Tia A. Plott: Ebb and Flow

I’m feeling the tentative stirrings of my flow reemerging after it ran away and hid in terror of all that’s transpired of late. It’s peeking its tiny misshapen head

out of the subconscious depths of my psyche where it’s been hidden away in a place to which I’m not granted full access. I intuitively, or in desperation, set the stage for her return. I stayed quiet, tried to keep calm, kept my process open, engaged the blank page every morning, created the space and time. I think it feels safe to rejoin me now.

All the tests are back, negative. I have flow to my heart, there is no sign of an embolism. It may or may not have occurred. What exactly did occur is and will apparently always be a mystery.

And, as is now the norm, “We’ll just keep an eye on it.” That’s what I have to sustain me, to continue on. That’s it. So that will have to be enough. I’ll find goodies to coax myself back out of the closet; that refuge where I go when I’m so scared, when there’s nothing I can do except hide in the safety of that self-made womb.

I’m hesitant. I felt fine before after all. I was full speed ahead, engaging every aspect of my life; scheming, laying tracks, planning routes. I had already gone through the trauma, through the healing – it was over, my ticket was punched to continue on. But I was blindsided by unknown forces, slammed to the side

of the road once again. Is that how this is going to be for the rest of my life? Will I always be looking over my shoulder, obsessively checking my rear view mirrors? Will I take my inevitable analyses of these “signs” too far; come to a conclusion I’m not meant to embark at all? What will I do?

Today I feel I’ll keep going. The road is always unknown. I just thought I would have more control, more of a choice as to what being on

that road would entail. I thought the hardest thing was making the decision of which fork to take, that once the decision was made to begin and work along my chosen path, then the rest would just comprise the labor. I didn’t foresee these types of obstacles. But perhaps that’s perspective. And maybe that perspective gives me balance that I’ll need to see this through for the entire journey – the long haul.

There may be – will be – more roadblocks, speed bumps, pile-ups, blow-outs. There may be a crazy pedestrian who runs out

into the flow brandishing a semiautomatic rifle. A piece from an airplane may fall in front of me or on me. Somebody in the lane alongside me may get a blow-out and crash into me; or thoughtlessly text and drift smack into my path. Maybe I’ll finally get car sick and pull over. Or maybe my own engine will just be unable to engage anymore and my journey will be over.

I don’t know. None of us know. We take blind faith

with us every time we embark. We just don’t consciously realize it, and that is as it should be.

This type of introspection is impossible, counterproductive to voyaging. Ridiculously so. But there are times. And I’ve had mine. So today is what I have. I’ll continue to write and learn and grow. I’ll continue to seek the support I need to engage these choices. Workshops and organizations for the community; groups for the work and growth. My own time to use as I choose, my space to create as I need. That’s what I decide for today.

I want to say “Here I go again.” But it’s really not “again” – it’s “still”. This is all a part of the whole. A “writer’s life” is not compartmentalized, separate from