This week in writing class, Jules, our teacher, asked us to reflect on the deep desires we have for our future life, and to examine if there are ways to bring these into our lives now.
I was reminded of the hag muse piece I wrote for class. It seems my heart the freedom of what is below, but the rest of me is sooooo not ready. I wonder if any of you feel the same?
I run barefoot through the woods, I pull blackberries from the brambles and weave the thorny branches through my hair, I leave the dog out to bark in the garden and put vicious mouse traps out in my flower patch for the neighbours to see, if I want to.
I delete my Facebook and Instagram and website and email account and the three thousand friends and my world falls silent. I ignore texts from my daughter, my son, my husband and my father. This fills me with glee. I let my nails grow raggedy and unapply moisturiser, if I want to.
I don’t watch the news, I don’t read the paper, I don’t listen to the radio. I read and I read and I read and I read, from seven at night until five in the morning, watch the sun rise and listen to the dawn chorus then sleep all day on my daughter’s childhood bed, if I want to.
I don’t care for earning money, I eat simple bread and cheese, those who want fancier things can fend for themselves, I’m done. I create nothing. I sell nothing. They have had my blood, my sweat, my womb. I am vanished from the minds of the world.
I disregard the doctors, the scientists and the naysayers, their words no longer cross my ears and I’m led by own heart and stomach that knows. I tend to my garden and plant cabbages next to roses, if I want to.
I don’t answer the door to Amazon men, there are none. I don’t reply to notifications on my phone, there are none. I don’t bake cakes for birthday party barbeques, there are none. I love this.
I don’t do my homework, there isn’t any. I don’t hit my targets, there aren’t any. I don’t berate myself for a number on the scales, those have been cast out long ago.
I wear red and green together, I make tea and sit in the garden for an hour to drink it, I listen to the birds for a whole afternoon in an old blue patched dress with my hairy legs up on a stool and a cat on my lap, if I want to.
No one looks for me any longer, I am forgotten by them all.