"For the sad truth was that poets didn't drive, and even when they traveled on foot, they didn't always know where they were going." —Paul Auster, Timbuktu (pp 142)

For most of last week my body was visited by strange ailments, some of physical lengths and others marked by emotional queries. They distorted the time of day. I was the girl with pins in her stomach.

But I don’t suppose I’ll let my fears and the emotions of my mind win out the rest of this month. If we let that happen, we forget that reality is perceived; it can either exist or cease to become permanent.  The real strength of character may come from the ability to control and organize our thoughts, moving from irrational to logical, finally to a place made for you.

While driving in the fog the other day, I realized how flat and permanent reality appeared on the road: the straight white lights from ongoing cars, the misty fog and the early winter darkness. Fear was running before I took off– made aware by dreams of spiral roads, shaky turns, crashes, fumes and faulty breaks. It happens every time I dream of driving; either I’m immobile and the car moves by itself or the accelerator and the breaks are missing. How silly it is to fall under the feeling of dreams.  Once moving, and the accelerator finding its place under my foot, I glided through the fog, making fear impermanent and the drive a continuum instead of divided in parts.

There is no easy way, and as any person climbing into a new boat, it takes many wild days to understand a new experience. How does one take off so elegantly? There are the stops and goes even when you are grounded. The doubts, and the reemergence of energy; it is the up and down motion of a child learning how to stand up. There is the question of inspiration. And then the arrival of silence when you don’t want to write a word, and to force yourself would be insincere. I should wait until my eyes are led to a new thought. There will be first tries, mistakes, rejections, fears and bitter endings, but there is always a time to start again, to push the wheel until you find that words come easily.

2 thoughts on “Wildness

  1. Cynthia, your way of expressing your thoughts, and feelings is quite impressive. I have enjoyed reading this post immensely. Now, do you drive? Or are you learning to drive? Or is your paragraph on driving a metaphor?

    I ask this because it seems to me that you are referring to the ups-and downs of your life at present, particularly, your ending sentence seems to suggest that you are also talking about your writing. Your sentence; “There is no easy way, and as any person climbing into a new boat…” is clearly a metaphor, and an excellent one too. Yet I am uncertain about your point on driving.

    I look forward to reading your answer!


    1. Thank you Jane! Haha I do drive, but often the fear strikes, especially at night. But now I’m getting used it the more I do it. I really did drive in the fog and I loved it. The air was crisp and cool. In some ways it’s a metaphor for life and being brave to do what you always wished to do. It doesn’t happen overnight, but little by little you start loosing the shame and going for it. This post also has to do with writing without reservations and doing it continously. And like the quote signals you don’t always know where you are going, and that is the beauty of writing and living.


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