
Like radio waves that undulate
Through air so thick with frozen hate
That even love could not pierce through.
And yet these waves will bob and weave,
Making it to brains so hard, so tough.
They whisper to pick up that book,
Turn on the radio or watch that film
Because there is a lesson, somewhere there.
You may not know it yet, but before the end
You’ll see the reason why those waves
Chose to break above your head
And crush your dreams but also grow your mind.
I truly believe that art is healing and it somehow gets put in our hands right when we need it the most. How it happens is beyond me, but it always seems to be there a just the right moment.
Have you ever switched on the radio when you are struggling with something and the song that is playing seems to give you an answer? Or seen an image that just fills a hole that has been gaping all day?
I have had this experience a lot, especially with books. When Noah’s father left us for another woman I read a book called Gem Squash Tokoloshe by Rachel Zadok. I saw somebody talking about it on TV and then spotted it in the charity shop so it was completely random that those two things happened.
So many of the elements of the book matched what was going on in my life and I felt like the book was written specifically for me. I couldn’t believe how soothing it was to read and how much I needed something that had been placed in my hands like a gift.
I’m having similar experiences at the moment. I’ve read so many books that focus on the mother daughter relationship and how fragile it can be. A lot of the time I don’t even realise what I’ve picked up. It is only as I read that I see how needed it is.
I think there are forces at work that we can’t see and we will never understand and I think that art is the answer to a lot of our problems and our pain. Be open to that, I don’t think you’ll regret it.
Much Love
Rachel xx
Margot Kinberg
It is strange, isn’t it, how often we hear a song, or read a book, or watch a play, or….. that is just what we need at the moment. I’ve often wondered how that happens, and your poem captures it neatly.
K.L. Hale
I know this to be true as well. ❤