from You Carry the Heavy Stuff, Lulu.com/Amazon, the author’s garage….. ISBN 978-0-557-20933-0-essays, poetry, observations from a twin’s dying to cubicle despair in a corporate world with voices of buoyant pathos, mystical reverence – you catch my drift
Why do I write? Like now, when the dishes sit orphaned in the kitchen sink because I, the washer, am typing, sharing, breathing, living, putting off the inevitable, because once a long time ago, I was so hurt, I couldn’t breathe. I carried that hurt with me forever, until I found out that sensitivity is the price and the prize for being able to write, for being able to read people, to Braille the unsaid. I write to a lady in prison, who said “I liked a phrase you wrote, “The language of God is a tear running down someone’s cheek.”
I write because I read, insatiably, gobbling, inhaling, filling myself with the human condition; splat on the floor some days, like a big old squishy bug, flattened, dead, its body swept up by old straws on a broom; and then I write to show the magic of St. Theresa’s Snow Queen Altar when I was young, and how everything looked like a wedding cake, and I write to tell how when I was younger, and so needy I could have impaled myself on a stake wide and big, sort of like a meta-letter holder, except the stake would run through my insatiably needy heart, and a note on my back would read “loves too much,” and that was before the book Women Who Love Too Much.
I write because I have gone beyond Medieval Posts puncturing my despair and loneliness and have decided Men Who Love too Much is here too. Maybe we all love too much, and I write because maybe none of us love too much, for we are told by images in advertising, that we should be thin, jaded in the eyes, like the look of models for Vogue or whatever, who probably could shoot up heroin on their lunch hours, and because despair is trendy and nihilism and materialism and not giving a damn might be the language of the hour. But then there is the lonely, little, big, young, old, trembling, brassy, you-catch-my-drift-writer who writes because he or she must, and words have a visceral effect upon her, him, the dog, the surrounding room. I write of hopes for the world, and a good ham sandwich or description thereof on a sour dough roll, with slabs of mayo, and a bed of lettuce, and curled pink ham, ready to go into someone’s mouth which is opened to the size of half a ladder, is a good thing, a good description.
What this nation needs is a good ham sandwich and a Pepsi without the aspartame and some down to honest to goodness honesty that is the natural condition to communicate, to be real, to be afraid of bugs in knotty pine walls when the walls come alive at night; to watch an elderly blind woman, clutch the corners of her walker, take a breath and remain a sweet sweet spirit, knowing that her condition, her tests are the divinely calibrated kind, even though trucks have run over her emotionally, and I write to tell of the anonymous amongst us, the bravery, the small acts of courage, kindness in this nation where the world is narcissistically checking its derriere in the mirror, and no one or precious few are listening to the “midnight sighing of the poor,” and where we must have immense courage and speak up; talk, yeah, walk the talk, be it; speak up; tell future generations who we were, wanted to be, became anyhow and our hopes for the future; because someday we will all be sensitive, spiritually inclined, aware of our oneness, and otherness will go on a back shelf like Twinkies, no longer approved of by the American Heart Association, and writing will be celebrated by hoots and hollers and a piping or two from a medieval horn or Siberian throat, and the arts will have a way of grabbing our soul’s innards and carrying us through the day. These are some of the reasons I write, but there are others, but today is Wednesday and those are my Wednesday’s writing reasons.
Good Wednesday stuff, Esther, thank you! I love the idea of relegating otherness to the Twinkie aisle! Brilliant!
hi sweet pea miss you; hugs and love
Amazing post, Esther! There’s so much brilliance here, so much truth.
thanks kid
Would it be all right with you if I post a link to this on my blog tomorrow? I’m trying to do that regularly–link to other blogs that interest and move me–on Mondays. I’d love to feature yours/this post tomorrow, May 21. You say this so much better than I ever could!
absolutely – hugs
u are so nice; happy i’ll be on your blog; hot diggety
i said yes on FB link and yes to guest blog; but we should chat; hugs
WONDERFUL!!
thanks dear one
Hi Esther,
I don’t drink Pepsi, but am in complete agreement with you about the ham sandwich, the derriere viewing and the inevitability of my old fragile self squashed under truckloads of life. It’s good to write…and, in my case, photograph and paint and collage and build sandcastles on the beach even if you are old and pinned down under truckloads of life. Beautifully written, nicely said. Much love.
thanks for your message; we have to write, simply put, we must.
This really is brilliant, Esther! Thank you, although I fear that there is not enough reading and writing going on these days. Just as the arts have been eviscerated from our schools, real reading and real writing may be disappearing in the wake of the internet behemoth.
Well what a distinct pleasure to see your name and face on my computer and then to hear your sweet words of praise; there are incredible writers out there; did you know i have 2 books – Without A Net: A Sojourn in russia and then You Carry the Heavy Stuff; i’m blogging more, and also teaching writing; i hope you are doing well; i think of you as such a lovely sincere soul; thanks Byron, you made my evening
Awesome post, Esther. I just discovered your blog from a link back on Gerry Wilson’s site. I need to cut this out and paste it on my refrigerator! 🙂
Wow, I made it to a refrigerator! Hot diggety. It’s from my book You Carry the Heavy Stuff; amazon, lulu, my garage (i like the last place very much), some of these books have been so pushy they are also inside our 2 room poolhouse under a table. Best wishes.
Fantastic! I’m so happy to have this book in possession. I have some orphaned dishes (and laundry, and cleaning, and work, and frankly, sometimes CHILDREN) of my own, constantly…and I could very well have written this line:
“because I, the washer, am typing, sharing, breathing, living, putting off the inevitable, because once a long time ago, I was so hurt, I couldn’t breathe.”
YES. Thank you.
i think i replied, but not sure; i’m happy you love this!
This is no ordinary thatched-head, whadamigoingtoteachtonight at workshop; my little innards have lots of round yellow smiles; thankyou one and all; we are in this together
Fabulous! Thought I’d left a comment … perhaps left it elsewhere on your blog. I followed.
Thanks Terri, i resubscribed to your posts, thought i had; regards and happy writing
Sorrygnat, you just became Poetic Blooming’s 100th follower! Therefore, you received your own post of welcome: http://poeticbloomings.com/2012/05/29/100th-follower/ .
This is quite an awesome site you have here. 😀
Marie Elena
Thank you; i’m glad to be hooked up to Poetic Blooming!
Love this!! SO much of it resonates with me and I’m so thankful to have crossed poetic paths with you!! Smiles to you, Esther!!
“But then there is the lonely, little, big, young, old, trembling, brassy, you-catch-my-drift-writer who writes because he or she must, and words have a visceral effect upon her, him, the dog, the surrounding room.”
I love your style!! 🙂
thank you so Much Hannah; we are all in this together aren’t we. I will follow your blog also; hugs for now
Esther,
Your blog is inspiring to me so I have nominated you for the Versatile Blogger Award. You and your blog deserve this. http://swthink.blogspot.com/2012/05/versatile-blogger-award.html
Have a great day!!
Thank you so much brooke – i’m off to teach writing, will get back to this generous bestowal. Happy writing.
Wow, just wow!
“putting off the inevitable, because once a long time ago, I was so hurt, I couldn’t breathe. I carried that hurt with me forever, until I found out that sensitivity is the price and the prize for being able to write, for being able to read people, to Braille the unsaid.”
That’s poetry in its purest form.
from you that is high praise, gratitude
pfft! You are an amazing writer: to Braille the unsaid.–gives me goosebumps. I am grateful for having had the opportunity to read it.
thanks
Wow – someone commenting before me used the word awesome. But I don’t care. I’m using it again. Awesome.
awesome is a word used by every Californian I know; we just adopted you; you are so adoptable.
Many wonderful lines, too numerous to copy. This however stands out: “sensitivity is the price and the prize for being able to write, for being able to read people, to Braille the unsaid.” So glad there’s an explanation after all . . . 🙂 Love your style; glad to be in connection; will visit again, and soon. Peace –
That’s my daughter in law’s favorite line too; it just rolled out; the nice thing about getting older, having good through deep trials and stuff, that things start to come together. Inwardly, it’s a wonderful feeling. hugs and love, thanks for your kind words