where the muse may be


This, here, this is often not what I think it is,

this magazine in my face and right behind it

a little boy, naked, in my lap. He peers over,

has smiling eyes, thinks not in any way of clothes.

I desperately read to work up Muse,

and he has never been separated from his,

sings as the words come to mind, lives it out.

I am no longer a child, take my sons to Walmart so professionals can video us while we shop. They make film of kids looking at toys because grown-ups don’t always know what the good toys are or how to sell them.

And there I killed part of my oldest. I saw it leave him, the part that holds up his shoulders.

“You mean, grown-ups don’t know how to play? Mama, do you not know how to play?” I tell him that it now takes work to play.

In the video, he’ll push Buzz Lightyear’s buttons, hear his brothers laugh, and it will make him sad.

This, here, is often not what I think it is: the bright quilt covering my legs, my red pajamas, hot coffee, old painting, stack of books.

It’s more of what the child knows; they know the strange fruits from the strong, careless trees, songs of God garden,  the visionary realm of lower vocabulary. Maybe we have lived there. If eternity exists with God, maybe it swings around on us. Maybe the beginning is the end.

Yes, they wear fallen skin, but they still wear it exposed. Maybe innocence (far from ignorance) is the channel. Putting down the books, hearing the voice of Friend, I think of what it means to be uncovered. Eyes smiling, now I can write.

amberhaines
About me

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11 Comments

Soutthern Gal
Reply November 9, 2010

You have done it again. Touched a nerve and made me love that you pointed it out.

Kelly Sauer
Reply November 9, 2010

I think you are onto something here...

kendal
Reply November 9, 2010

i love.

Sarah@EmergingMummy
Reply November 9, 2010

Good God. I'm a bit gobsmacked with all the Truth here.

Elora
Reply November 9, 2010

Mmmm. Truth. This is good.

Craig
Reply November 9, 2010

Startled and stunned

this is what teaches me to write in broad strokes
instead of jagged edges

the muse hovered
then alighted
on your words today

joann
Reply November 9, 2010

I think, maybe you just quoted T.S. Eliot? In my beginning is my end. Yes.
That is my favorite poem. It is truth, sadness and hope. Ashes and beauty.

beautiful.

And can we just talk about how awesome T.S. Eliot is? Can we? Because no one I know gets as excited as I do about him.
You know what I carry around with me?
"I will show you fear in a fistful of dust". It's from the wasteland I think. I might be paraphrasing it. It helps me keep perspective. Good words are treasures. That's why I read yours.

Tricia
Reply November 9, 2010

This was stunning writing. I'm absolutely taken aback by the intensity and depth of this post. It's so very beyond anything I've read in very long while. Thank you for sharing this incredible insight with us :)

Sara Sophia
Reply November 10, 2010

I love to be a child.

Through the eyes of my own and in my heart.

Its where I wish to always stay.

I love you.

-Sara

Theresa
Reply November 10, 2010

I feel challenged to play! Maybe, after I finish my work. Thank you for sharing your life this way, Amber.

Megan@SortaCrunchy
Reply November 10, 2010

Reminds of me of this G.K. Chesterton quote I wrote down and slipped under a magnet on the fridge: "Part of God's infinity is manifested in a child's propensity to exult in the monotonous." Isn't that so the Truth?

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