As usual, I love your work, Janisse Ray, but I've never become submerged in your words like I know I will now. I can feel the descriptions in these five essays and they come alive for me. Animated, even. It was your book, Wild Card Quilt, that brought me fully to my sense of place.
While I don't believe I have been lonely a day in my life, I've been "alone" more than ever for the last few years, learning more and more each day about myself in this phase of my life, my art, my limits, and most importantly my place and everything that it gives to me.
I am very eager to soak up everything I possibly can from this journey with you and more. My sponge is already soaked with your shared five. A great way to start 2024.
Luminous. How did you manage to keep it so light and yet deep at the same time? A deft hand, for sure. And thank you for teaching me the word "sere." Also ... my primary memory of my grandfather is sitting on the front steps of his house in South Dakota, nuts in our hands. He taught me how to be so quiet and still, the squirrels would come and take a nut from my fingers. He was my first meditation teacher.
Love the five part form. I’m going to play with it. Thank you for that inspiration . As always, your writing is gorgeous. Somehow my brain misread “pottery shards” in the first one and reorganized it as “poetry shards” and I thought that would be a curious wind chime. But then pottery and poetry are kind of the same thing, if you think about it. Much love Janisse and Happy New Year 🌸
LOL, Katie. Yes, I just saw this form. So you missed it when you were in Magical Craft. When you have a minute, read Summer's post and check it out. I think it can be powerful.
This is stunning, Janisse. And quietly reassuring - if we have to live flanked by loneliness, at least we can see and hold one another in that? Reminds me so much of Rilke, another of the great, existentially lonely pilgrims:
"Paris, on the second day of Christmas 1908:
It must be immense, this silence, in which sounds and movements have room, and if one thinks that along with all this the presence of the distant sea also resounds, perhaps as the innermost note in this prehistoric harmony, then one can only wish that you are trustingly and patiently letting the magnificent solitude work upon you, this solitude which can no longer be erased from your life; which, in everything that is in store for you to experience and to do, will act an anonymous influence, continuously and gently decisive, rather as the blood of our ancestors incessantly moves in us and combines with our own to form the unique, unrepeatable being that we are at every turning of our life."
This is beautiful. I have a neighbor whose daughter sat on the porch for hours with sunflower seeds until the chickadees and nuthatches trusted her enough to eat out of her hand. All it takes is a lot of patience and love.
I loved this so much that I read it three times this morning — like a meditation.
"My grandfather worked with wild squirrels until they ate from his hands, and I sense that one day I’ll be able to do the same." I believe you will do the same one day.
And this:
I told him my epiphany. “The loneliness is existential.”
He likes fixing things. “You have to find what’s missing and fill it.”
I had been trying to tell him that whatever is missing—whatever makes the hole—is not fixable.
This revelation binds so many of us together, because we feel it, acknowledge it, and choose not to pretend any more, but you gave it a name. Thank you!
I'm not surprised you liked this, Amber, because that was a poet's post. Know what I mean? As a writer, you know how words work. They can swirl around and create magic. You can take some away and make a piece more holy. It's a strange art form, isn't it? Strange and wonderful. (Also, I was pretty much weeping during my entire conversation with A- about the existential hole. I keep thinking I've turned the corner on loneliness--I've finally figured it out--and then BOOM, it's there again. Even with people all around me. (OK, I've got to stop writing. I don't want to start crying this morning.) Much love to you.
I love all 5, especially the glimpses of your farm in words. That capture of the squirrel is the best. Loneliness is becoming my friend the older I get. I fought with it when I was younger by staying too busy & not letting it wrap around me. Now sometimes I let myself soak in it. A wise person once told me, “We are born alone & we will die alone”, therefore I take it to be an essential part of life.
As usual, I love your work, Janisse Ray, but I've never become submerged in your words like I know I will now. I can feel the descriptions in these five essays and they come alive for me. Animated, even. It was your book, Wild Card Quilt, that brought me fully to my sense of place.
Thank you, Cherie. Let's all come alive to the earth!
Totally immersed, inspired, and ready.
While I don't believe I have been lonely a day in my life, I've been "alone" more than ever for the last few years, learning more and more each day about myself in this phase of my life, my art, my limits, and most importantly my place and everything that it gives to me.
I am very eager to soak up everything I possibly can from this journey with you and more. My sponge is already soaked with your shared five. A great way to start 2024.
I know that cacophony sooooooo well.
Luminous. How did you manage to keep it so light and yet deep at the same time? A deft hand, for sure. And thank you for teaching me the word "sere." Also ... my primary memory of my grandfather is sitting on the front steps of his house in South Dakota, nuts in our hands. He taught me how to be so quiet and still, the squirrels would come and take a nut from my fingers. He was my first meditation teacher.
Beautiful 5 things essay, Janisse! A deep pleasure to read. <3
Love the five part form. I’m going to play with it. Thank you for that inspiration . As always, your writing is gorgeous. Somehow my brain misread “pottery shards” in the first one and reorganized it as “poetry shards” and I thought that would be a curious wind chime. But then pottery and poetry are kind of the same thing, if you think about it. Much love Janisse and Happy New Year 🌸
Could poetry shards lead to a collage poem.
LOL, Katie. Yes, I just saw this form. So you missed it when you were in Magical Craft. When you have a minute, read Summer's post and check it out. I think it can be powerful.
This is stunning, Janisse. And quietly reassuring - if we have to live flanked by loneliness, at least we can see and hold one another in that? Reminds me so much of Rilke, another of the great, existentially lonely pilgrims:
"Paris, on the second day of Christmas 1908:
It must be immense, this silence, in which sounds and movements have room, and if one thinks that along with all this the presence of the distant sea also resounds, perhaps as the innermost note in this prehistoric harmony, then one can only wish that you are trustingly and patiently letting the magnificent solitude work upon you, this solitude which can no longer be erased from your life; which, in everything that is in store for you to experience and to do, will act an anonymous influence, continuously and gently decisive, rather as the blood of our ancestors incessantly moves in us and combines with our own to form the unique, unrepeatable being that we are at every turning of our life."
With gratitude and love.
OMG, is there any way I can channel Rilke as an ancestor? And best friend? This is stunning. Thank you, Kimberly.
This is beautiful. I have a neighbor whose daughter sat on the porch for hours with sunflower seeds until the chickadees and nuthatches trusted her enough to eat out of her hand. All it takes is a lot of patience and love.
That is such a beautiful story. Can I wait until I retire, LOL? Then I promise, I am going to do this.
same here.....!
Thanks, I needed this.
I keep thinking I've figured it out, and it keeps popping back up and grabbing me. One day....
I loved this so much that I read it three times this morning — like a meditation.
"My grandfather worked with wild squirrels until they ate from his hands, and I sense that one day I’ll be able to do the same." I believe you will do the same one day.
And this:
I told him my epiphany. “The loneliness is existential.”
He likes fixing things. “You have to find what’s missing and fill it.”
I had been trying to tell him that whatever is missing—whatever makes the hole—is not fixable.
This revelation binds so many of us together, because we feel it, acknowledge it, and choose not to pretend any more, but you gave it a name. Thank you!
"The loneliness is existential, " resonated with me on the second reading.
I'm not surprised you liked this, Amber, because that was a poet's post. Know what I mean? As a writer, you know how words work. They can swirl around and create magic. You can take some away and make a piece more holy. It's a strange art form, isn't it? Strange and wonderful. (Also, I was pretty much weeping during my entire conversation with A- about the existential hole. I keep thinking I've turned the corner on loneliness--I've finally figured it out--and then BOOM, it's there again. Even with people all around me. (OK, I've got to stop writing. I don't want to start crying this morning.) Much love to you.
I love all 5, especially the glimpses of your farm in words. That capture of the squirrel is the best. Loneliness is becoming my friend the older I get. I fought with it when I was younger by staying too busy & not letting it wrap around me. Now sometimes I let myself soak in it. A wise person once told me, “We are born alone & we will die alone”, therefore I take it to be an essential part of life.
Yes, I agree, Becki. Age is part of the equation.
Brilliant and lyrical - a piece made to be read aloud.
Existential loneliness--and now I have a name for it.
Oooh, thank you for saying that. I should have recorded it! Maybe I will, PD.
A fabulous post.
I am so glad something in it landed inside you, Ray. Carry on, my friend.