Some of them say that gloomy and destructive feelings breed the most fascinating creative work, but that’s not at all the case for me. When bad news or any other stressful factors pound on my heart and mind, I instantly creep towards my bed, to slip inside a cocoon where I feel safe from any type of anxieties and fright, while shutting tightly the door of my imagination… as at the same time the light bulb that’s over my head turns off. I am unable to think properly when chaos, disorder, bad news, stressful factors strike. I guess that I am a happy writer – a writer who feels more productive and inspired when things are going well around, when crazy humorous things and people make me laugh, or when I feel immersed, or surrounded by bountiful and mystical beauty that instantly arouse a feeling of epiphany in me. Simply put, I need to dwell inside that field of positive energy so as to be more creative and enthusiastic.
Since I heard the bad news that covid is again spreading its deadly spores all over our island, I can’t seem to get the necessary inspiration to write, or I have all the pain in the world to do so, for the words seem stuck somewhere in between my chaotic feelings, imprisoned tightly inside of that ribcage of mine. Mauritius is a small island, and hearing that more than ten people have already been infected by covid makes my anxiety peak. Hasn’t the reaper had enough? Haven’t we suffered enough? Haven’t we paid back enough for all the sins that have remained clogged in our blood since Pandora opened that box? How many more souls is to be devoured so as to heal earth? Why this automatic upgrade of our universe? Why did it have to happen in our lifetime?… All of these absurd questions that float in my mind instead of inspiration and creativity; while, closing my eyes so as to go deep to clear my head, only the spread of colour red appears and persists, instead of the usual dark of my emptied head. I don’t know if it’s a bad omen, or if it’s my anxieties that make pressure on my mind, but I know that’s not how I usually function.
I am trying to write a poem for the independence day of Mauritius… but the words won’t settle in my head; where all I want to do is lay on my bed to read or scroll through those social feeds that might summon the necessary inspiration and enthusiasm in me. A heavy weight glooms my heart right now, and if the thought of writing poems and fiction isn’t easing that feeling of uneasiness, if the very fact of putting myself in the creative mode so as to annihilate those destructive and negative feelings doesn’t work… then what other activity would? I don’t want to write this type of journal entry; I don’t want to release in blog posts these thoughts on which I am choking on. I don’t want my fear to transpire in my writings.
Today is our first day of lockdown. We entered confinement in the same month as last year. And on Friday and Saturday, Mauritian authors have been invited to a book festival – I would have signed autographs, I would have asked for autographs, I would have bought books I like, I would have finally connected with the other authors and the publishing world. Finally I would have got the necessary advice or help to finally get my books published, I would have finally stepped out of my comfort zone (for I want to believe the quote that says ‘change begins at the end of your comfort zone’), for I am unable to do it online, and I don’t want to try more than I ever have. Same as this World, the Internet will never unfurl for me… and yet, I know that I have a lot to give to this medium. But well, they’ll never know the immensity of my floating body and the power of my influencing mind… how the invisible world has unfurled for me. Yep, I am secretly megalomaniac😅😂🤣.
See, I guess there’s some hope that I might recover from writing block. It remains to see how long it will take for me to recover from this sudden eruption of anxieties, and from there, rush to writing again.