Late Summer

I`m up early on my last summer day with A. She is heading to the cottage with her dad. I fully expect not to hear from her for the next two weeks because every time I have been away, or she has, I hear nothing. Her father does not answer the phone. I feel that`s deliberate. I don`t know what to do anymore.

I prepare her as best I can. I hope for the best.  I let her go.

How should a person be? I wasn`t left with any answers. Thanks, a lot, Sheila.

I think my big question is . . . What am I doing here? And I haven't been able to answer that question. There doesn`t seem to be any resounding answer from the Universe and I don`t seem to have any internal sense of purpose - beyond feeling compelled to mother well and express myself clearly to those I love.

Art should, I think, ask us to consider our circumstances critically. We enjoy art, I think, because we are seduced into doing so by whatever particular form it takes.

Recently, I`ve been wasting a lot of my time on entertainment . . . wasting being a harsh word, but . . . I feel that my efforts to create and facilitate entertainment haven`t helped me grow in any way and I expect that everything I do can increase my understanding or further my sense of connection to ideas or people. Again, my challenge seems to be trying to forge connections and I cannot figure out why it isn`t happening.

What does it take to really connect? E.M. Forster was all about that. He was hugely influential for me. `Only connect!`

But what if you want to connect and no one else is really interested? What do you do then?

Can art be a means to connect without fear or threat? Maybe.

Maybe all I can do is withdraw . . . to muddle my way through some form of creative expression that will make me feel . . . even if no one else does.