Birth pains

Photo: Danny is downstairs knitting.

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I need to keep flowing with the deep outbursts of words these days.

Last night Danny and I went to see an ensemble from the Tafelmusik Baroque Orchestra and Chamber Choir perform at Royal Ontario Museum. It was free Friday night. They performed some excerpts from upcoming concerts, including passages from oratorios by the French baroque composer Marc-Antoine Charpentier, and a series of familiar choruses from Handel's Messiah. It was a fascinating juxtaposition. The Charpentier was intriguely dark; subtle esoteric chords from the string orchestra descending into nocturnal shadows of Christ's birth. In contrast, the chosen Handel choruses were perky, irrepressibly and irresistibly joyous: "Wonderful! Counsellor! Almighty God! The everlasting Father! Prince of Peace!" I was still singing it an hour later when we got off the bus after a falafel on Yonge Street.

I don't feel cheery this morning. I've been writing from the deepest part of me the past few days, words channeling through inexplicable windows. And when restlessness and irritability set in, I'm inclined to think it's wrong, less spiritual. It's hard to value the whole mess of human emotions the same way. I keep valuing some higher, some lower.

I was trying to understand the meaning of postmodernism this week. One definition said it had a "problematic relationship with any notion of 'art.'" What does that mean? What does it mean for me? My whole life is devoted to the broader concept of art, art in writing, art in daily living. Does this mean I've outdated myself. Where am I going? Why do I care? Does it mean anything at all?

I'm trying not to judge this restlessness and ambiguity in a different category of feeling from the clear words that sometimes boil up like superheated water from a geyser. I'm sitting in the kitchen of god, and angels are tossing around tectonic plates, crashing into sea shores. My whole subconscious is rumbling with earthquakes. Sometimes the world has to go through birth pains to come up with a new stable system. Today my mind is roiling through birth pains.

The novel, the novel, the novel! It is a monstrous gestation. That whole era of my life (the misery of it!) turned into a massive playground of ideas. Strands of stories from people I knew thrown into the hot springs, we'll see what new forms of life arise.

And I forgot to time my free write this morning for the first time since early September. I haven't had breakfast yet and I'm hungry, so I'm going to end it now!