
I read today that Joyce Carol Oates describes sitting down at her writing desk as “low dread.” Hmmm. Just how I see America today: “low dread.” What new horror will our president and his enablers bring upon us? Crying children torn from their parents, closing the door on immigrants because of their country’s majority religion, taking healthcare away from millions who cannot pay out of pocket…I could go on. But I won’t.
Low clouds cover the sky as I write outside on my deck, as if someone unrolled the batting I sew into a quilt and spread it over the world I see. Birds chirp, but is that a happy sound or a frantic cry for help, like the sparrow under attack on my porch last month? I think I smell something burning, go inside and search my house, but no. It must be outside, or in my head. “Low dread.”
I know somewhere the sun is shining. I know it’s above those batting clouds. But how far? I know they will part, even here. But when? What comfort is here for me now, on a day with a lowering sky?
I turn to this poem from my writing teacher, the late Judi K. Beach.
No Matter How Dark
There is always the possibility
of light. The deepest forest spills its
leaf to leaf like rain, falling.
At the far end of the tunnel,
light dilates as you drive closer
and darkness falls behind.
No matter how dark, the light
finds a way in. The night of no moon
is sequined with stars.
Even this blackness, this treading
in ink, this ebony residence, this
vulnerability to the opiate of despair
has light, though your eyes
have not yet adjusted to it, looking
as they do to the well-lighted past.
There is always a time of blindness
moving from bright into black.
Remember the sun
is making its way to you and remember
how far light must travel. Somewhere
the sun is rising and somewhere
it is high in the sky. In your house
this night, this fortnight or year,
the sun will find the loose clapboard,
the east-face of your sorrow.
Your world is
turning toward the light.
p.107, How Far Light Must Travel, 2007, Fithian Press
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What words do you turn to for comfort? Share them in the comments for a chance to win a signed hardcover copy of by invitation only, the new novel by Dorothea Benton Frank. Family drama, comedy and a Lowcountry landscape – great for beach or poolside reading.
Congrats to this month’s winning commenter, Linda Hehn! She will receive a signed copy of Boardwalk Summer, Meredith Jaeger, whose mom also happens to be my cousin. Set in California in 1940 and 2010, it has #MeToo, racism, single motherhood and a whopping big family secret.
10 responses to “The Comfort of Words”
Good point about where to comment, Linda. So I’m repeating my FB comment here.
My dread got a little higher today, when Kennedy announced he’s leaving the SCOTUS. I’ve been heavy-hearted ever since. Your post is just what I needed. The world does keep “turning toward the light.” Thanks, Linda.
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Oh, thank YOU, Susan, for commenting in two places. Good to have likeminded friends in these times.
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Thank you for sharing this! I keep hoping things will get better… some days it’s hard to find that hope.
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Yes, you’re right. I do hope you find more hope wherever you can.
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It’s hard to find much comfort in anything right now. I’ve never felt so depressed about the state of the country. I read news and lots of fiction.
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Yes, lots of fiction is the ticket right now. Any favorites to recommend?
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Like you and others, Linda, I’m not finding much light these days. I feel as if we’ve been groping through the dark for a very long time. I find a personal refuge in our place here in the Texas Hill Country and in my writing, and I contribute what I can to support others’ efforts for change. Not enough, I know, and dollars don’t change people’s narrow hearts and minds.
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Susan, I love to read about the Hill Country in your writing and blog. Having visited the area, I know it’s a wonderful refuge. I believe your dollars (and those of others) do help the worthy causes do their good work and maybe even change people minds. Thanks for stopping by!
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My all-time favorite is Psalm 23 – The Lord Is My Shepherd. It soothes and comforts me. Saying it gives me strength and courage. I no longer feel alone.
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Yes! I love that one too. Thanks for reminding me!
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