Cushion yourself with flowers on days that don’t shine. Light candles. Burn oil, love letters, plans. Make your music soft and your pride shy. The world will hold together, and the poet must rest.
I never bought into the idea that reading was an escape. Sure, you go somewhere and visit with new characters, get “lost” in worlds and made-up dramas. But ultimately (as all things do) it just brings you closer to yourself. True escapism, in my book, would be reading for the sake of falling into a coma:… Continue reading Reading as Awareness, not Escape: an aside.