Two of my sharpest childhood memories are from the world of sleep. Each bedtime I would fixate on the blank wooden wardrobe door and begin to hallucinate: geometric patterns would form, folding in on themselves in growing intricacy, eventually transforming into delicate willow-pattern scenes of swaying trees and curved clouds, of bridges…
Two of my sharpest childhood memories are from the world of sleep. Each bedtime I would fixate on the blank wooden wardrobe door and begin to hallucinate: geometric patterns would form, folding in on themselves in growing intricacy, eventually transforming into delicate willow-pattern scenes of swaying trees and curved clouds, of bridges stretching over slow woodcut rivers, of silhouetted figures talking and laughing and dancing in synchrony. An entire living world conjured effortlessly from nothing. The delicious feeling then of sinking into deeper sleep, inevitably guiding me towards the familiar dream sequence: willing myself gradually free of the earth, I would be running, fast and then faster still; I would break free of gravity, free of limits entirely, floating higher and higher, flying at will, the warm night air carrying me over the tiny town lights and into the hills of my imagination. The same dream over and over, the same thrill of aliveness and impossible daring, the same state of pure being rushing through me. A wild creature unleashed.
The longing that came later was a sharp, painful hunger, an endless raw animal yearning of unmet needs. Years after the dreams died, my mother's madness triggered horrific surreal nightmares in their place. Each lonely 3 a.m. the same longing for safety and love would ache in my soul. Just for someone to notice. After I was ejected from home at 16, the longing each Sunday for my Dad to visit, the pathetic window-watching from the corner of my eye, trying to conjure his appearance. The longing for him to like me.
Now all that collapses back to a simpler longing: to be that small boy again, dreaming a world into life, existing in a state of pure being, and aliveness, and joy. To be me again.
Ah, thank you so much! I feel quite shy about putting it out there in the first place, but it's really lovely to have someone read and comment on it.
BTW, I loved your piece so much, I just couldn't think of anything useful to say about it... but in a lot of ways I prefer your style to mine, it's so direct and open, I think it's more powerful and more affecting. I think one thing that might come out of this site is learning from other people's styles, maybe playing with that and using it to experiment with different ways of expressing things. I might try that. But also, just seeing that other people have difficult things that need to be articulated, gives a real sense of community and belonging that I value very much xx
Paul, this is the kind of writing that I read holding my breath, as if any noise I make might make it fly off & away from me. It’s such intimate & brave writing. Thank you for offering it to us here. I will be back with my laptop tomorrow morning & will add it to the story archive, returning here with your link to it. Very best, Tanya x
Ah, thank you for creating a space where I could even consider writing like this... what a beautiful wee community this is, I'm so glad to be a small part of it xx
I try always to put the stories up the day I receive them. When I can't though, I get the pleasure of returning to read them again as I edit and upload them. Here is your link:
I'm so looking forward to receiving more words from you as part of our separate mentoring arrangement. I have some time for that in mid December, but if you're not ready to send then, mid Jan also good...
I agree with Tanya about holding breath while reading. This was so vivid, so heartfelt, three paragraphs that say so much, three distinct times in your life, yet all connected.
Thank you so much for your kind words.. it's quite a vulnerable thing to do - is that how you felt? It's also slightly addictive though! I just need to keep making sure I keep doing it I think... thank you for reading and commenting :)
Love the way you describe those childhood dreams. I remember conjuring thoughts from wallpaper and shadows especially in my grandparents house. I can still visit when I close my eyes. And the way you contrast this with a longing just to be noticed ,to be liked by your visiting dad . Really powerful.
I love this generous sharing of people's responses, it's hugely encouraging and motivating to keep going, and to work at writing and improve. Also, I love that your childhood memories overlap with mine! I always felt quite odd that the younger me could do that.
Two of my sharpest childhood memories are from the world of sleep. Each bedtime I would fixate on the blank wooden wardrobe door and begin to hallucinate: geometric patterns would form, folding in on themselves in growing intricacy, eventually transforming into delicate willow-pattern scenes of swaying trees and curved clouds, of bridges stretching over slow woodcut rivers, of silhouetted figures talking and laughing and dancing in synchrony. An entire living world conjured effortlessly from nothing. The delicious feeling then of sinking into deeper sleep, inevitably guiding me towards the familiar dream sequence: willing myself gradually free of the earth, I would be running, fast and then faster still; I would break free of gravity, free of limits entirely, floating higher and higher, flying at will, the warm night air carrying me over the tiny town lights and into the hills of my imagination. The same dream over and over, the same thrill of aliveness and impossible daring, the same state of pure being rushing through me. A wild creature unleashed.
The longing that came later was a sharp, painful hunger, an endless raw animal yearning of unmet needs. Years after the dreams died, my mother's madness triggered horrific surreal nightmares in their place. Each lonely 3 a.m. the same longing for safety and love would ache in my soul. Just for someone to notice. After I was ejected from home at 16, the longing each Sunday for my Dad to visit, the pathetic window-watching from the corner of my eye, trying to conjure his appearance. The longing for him to like me.
Now all that collapses back to a simpler longing: to be that small boy again, dreaming a world into life, existing in a state of pure being, and aliveness, and joy. To be me again.
Ah, thank you so much! I feel quite shy about putting it out there in the first place, but it's really lovely to have someone read and comment on it.
BTW, I loved your piece so much, I just couldn't think of anything useful to say about it... but in a lot of ways I prefer your style to mine, it's so direct and open, I think it's more powerful and more affecting. I think one thing that might come out of this site is learning from other people's styles, maybe playing with that and using it to experiment with different ways of expressing things. I might try that. But also, just seeing that other people have difficult things that need to be articulated, gives a real sense of community and belonging that I value very much xx
Paul, this is the kind of writing that I read holding my breath, as if any noise I make might make it fly off & away from me. It’s such intimate & brave writing. Thank you for offering it to us here. I will be back with my laptop tomorrow morning & will add it to the story archive, returning here with your link to it. Very best, Tanya x
Ah, thank you for creating a space where I could even consider writing like this... what a beautiful wee community this is, I'm so glad to be a small part of it xx
I try always to put the stories up the day I receive them. When I can't though, I get the pleasure of returning to read them again as I edit and upload them. Here is your link:
https://thecureforsleep.com/august-issue-longing/#paulmiller
I'm so looking forward to receiving more words from you as part of our separate mentoring arrangement. I have some time for that in mid December, but if you're not ready to send then, mid Jan also good...
Tan xx
I agree with Tanya about holding breath while reading. This was so vivid, so heartfelt, three paragraphs that say so much, three distinct times in your life, yet all connected.
Thank you so much for your kind words.. it's quite a vulnerable thing to do - is that how you felt? It's also slightly addictive though! I just need to keep making sure I keep doing it I think... thank you for reading and commenting :)
Yes, vulnerable every single time and yes, make sure you keep doing it. Take care!
Love the way you describe those childhood dreams. I remember conjuring thoughts from wallpaper and shadows especially in my grandparents house. I can still visit when I close my eyes. And the way you contrast this with a longing just to be noticed ,to be liked by your visiting dad . Really powerful.
Thank you :)
I love this generous sharing of people's responses, it's hugely encouraging and motivating to keep going, and to work at writing and improve. Also, I love that your childhood memories overlap with mine! I always felt quite odd that the younger me could do that.
Thank you :)