How Can I Write When the World is Burning?

a tired body, a broken heart, and subtle epiphanies

I want to write what is, despite the prickliness of the hurts. Yet recently writing has been a war for me, a battle between what my heart is wrestling with, what my body is grieving, and what may sound pretty. My current words are feeling heavy, almost suffocating. I am no longer holding steady and channeling poems to uplift others in this moment. This chapter feels far more selfish, as if the words must be released before they self destruct.

I have had so many tests and doctor visits, so much time to sit with the fact that my MS has progressed. I know there’s a lot I can write about just that. There has also been some very big changes for the people I hold most dear, some miraculous and celebratory (hello new grand baby!!), and some heartbreaking and painful (traversing these words are extremely difficult this moment, so I am allowing all the time I need to sit with it all).

Photo by Bernd 📷 Dittrich on Unsplash

It has been over two months since I have shared here. I seemingly abandoned what I thought I was dedicated to. I kept telling myself I would try again tomorrow, yet would find myself angry at the blank page. I would seemingly miss being a part of things, yet desperate to remain unseen. I have been besieged by my body, chased by my own inner ghosts of grief, as well as heartbroken by things happening both close to me and a million miles away.

I have struggled with feeling incredibly helpless to the woes of the world, waking up so many nights from nightmares about being in Gaza, rescuing children, being shot, being lost. I have had the most terrifying lucid dream, one where I am about to be executed before I could rescue my family. I suddenly realize I am only dreaming, I better just wake up, yet within the dream I also somehow realize that there is someone actually living this, someone who can’t just wake up and have it all go away. The deep ache of holding these distant beings in my heart and prayers has shaken off a lot of the stuff I used to worry about. Now I hold a constant vigil of connection with these women, the moms and grandmothers who no doubt love their children and grandchildren as much as I do mine.

In rare, yet potent moments of clarity, I find myself knowing that the only thing I can actually truly change is my relationship with myself. It seems from that very small, clumsy place I can then move in ways that may help untangle some of the suffering of others.

May I transmute my hurt, share my heart, and may my words offer something meaningful to an aching world.

May we be part of the healing waters to a burning world.

I am grateful that you are here.

Gently, onwards-

Tracy