Prologue: Out of Silence

A blank page--

Not necessarily waiting to be filled.
I remember not being able to write for the six months after my first son was born.

I was stained into silence.

The air we breathed together, and the light--weighed in far too sacred for the commemoration of words; empty, ignorant words like Peter's on the mountain with the newly transfigured Christ.

And lately, there are the breaking of unholy, oppressive silences. The pent up; distressed words- words for myself and for others- that must rise up- so they do not die stillborn inside. These are words that I have scarcely even begun to notice, because it is an immense and dizzy world, and I am just waking up to it. My latest writing project, a book of poems entitled Jacob Wrestling, dips its toes into both of these silent territories. One of the longer poems, entitled "From These Stones" can currently be found in the online journal The Other Journal (http://www.theotherjournal.com/) while the title poem "Jacob Wrestling" is forthcoming in Fire Magazine out of the U.K. There may be a future for this little book, although it has served a full and healing purpose simply in the crafting of it. So why have I entered the blog community? Just this. I have been greatly served by the weblog of a dear friend (see Mercurial Dreams link) and from the consequent rabbit hole of links toward deep-thinking/feeling people with an artistry for communicating their experiences. One more voice to the chorus then. And more links that daily cleanse me of my middle-class suburban decay. In this blog you will most likely find the sacred wed to the profane, as I am both a sacred and profane individual. And ignorant. And luminous...

Good Night Nobody...

Goodnight noises everywhere,

Jim Churchill-Dicks