Catherine Flynn of our writing group, the Inkings, put forth this challenge for our first of the month poetry challenge: “Somewhere, someone recommended the book How to Love the World: Poems of Gratitude and Hope. It includes “reflective pauses” and invitations for “writing and reflection.” After the poem “Work,” by Sally Bliumis-Dunn, (https://sallybliumisdunn.com/) the invitation reads: “Can you remember a time when you felt so consumed with the act of making something that you lost all sense of time and your mind seemed to clear? What allowed you to enter this mindful creative space?”
Mindful creative space is also known as Flow as defined by Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi. I studied his theory way back in the early 90’s when I was getting my masters in gifted education. It can be such a euphoric feeling that many creatives crave it. Like time doesn’t exist or matter. It hasn’t been happening to me lately, and this prompt challenge made me start thinking about what my blocks to flow have been.
You can read this list as a list of excuses (because they are) or as a sad list of losses. But the more I read about grief and writing and mental health, I realize that this is normal. Frustrating. Yes. But normal and as my Nikki McClure calendar reminds me, I will get through.
Flow, not Flowing
I lost my journal,
the one notebook with the instructions on how to do this thing
called writing. Hiding
between the books in the school backpack,
and then there’s the time it takes to pack a lunch
and get out the door. Not to mention
the dog threw up again this morning.I lost my godchild,
the one I’d hadn’t seen in years. She was growing up,
going to graduate school, doing all the things
a twenty-something does without a care,
yet now I care because she’s goneand I can’t sleep or write or do anything
to make all those absent years present again.I lost my happiness, buried deep
in the rains of winter, drowning out
the words I want to write, need to write.“Are you writing?” they ask. I say I am
Margaret Simon, on-the-spot-I-need-to-post-something draft
because that is what I do. Say it until it is true.
This is my confession and to tell the truth,
it flowed right out of me.
Here are links to my Inkling friends’ posts:
Heidi
Molly
Mary Lee
Catherine
Linda
I’ve had this orchid for a year, at least and these blossoms popped out this week.
Reflections on the Teche 
Oh my goodness, Margaret! Your poem hit my heart in so many places:
– the one notebook with the instructions on how to do this thing called writing.
– I can’t sleep or write or do anything
to make all those absent years present again.
– I say I am because that is what I do. Say it until it is true.
What a powerful flow of words – straight from the heart.
Thank you!
Thanks. Sometimes when you just open the well, it flows in the most honest way.
Ah, Margaret. An honest poem. I like it just as it is, quick draft and all. That Flow space is such a delight and I kind of mourn it when it is not around for me. I am sorry about your godchild. Regret is a hard thing. Maybe it eventually translates into how we want to live and what we need to do. I am glad this came to you when you needed it most. To teach, to love, to mamere, to dance, to gather and share, so much in a day, so much in a life and I think we have to give ourselves permission to grant ourselves our own peace, our own forgiveness if we don’t meet “our standard”…and yet that nagging need to produce and share and grow. I hear you and send you hugs. Your beautiful words will come, just like your orchid.
Ah, Janet. Thanks for your honesty and empathy. It means a lot. I think I was doing a bit of “I can’t do this” to myself. You are right and a flash draft may have been what I needed most to get out of this funk. Grief is a weird animal.
“I lost, I lost , I lost…
And that which makes us so susceptible to joy and connection is also that which freezes our flow when grief settles in. Your poem works that rare magic of touching the same chord that you feel panging, just through words flashed onto a screen. (The calendar and the orchid help.) May today be a day with no dog barf. ❤
Thank you. This latest loss did me in. I haven’t been able to talk about it the hurt is so visceral.
I can relate, Margaret. Sometimes I feel that there are so many other things I need to be attending to that it’s hard to get in the flow. I’m learning how to let go, but it’s hard. Thanks for sharing your thoughts and for that lovely orchid.
Oh Margaret. I feel every word of this entry. Going through my own season of darkness enabled me to be with yours as well. I’m so terribly sorry about the loss of your godchild. I wish there were instructions for grief, but your notebook perhaps is telling you to just be with it. 😢
Hugs to you.
You lost your flow, but then you unstoppered it, undammed it, turned yourself upside-down and shook your poem loose. My condolences for your griefs. xo
Oh, Margaret, I am so sorry. Your poem resonated with me and brought me to tears. So much loss. Oh, if only we had the power “to make all those absent years present again”. This flow of a poem is beautiful and powerfully honest and vulnerable. Sending love.
Margaret, so many losses. Each has the power to undo us. I have many nieces and nephews and extended family that I rarely see/talk to (not bc of any estrangement–just the busy-ness of life and of keeping in regular touch with my own kids, sisters, parent, etc.)–and yet what a cutting loss it would be to know they weren’t in this world anymore. I’m so sorry. And I’m so glad that you let a tiny bit of the pain out in your poem. xo.
Margaret, I recognize the same loss of words — I’ve been walking this path since my brother in law died. Not sure, I’m almost afraid to say it in case I jinx myself, but just doing daily writing – crappy lines and nonsense phrases and random, unrelated thoughts- might be helping. I’m so appreciative of the photo prompts and the poetry group prompts and the Poetry Friday commitment to post to a deadline. Finding the Spiritual Journey group is also a light. Thank you. Trust and be gentle with yourself. The words are there, written on your heart.
So good, Margaret. And I’m so sorry about all the losses. In my experience, sometimes there’s just a time when not much writing happens. So far it’s always come back, eventually. Ruth, thereisnosuchthingasagodforsakentown.blogspot.com
There’s so much emotion in this! “Say it until it’s true” keeps echoing in my mind.
Margaret, when feeling low and not in the flow, I always revert to faith to pull me through. Your poem is certainly full of flow. The first line starts the flowing of ideas in a strong way. I think you mind was so active that you must feel relief that you spilled your heart onto paper. Thanks for letting us in.
I am sorry for all you’ve lost recently, Margaret. Someitmes when trying to MAKE things we are used to doing, things, like loss, or fatigue, worries, make us stuck, no way forward, static. Thanks for the poem from you and what you’re going through. You are so honest in this poem, a big argh, & maybe, I hope, that will help.
Oh, my goodness…the loss is absolutely palpable here. I just want to write, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry”…over and over. So much sorry. “I lost my happiness, buried deep
in the rains of winter,” just makes me want to sob. I haven’t enjoyed this winter. I long for the warmth and light of spring. My losses are different but I feel like I understand what you are writing.
That calendar image. The way new life in the spring literally pushes through the dead leaves of autumn. They way the flowers carry death on their stems even as they bloom. That must be what grief is like. But from grief comes beauty, like your poem, like the orchid. Hugs, my friend.
I’m so sorry for your loss, Margaret. Sometimes writing does feels superfluous, but you will find your way back to “the words you want to write.”
I’m so sorry for your losses. I hope writing brought some comfort.
I’m sorry, too, Margaret, for such a loss that words can’t touch. You shared the raw struggle here with such vulnerability and an unflinching eye – thank you, and prayers for you & yours. xo (I thought of Patricia’s post this week as I read this.)
“Say it until it is true.
This is my confession and to tell the truth,
it flowed right out of me.”
May it always be so. I’m so sorry for your loss – The beauty that has come pouring out past the blocked words lifted those of us who read them. Thank you for sharing.
So many losses, Margaret. Writing can be a blessing when we have grief to process and incorporate into our lives.