I sat down several times over the last few weeks, ready to write. But facing the blank white screen, I would think: “Not yet. I’m not ready. I have nothing to say.”
But here I am tonight, ready.
I did something that makes no sense (which are the best kinds of things); I bought a gigantic bag of charms. Jewelry charms for making bracelets and necklaces. (I don’t make this type of jewelry.)
I had been eyeing this giant bag for some time. And every time I would think…what a silly purchase that would be.
But I wanted them. For no reason.
And finally, I took the plunge and ordered them.
I discovered something that maybe my heart knew before my mind knew – the importance of PLAY.
I dumped my new charms into 3 bowls.
And I plunged my hand into each bowl, swirling my fingers around and hearing the satisfying, metallic swooshing of the charms rubbing across each other.
I closed my eyes and grabbed a few, tossing them on my desk and seeing what I pulled.
Keys and gemstones, animals and insects, shapes and colors. The totality of what this gigantic bag of charms holds is still a mystery. I examine each one, weaving a story between the charms if I can find one. Otherwise, it feels like something I’d completely forgotten…PLAY. And playing “pretend”.
I used to love playing with fake food on the fake stove, ringing up imaginary customers on my plastic register. Relishing in the cut up pieces of paper “money” and bottle cap “coins”.
I tried to decipher…what is it that is so FUN about these little pieces of useless silliness?
But I couldn’t tell you. It brings up a joy in me that bubbles up from somewhere I’ve long forgotten.
Every move as an adult is decided. A patterned behavior, or something done with good reason. Even my play feels calculated. “Acceptable.” It has reason.
But this is reasonless. It’s colors and shapes and symbols, that I bought for no reason. And they bring me reasonless joy.
Yesterday I pulled a key, and then directly underneath it I pulled a heart with a keyhole inside of it. And my friend said, “maybe someone had the key to helping you open your heart.”
Not that they still hold the key. Maybe they just reminded me where the keyhole was.
The title of this blog entry, “Hold My Name”, is the title of a song by Ocie Elliot. A video of them came up on my Youtube and it made me think, okay, time to write.
The song itself isn’t my favorite, but it reminded me of how I’ve changed in such a short time. I listen to music that moves me these days. I hadn’t listened to this kind of music in years. Indie – folk, singer/songwriter type of music.
I’ve always related it to having deep human emotions, especially deep love for another person. And it’s felt so irrelevant for so long.
But recently, I’ve been sitting inside soulful, raspy words and the low hums of a stranger turning poetry into melody. And I’ve let myself be calmed and wooed by the softness of it all.
If I could describe love, the kind that intimately exists between two people…
I would say it feels the same way this type of music makes me feel. It makes me think of rinsing a bowl of white rice before cooking it. Seeing the grains turn the water a cloudy white. The sounds and the feel of the rice in my hand, being washed by the water.
Or the smell of open fields in the fall, after a harvest. The texture of corn husks and hearty winter soups.
This love lives on the ground, on bare soil. Warmed by the sun and held in the gaze of an open sky.
Tonight, I’m going to see live music that feels just like this. With added violins and notes of wet texture and fluidity. So I’ll end this entry here, so I can go get ready.
I won’t edit this one or check it for errors of mishaps. Let’s just leave it as is. Let’s see it as an invitation to sit again another time, and write.
See you soon.
❤ ,
Heba
Love: 