What's in it for me?

Go home with lost socks! Photo credit: Christian Fickinger on unsplash

Go home with lost socks! Photo credit: Christian Fickinger on unsplash

In other words, what do you want which I can then sell you?

Sorry. There’s nothing for sale at Wild Poplars. And if I’m meant to convince you being here is more important than being outside or engaging with family, nature or your own creative endeavours I want to fail gloriously…

Today, marketing folk tell artists to weave emotionally sticky stories so you’ll turn into honey bees buzzing round our pot.

If I did, I’d be depriving you of responding to your own instincts and be guilty of excluding someone for whom a poem about a blue tit taking a ride down a pheasant’s back is exactly what they need right now…

I might deter you from going to a space where some vague inkling is leading.

I CAN share what a few of the things I’d like you to return home with after a visit:

  • Courage and comfort if you’re suffering solastalgia, Solastalgia is Albrecht’s term ‘for people who are watching the earthly elements of their home morph into something which feels remote.’

  • Found lost socks! The orphan ‘lost socks’ of your childhood, especially the ones you think deprive you of having a complete pair - like left and right, masculine and feminine, young tearaway and wise boned elder.

  • Fresh, clean air. By that I mean the head-space to be conscious of what your senses are feeding you - the urge to dance, to make love, stroke and be stroked, taste, sleep and rest your eyes from a screen… to be ‘PEARL’.

  • The question: ‘Who says so?’ Just posing it to myself feels rebellious (mixed with sadness as I contemplate how polite and obedient I’ve been to-date). But NOT asking it is to deny the most part of us, the teenager who challenged (or wanted to challenge) authority. And as I’m JUST discovering, it’s a question which liberates virility.

Enough! I’d like Wild Poplars to leave you feeling renovated, replenished, restored, rejuvenated, reconciled, and reinvigorated if that’s what’s necessary. Or inspired, on fire again or still as a loch, or enchanted, encouraged, embraced, expanded, contracted, enriched, liberated, touched, empowered if that’s what’s necessary! Doing ‘what’s necessary’ has a certain impish freedom to it too - and it’s surprising how much time it can release. I want you to PAUSE and ask if reading the next post is ‘necessary’ now at the risk of gaining more sign ups!

However, to have a chance in hell of doing the above, Wild Poplars’ inhabitants will need to confront you with boulders of inertia ready to be circumnavigated, prick balloons of hope, invite you to appreciate everything from snot to snow, and produce snakes for almost every ladder we’ve so far put up in the name of progress. Well, that’s been my experience so far…

To this impossible list, I’d like to add a strange caveat. The point of all these words is to render your interest in them redundant - a paradox if ever there was. And if that happens, please tell me and we’ll have a little celebration if you can drag yourself away from the garden, the workshop and ‘real life’.

Enough now! The wild rhymer in me wants to move out of the Architect’s Shed and start excavating The Foundations. All that’s left is to read The Writing on the Wall, meet the Resident Musician and Guest Poet and thank The Shed Builder…