I am honoured to have been asked to participate in John Cabot University’s Black History Month 2021 celebration. Many sincere thanks to Alexandria J. Maloney for inviting me to join her esteemed panelists in this discussion on our experiences living and studying in Rome.
Please, join our discussion . You can register by using the following link: Event Registration.
Shattered, glass fragments scattered like a mind tormented by irrelevant matters– it’s only an empty cup that was never once filled up with anything particularly wanted.
Many thanks to Ritu from But I Smile Anyway for making me aware of Linda G Hill’s stream of consciousness writing challenge.
-Your prompt for #JusJoJan and Stream of Consciousness Saturday is: “close eyes and point.” When you’re ready to write your post, open a book, a newspaper, or whatever is handy and close your eyes and point.-
“…half not–“I opened my eyes. My fingers gently touched the words in Mary Oliver’s poem “The Winter Wood Arrives.” What do I do with this? The words overwhelmed me yet released me. I feel half not, like some satisfying yet incomplete project. My life is filled with half not moments, things, and people.
I really should do something about this.
I started writing this blog, too, in a half not manner. I am half not dedicated and half not inspired to share my life. Still, I want to find ways to become whole and experience life wholly. Live in some place as a whole being, not halved, divided by countries, things, people, and feelings. I am wanting to bring my halves together to make one whole.
It is possible.
Recently, I realized just how deep my half not-ness roots are. Who knew they could get so far down? In love, in work, in self, just how willing am I to remain satisfied yet incomplete? I look at Oliver’s poem now because, although the use of half not is different, the meaning of the poem seems aligned with my sentiments.
She speaks of the struggle of steps and thoughts, the love that leaves yet never does, the practicality of what it means to live, and yet the need to burn away the things that no longer matter. Of course this is just my interpretation. I am not yet a poet.
Stamattina, nella tranquillità dell’alba, mi sono svegliata. Non potevo più ascoltare la tua voce, sentivo solo le gocce di pioggia sulla finestra ed il suono del mio respiro.
Le mie mani toccavano lo spazio vuoto accanto a me. Mi sono sentita l’euforia di essere libera… di essere senza di te…
Si trova la pace nel silenzio del cuore. Domani e dopodomani, il mio mondo è ancora mio di creare come desidero.
Comunque Stamattina ti ricordavo.
——
This morning, in the quiet of dawn, I awoke. I could no longer hear your voice. I listened only to the raindrops against my window and the sound of my breathing.
My hands touched the empty space next to me. And I felt the euphoria of being free and being without you.
One finds peace in the heart’s silence. Tomorrow and the day after, my world is mine to create as I desire.