I tried desperately to squeeze some joy out of my
mid-week holiday this week. Canada Day came, the sun poured through the windows
with the promise of hours of enjoyment ahead. I struggled, the second my feet
hit the floor, to ‘get with it’ for lack of a better phrase. Not wanting to
waste a perfectly gorgeous day, I forced myself outside into the throngs of
people and strollers and wheelchairs up and down the Halifax waterfront. Big
mistake. Doing this activity alone and aimless: no plan, no comrades, no sense
of direction; bad idea. I was already in a dark frame of mind, weighed down by
the pressures and anxieties currently plaguing my days. I should have stayed
home. That became evident when the sun gave way to the dark menacing clouds and
it started to pour. I was on Barrington Street in short sleeves, no umbrella, minimal
cover and solo.
My only goal in the weeks leading up to my country’s
birth was to head down to the free show at Alderney Landing to catch the
Glorious Sons from Kingston, ON. I’d seen them open for Airbourne at The
Marquee and I fell in love with their particular brand of rock ‘n’ roll. When I
set out across to Halifax, the idea was to eventually end up back at Alderney
Landing in time for their set. But I got drenched en route to Dartmouth so I
just kept on going until I was home in my comfies curled up with my eyes
closed, agitated beyond comprehension. The only bright spot of the whole
journey was a wee visit with Hannah.
Checking the clock and in with a friend, I opted to force
myself back up, change into something warmer and go do what I wanted to do for
weeks: see Glorious Sons. Timing was perfect, I arrived at the grounds just as
they started their set.
A strange thing occurred to me as I watched them rock and
then roll. I was standing in a crowd of thousands of people and had never felt lonelier.
A profound sadness washed over me and it was all I could do to keep the tears
in.
But then, there was that kick drum … that fortuitous power
filled up my being with authority.
Music does save. It did me in that exact moment.
I went to bed less filled with the dread of the day and
more with the hope of making my tomorrow better. I can sometimes get very low
but then my inner-optimist wakes up and slaps my feelings silly, reminds me I
can do better, be better and kinder to myself. With struggle comes progress,
right?
So, in addition to being brought back into the light but
a rousing dose of rock, I also started reading a sweet little book: ‘Hector
& The Search for Happiness. It is teeny tiny trade-paperback written by
Francois Lelord, simply written yet insightful. It’s a wonderful little parable
about modern life, about happiness and unhappiness. If you’re looking for a
quick read with heart and lessons learned, pick it up. It is just what I
needed. I found my copy under a pile of writing folders. I forgot all about it
but it was like I was meant to forget so I could find it now when I was most in
need of the directives.
Today is Friday. I missed the OHF gathering last night
and I have this poem in the current issue. I really could use a gathering to
get up and share some writing – better yet, I could really use a decent spurt
of energy to create something worth sharing!
**
Caught In The Act
a singular vehemence instigated
a triumphant return to buoyancy
the near absence of preeminence
enacts an aesthetic
to serve admirably
the idiosyncratic ringing of the bells
bewitched an unleavened expression
to recite lengthy open-hearted verses
a rising narrative of subtle nuances
on the poetic condition
caught in the act of rhythmic climax
a surreal phrase
on a brisk winter morning
**
Happy weekend, friendly readers and loves.
Be happy.
Be free.
Be safe.
In propinquity,
Nic
