Have you ever flipped an uncorked-full-bottle of wine upside down? Well, yes, I have. It is a long and not-so-proud story from my younger years. When the bottle is inverted, the wine is slow to come out. It hesitates. It gurgles. It chugs. The bottle is full; the wine wants to pour out with the sophistication deserving of fine aged and fermented grapes, but it can’t.
I am that wine: aged, obviously, and with stay-at-home-quarantine leaving little need to shower daily, maybe a little bit fermented. Of course, it is not my body but my spirit that is bottled. You see, my emotions overwhelm me. The world is topsy-turvy. The economy is failing, jobs are lost, we are isolated from those we love, and … and people are dying. I usually find solace in writing; it is my personal therapy. Granted, most pages fade without ever being shared, but that is inconsequential. I write to evaluate and work through my thoughts. Given time, the process ends in exhaustion and stillness. Lately, I need to write but I can’t. There is so much to say, so many emotions, but when I try, the words only gurgle and chug with my heart ache.
So, I will write, pouring out in small sips pieces of my heart until I may once again find peace.
Spill a little wine and let’s get through this together.
