I wait for the turning seasons. I wait for the thaw.

It’s easy to make excuses and I do it all the time. Life is hard. Poetry is hard. Making money is hard. Getting out of bed is hard. I have not mastered the art of being gentle with myself. Nor have I found positive ways to remind myself: move soft, move slow when the way is frozen.

But today, there is sunshine on my face. Today, I brush the dust off my keyboard. Today, I am logging in. For this, I must remember passwords. I must rummage through my attempts at organization. What was I working on and where did I stash my notes? And within the scattered seeds, which ideas still feel alive? There is an art to letting go of what does not need to be pulled forward.

The path of the poet can be desperate. The path of the poet is strange. Stranger than I ever thought possible. So much has happened that I want to tell you. But I want this letter to be short. I need it to break the ice and allow myself to surface. Momentum creates momentum. Today, I find myself wanting to work.

Talk soon,
Harley.