Nancy Wait

Talks about her book, and about being an artist and a writer

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How’s Your Shift Coming Along?

(A dialogue between me and myself, posted by I.)

Me: How’s your shift coming along?

Myself: Very well, thank you.  And how is yours?

Me: Oh, mine is just great!  Thank you for asking!  I’ve been wanting to tell someone.  So many new things are happening.  It all seems to be happening at once, too.  Quite discombobulating at times, but to be expected, I guess…given the energies now.

Myself: That’s for sure! I hardly know what I’m doing from one minute to the next!

Me: Yeah, I know! So let me tell you what happened just today. I was working on my book, and—

Myself: Still working on the same book?

Me: Well, it takes time, you know, to figure all these things out. Memoirs. Know Thyself and all that.  Doesn’t happen over night you know.

Myself: But didn’t you start it back in ’97? That’s the last century. You’ve been working on it since the last century!

Me: Don’t remind me.  But here’s the thing. This is what I wanted to tell you that just happened today. Because when I first started recalling and remembering events, it was very painful you know. I had to relive all that stuff in order to write about it.  Go back there. It was like going back into a dungeon. Remembering how it was before there was light. Before I saw where it was all leading to.  It was like time-traveling.  It was really bad for a few years there. Feeling all my sadness again.

Myself: But you got through it.

Me: Sure, I got through it. And you know, when I finally thought it was finished back in 2007 I think it was…I felt like I had been on the dark side of the moon.

Myself: But you emerged.

Me: Yes. I came out of it. But I was changed. You know? Because we forget the feelings. We remember events, but we forget the feelings.

Myself: I think that’s called a survival mechanism.

Me: Well, you know what they tell writers. Sit down and open a vein.

Myself: Geesh!

Me: I didn’t know how to do it at first. My advisor at Goddard said I was like a tourist in my own life, riding by on a bus, looking at it from a distance. He told me to get off the bus. I always like to do everything fast you know. I paint fast. And now I was writing too fast. I had to slow down. Relive it all inch by inch.

Myself: Ouch. So, what were you saying happened today?

Me: I felt the love come back! I was working on the revisions. It’s coming along really well. And then I got up to take a break, and that’s when I realized what was happening. I felt this surge of love for all the characters. For my character, too!  It’s the way it goes though, I guess. First you have to go back and feel how it hurt.

Myself: Opening yourself up to the hurt.

Me: Yes. Opening. Feeling. Then creating out of that feeling.

Myself: Until you get to the other side?

Me: Going over to the dark side of the moon. Then coming back into the light.

Myself: Well, the moon has phases.

Me: It’s so hard to see, when you’re there, that you’ll ever get through it. Ever be able to forget again, all that sadness.

Myself: So what happened then? Did you forget it?

Me: No, silly. I remembered it. But it was through the remembering that I transformed it. I think that’s what must have happened.

Myself: Sounds kinda airy-fairy.

Me: It’s hard to explain. It took a lot of time, see? Piecing things together. Seeing the big picture. But first I had to live through all those moments again.

Myself: So you said.

Me: I had to dig up a lot of old ground, see? Uncover the wounds again. Feel the hurt, again.

Myself: Better you than me.

Me: Yes, but you know what I kept telling myself? I kept telling myself to remember the light. Remember where the light was. I wasn’t thinking of inner light. I was thinking of lamp light. Winter light. Summer light. How the light changes. But mainly where the light was in the room. Whatever room a scene I was writing about took place. Because somewhere it’s still there, you know. Those scenes are still there in my mind. It’s like nothing ever disappears. The memories are still there. The light is still there, and the darkness too. But the darkness doesn’t scare me anymore. I’m not afraid of it. Because the love has come back. It may not be in the lines, but it’s there. Maybe between them. And maybe no one else will see what I’m seeing, or feel what I’m feeling, but it’s there. It’s there for me. The love has come back.

Myself: Hmmm….

Me: It’s true! And I knew it! I knew it last fall when the Little Man (click on it to see who he is) came back. I was so excited opening the box. I took all these pictures of opening the box and unwrapping him. I thought I’d do another series of paintings of Little Man. But then I didn’t. I couldn’t understand why I wasn’t doing those paintings.

Myself: Maybe you didn’t have to. Maybe it wasn’t important.

Me: I know, I know. But he was a symbol. The funny thing is, I remember when Love left me. And it wasn’t even in this life time. It was long ago. Or, maybe it was just a dream. But I died. I think I died when Love left me.

Myself: Inside, or out?

Me: Does it matter?

Myself: Right.

Me: But he came back.

Myself: Yes.

Me: And you know what I just thought? What if he never left at all, and I only thought he did?

Myself: Hmmm…..

One Response

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1. 

   Camilla

   Thanks Nancy–for reminding me that ‘Me, Myself & I’ dialogues are obviously all that really matters..at least ‘Me, Myself & I’ are totally in sync and understood by ‘Me, Myself & I.’

   Great Work:)

   February 8, 2010 at 2:54 pm