When the Storm Comes.
Where do I run?
This is a vulnerable love letter,
I currently sit in an unnamed place, a hard place, and so I write.
6am coffee run, driving in the dark to a seaside parking spot to call a close friend, together over the phone, we surround its hollows with language—not to name things, but to hold very-large unknowns.
In this call, my dear friend encouraged me, among many things, to write more about my process or from the table of it. And so this is me doing just that. Right from the middle of a storm.
The comfort found in speaking poem with a friend, directly into places that are unknown and yet named, invites our mutual friend beauty in. Beauty, a faithful companion I have come to know over the years, a steady hand that shows up even on the harder ground. This past 2 weeks, I have seen how strong beauty’s scaffolding is in my life, proving not to be a mythical thing, but a true fixture. Even in my worry and despair, I have seen how beauty stubbornly finds way into the darkest corners, always. Beauty is not just for the good days, but even more importantly, the very bad ones.
Beauty has many names, I know it as Paraclete, too.