Inspiration Blooms

For years, I have missed writing. Maybe even mourned it. The urge to write has been there, but by the time I had the time, I was too exhausted either emotionally, psychologically, mentally or physically. Or all of the above. Kids do that, whether it is a good day or a bad day. Parenthood is all-consuming. At the end of a day, I feel too wiped out to do much but zone out either by reading or by watching mindless television. I used to write every day...for hours sometimes. But, no more. For a long time now, writing has been a bird that flits in and out of my peripheral vision. As my kids have gotten older, their needs have changed. In turn, mine are beginning to be revived. It's about time.

While on our trip to Iowa this summer, I read a poem. I had been toying with the idea of doing a blog for some time, but was stumped at what the right name would be or what the focus would be. I could never find the right name...until I read this poem. And, being who I am, I couldn't possibly begin something without a title. (Insert writing professor cringing here. It's been a while since my last writing workshop.) So, here is the inspiration for this blog. The multiple meaning of the name really appeals to me and that spring is part of it only makes it that much more fitting. Spring is my absolute favorite time of year, when everything begins to grow in order to bloom, when the white and gray of winter is replaced by vibrant greens, purples, pinks and yellows. In that regard, it reflects an attitude; spring being perpetual is fiction, but wouldn't it be grand. I also like the name because it describes what happens in my head. There is something always ready to overflow and the number of ideas I have could be dangerous. In college in Advertising class, my Professor even told me, "You are a great idea person, but execution is not your strong point." Um, thanks?

In Quakerism, there is a saying that, The Way Will Open. This has been proven to be true to me so many times I cannot even begin to put a number on it. When I don't know the answer, the right solution does not come to me. I sit and I wait, I move onto other things, with this conundrum idle in the back of my mind, whatever it is. When it all falls into place, a book with a certain title, a moment of quiet...long enough to read without interruption, a poem that is a little piece of beauty and tranquility, a small snapshot of what I am seeking...it brings me a little bit of peace. And it feels right. The Way Has Opened.

In Perpetual Spring
by Amy Gerstler

Gardens are also good places
to sulk. You pass beds of
spiky voodoo lilies
and trip over the roots
of a sweet gum tree,
in search of medieval
plants whose leaves,
when they drop off
turn into birds
if they fall on land,
and colored carp if they
plop into water.

Suddenly the archetypal
human desire for peace
with every other species
wells up in you. The lion
and the lamb cuddling up.
The snake and the snail, kissing.
Even the prick of the thistle,
queen of the weeds, revives
your secret belief
in perpetual spring,
your faith that for every hurt
there is a leaf to cure it.

Amy Gerstler, “In Perpetual Spring” from Bitter Angel (New York: North Point Press, 1990). Copyright © 1990 by Amy Gerstler.