In En français dans le texte, Food, Hautvoir, Music, Poetry, proto drafts on November 9, 2015 at 7:59 am

Drift. In French, you say: “j’ai perdu le fil” – I lost the thread. Or in conversation when you stop… where was I , you say, or, why am I telling you this. There’s a pause. Oh yes, you pick up “the thread” where you’d lost it.

La joie venait toujours après la peine – joy always came after sorrow. Something of that. The bitch being you have to go through the sorrow first. Yech.

Instead of joy, write: relief. Of the massive, overwhelming kind. A state of being so novel, so unexpected, so new, nothing in your previous experience has ever prepared you for it.

Relieved. Safe. Made it. Free at last. Someone to watch over me. Whatever. No harm, no blame. You’re expecting more fear, more punishment, more pain, and the opposites happen. Even losing the haven never matches in intensity the memory of once having stumbled into a place where even howling hurricanes held no power to harm you. You go through hell when you lose the haven. But even hell can’t destroy what  you discovered in that blessed moment.

Defining moments. The core. The center. The eye of the storm. Call it what you will.  In essence : Once, something happened. Thanks to that something, you knew you could handle all the rest. Or so you believed – sometimes, that’s as good as knowing. Not always, but sometimes.

So, characters. Defining moments please, and on with it, thank you very much. Why? Because that’s how life plays, that’s why.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: