Write yes/ no
Sometimes, shining your inner light on yourself and where you are is a more brave new act, then anything else.
"The feeling we have of betraying some mission we were mandated to fulfill and being unable to fulfill it; then coming to understand that the real mandate was not to fulfill it; and the real courage is to stand guiltless in the predicament in which you find yourself"
Leonard Cohen
When we are finally going to bed, my love, referring to the box at the bottom of the stairs, says, "You do know that with Paco that chicken would have been in the pan a long time ago already, right?"
I know. I know how Paco, a Spaniard of around 60 who has kept his little farm here all his life, treats his animals. But with me, even a chicken gets admitted to my 'hospital'. And this chicken was even a small miracle, she survived an attack by a fox. An attack in broad daylight, right outside our door. In the end, the fox got off scot-free and our chicken ran cackling under the house.
And so our 'Princess' now sits with a bite wound, antibiotics and clean straw in a box in our house under 24/7 supervision of nurse Daphne.
Because. we live here together.
And so I save as much lives as I possibly can, including the mice from our catgirl's mouth. Fortunately, not only I think this way. I am addicted to videos on Instagram in which people save animals: sea turtles, kittens, whales or deer, it doesn't matter to me, all animals are worth saving in my opinion.
After one of those many viewing sessions, I happen to stare at the BIO I once wrote for my Instagram account: Writer, appears at the top.
Why does that word suddenly catch my eye so much?
Writer.
And why does it feel weird?
Four (already four?) years ago, I thought writing was the best way to express myself. I've worked as a copywriter, built an entire blog, I started a Substack, I half-finished a book in Google docs.... so am I a writer after all, not?
But...
Am I even a writer? Is writing something I prefer to spend hours and hours on every day? Does a new blog post come out of my hands every week? And do I have many more in the queue?
Or do I still prefer to stick my fingers in the earth, try to lull the cabbage plants into immense growth and gratefully squeez all the apples into juice? Would I rather bore everyone around me with stories about all the adventures of our beastly mess?
One thing is certain, here, of this little piece of Andalusia, you won't get me away any time soon. I feel intensely connected to this finca and to all the creatures that walk, stand and shuffle around here. I hate being away, half a day is easy, a week is manageable, but after two weeks I feel displaced.
I've never really been homesick, but could this be it? That not being able to be here makes me feel like I've missed something? The feeling of being disconnected?
This past year, this too dry, too hot, most difficult year, was a year of protests here. Protests to save every little bit of forest, for the right to water the fields, for not putting economic growth above the well-being of nature this time.
This past year, I felt an old sadness, a great anger. Why do we always have to fight the very thing that gives us life? And this time again, does nature always lose?
So I keep our fragile little ecosystem closer to my heart even more. When I look around I see no other like this, all other pieces of land seem dryer duller, bigger, yes, but less diverse, less ... wild.
We have our chickens hopping freely through the field, our cats prowling through the grass and a dog who jumps up with four legs at a time when she hears we are going for a walk.
And after a week in the 'hospital', I proudly put our Princess back with her family. She had been letting us know at length for two days that she was done with her box and her antibiotics.
I know, instead of sitting behind my laptop and write, I prefer to spend hours and hours, out here, with my butt in the grass and my head in the clouds.
But then what should be above my Instagram account, my blog, my website (if there is such a thing as ‘needing’ to be)?
Because of course I want to continue with that, right?
Because of course I want to mean something and make the world a little better for everyone. To help heal the world by helping others grow, by giving them with my words a bright light at the end of a dark tunnel.
Or do I?
Is, instead, living life here more than enough? And doesn't it all have to be so grand and compelling, viral on Socials, sent to hundreds and thousands of mailboxes?
After having called myself painter, clay artist, photographer, illustrator and calligrapher, am I after all just Daphne having a tea after tilting the vegetable garden, feeding the neighbour's donkey and making jam out of the cherries?
After calling myself a writer, am I more someone who works with and for the earth? Is being here, being one hundred per cent present here, the best thing I could do?
And is my life here, in which I quietly colour outside the lines of society, as a statement just big and compelling enough ...
So what should I do now?
Well ... that book half-finished, that's a process I'm working on again anyway. I have also picked up the paintbrush again. Both just for fun, without setting an outcome or goal.
Because it became clear to me that besides being a 'caretaker for the earth', I am also just multi-creative. Because this year I want to learn to follow my joy, my pleasure, in this.
And that didn't work when I was setting myself goals and 'doing it for the other, the likes, the attention'.
But I do succeed when I listen to my inspirations, my intuition and my heart.
Because:
“your art
is not about how many people
like your work
your art
is about
if your heart likes your work
if your soul likes your work
it's about how honest
you are with yourself
and you
must never
trade honesty
for relatability” - Rupi Kaur
With Love,
Daphne