Happy birthday, Miss Simone.
Though unrelated to the exquisite Miss Simone’s birthday…
You may have noticed that things have been a little too quiet in this portal of late, a little too light on posts and short on prose. I had hoped to be sharing something of value for you now, something edifying, inspiring, healing too, and a whole lot sooner than this but that inner gremlin I live with, that capricious little minx — who would be the ultimate evil villain in any tale worth it storytelling salt — clearly had other plans.
Instead flaring so viciously, so fervently, I’ve been quite unable to think nor write nor connect with you at all in a flare that spilled from weeks into months. So I apologise for that, in that true, and all too human style (Brit style?), of saying sorry for that which is beyond our control, but I am sorry, Brit status notwithstanding, though perhaps in a more sentient sense.
As it does break my heart when I can’t even explain an absence, nor respond on social media, express such gratitude and humbled joy when a fellow creative soul reads, and enjoys my offerings, if they resonate, and they take time to share them too, more so when I cannot spend time sharing and reading these amazing writers’ work because of this ridiculous condition.
Creating with CRPS involves a curious balancing of all the neurological symptoms, the cognitive symptoms, the disability, and the pain itself but when it flares up life is stripped to its barest bones, which is in part, why have so much admiration, respect, for the artist Frida Kahlo, who also lived with the same condition. Yet despite all its unpredictability, and perhaps more joyfully, one silver lining is this.
Another is this first day of clarity, okay, semi-clarity, but ever–hopeful it will evolve into more, unpredictable though it is, I’m far too determined to let such things scorch these wings when I rise again. Though training dictation software for this new level of pain (she said, ironically editing the text), the greater, grander problem is always the fusion of symptoms, and equally grand limits on time.
Without boring you with the details, nor tainting the great Miss Simone’s birthday week, let’s just say 2016 tripped over its own shoelaces, and is having trouble getting up… but it will get up, it will rise, and I get up, and rise again too. I’ll be back the instant I can be.