I was packing for our first night in the new house (movers were gonna box up all our things that day, then move them the next, so 24 hrs w/o access to our stuff). I tossed aside the pjs, ignored the change of clothes, and walked right past my toothbrush…
…to my bookshelf.
A new home — a huge moment of transition — and all I wanted (NEEDED!) was a security blanket of words.
Don’t bother with nightlights to show my path thru the dark; give me Hafiz.
Like my friend explained about her time at the library soon after a sudden loss: “I needed to spend time with the alphabet.”
For me, it’s the comfort of written words. For others it’s soothing immersion in the colored textures of a painting. For you maybe it’s the healing sounds of music, or the self-connected feel of a pencil dancing lines across the page, or the heady scent of honeysuckle sweetness warmed by the sun.
Whatever the exact form is for each of us, the focused appreciation of art has the power to transform our most gut-wrenching experiences into sweet sighs of deep relief.
We turn to it when our hearts are shaking or our souls are weary.
We bask in it when our inner sunshine has faded.
We ponder it, we question it, we embrace it, we reject it, we love it, we are confused by it, we are challenged by it, we are stunned, buoyed, and moved by it.
Does art matter?
I think you know that answer…