It has been a while since I’ve published a poem on this blog, and there is a reason. I’ve been preparing myself to write about more serious personal issues.
About a year ago, I had a profound, life-changing experience. I went on a two-day retreat in which I did nothing but eat, sleep, and read and reflect on my friend Cathy Wild’s forthcoming book − Wild Ideas: Creativity from the Inside Out
For years, I had been aware of a significant weakness in all my creative endeavors: an inability to face directly the frightening memories that shaped my childhood and young adulthood. As a result, almost everything serious that I wrote – especially my one novel and most of my short stories − seemed incomplete, as though I always chose to leave the wrong things out.
As I read Cathy’s book of wise guidance and personal insight, I experienced something I had never experienced before – a conversion, a blossoming of faith. I finally accepted that my deepest secrets, secrets I used to hide, were a source of creative power. And in accepting that, I accepted myself.
In the near future, I will post a poem I’ve written about one of those deep secrets – my mother’s alcoholism. More work about that and other secrets will follow.
