EXCERPT FROM SARA’S JOURNALOctober 20, 1998
Near Ballyferriter
Dingle Peninsula
Rain Notes
The cottage is drenched and pummeled with rain and wind. The wind
whistles and rattles the windows and doors and roof. It whistles down the chimney and
sucks our smokeless peat briquettes into burning coals. To peer out the window is to fear
for the sheep and cows. Rich assures me that it’s all what you’re used to,
and I am simply not accustomed to the torrential personal assault and the sideways
downpour that changes direction and turns on itself at the whim of the blizzardous wind.
A friend gave me a book before I left called Notes To Myself –
A Guide to Creative Journal Writing. It gives directions on how to use a journal as a
conversation with one’s self. A journal is a private haven and a chance to be free
with one’s thoughts. This is more difficult than it sounds. One is often writing with
others in mind. It is easy to fall into a trap of wishy washy commentary designed to
please the potential reader. It seems the journal can take any direction depending on who
one thinks may read it, or who one hopes will not. I know many writers have journaled with
the intention of publishing, and have either tainted their writing so as to paint
themselves in a favorable or dramatic light, or simply not cared and delved into negative
gossip and complaining. I want my journal to be honest and interesting. I know that my
creative best wanes when I am sad and I feel most inspired during happy periods. Joy is my
energy and energy is my powerhouse.
To achieve true honesty one must disregard the fear of disapproval.
Self-consciousness is a prison. When Rich and I first met I forced myself to be honest on
all matters. I wanted to trust him completely and knew that if I gave him my truth he
would be forced to accept me or walk away. Rich was raised in a loving and supportive
family, and so in turn has grown up with a generous heart. He truly accepts me in
all of my manifestations. Rich is a hearty sounding board for my erratic feelings and
outbursts. He trusts my ideas and we support each other with constructive love. There is
no judgement. I am free because I can be anything at any given moment. I am certain
of this and can explore all of my Saras freely without the fear of
judgement or disapproval. Rich is a beautiful, once-in-a-lifetime gift.
I want to share my feelings and experiences because it is spellbinding
to think that others might connect. E.M Forster said Only connect. I’ll put
into words my experience as it is unfolding now in my life…in such a way that I might
find comfort in knowing that someone else has the same thoughts and experiences. Half of
the pleasure of painting and feeling the joy of the creative act is sharing it with others
and the feeling of connection. It could just be the colour. But it is something that
someone other than you has seen and felt. It is momentous. It is magic.
This writing exercise is entirely different from the abstract joy and
mysterious colour and design communication of painting. Writing is in a language that
everyone can understand and is blatantly interpreted. Even poetry contains a more concrete
meaning than a brushstroke. I can hide as much as I want in my colours. The only way to
hide in this feat is to not do it. That is scary.
Irish novelist Niall Williams' book Four Letters Of Love
addresses the fleetingness of perfection. Perfect love, perfect ecstasy, perfect
tenderness, perfect adoration. Before things get muddled with time and anger and boredom
and complication and duty. It is a timely read in Rich and my sixth year together and at
the threshold of our engagement…this supposed "new phase". The thing is,
Rich and I never felt the need for another, weightier phase of commitment or resolve
for our love. And everyone interprets the engagement differently. Four Letters
follows characters who are in a constant battle with the fleeting nature of intensity. Love
never dies, it just changes shape, Williams writes. Rich and I call it Ebb and Flow.
Friend, lover, partner, teammate, confident, guardian, caregiver, family. Sometimes
it’s about loving and sometimes it’s about living and sometimes it’s about
needing. Sometimes it's big dreams and other times it's little chores. But
regardless, it thrives because of the existing trust in and faithfulness to our desires.
The faithfulness to a delicious memory of what was perfect then, and the fostering of what
is perfect now.
