Words I Have Written

Words and music exist to help us share the stories of our hearts. They are here to help us spread our truth to those we encounter. These words that I type on this screen bear a heavy burden. I expect them to meet a loft standard. I demand they show whomever reads them what lies beneath the surface and that is not easily done. There are no verbal clues that you can use to discern sarcasm or any other nuance. You can’t hear me cry or see my tears any more than you can join me in laughter. Sometimes I sit here and am amazed at the constructs that come forth from my fingers.

I take great pride in those moments. I want you to see what I see and feel what I feel. I want to break through the walls of time and cyberspace. It is more than gratifying when your comments demonstrate that I did my job. I live my life. I know what happens. I know what is real and what is not. So unless I am lying to myself I never misunderstand the meaning. I know when it is obvious and when I have tried to develop paragraphs that contain more than one layer of storyline. I enjoy inserting little easter eggs that contain messages that are meant for one other set of eyes.

My best writing comes from places inside that I rarely let see daylight. My best writing comes from the darkness that resides within me. That shadow upon my soul provides endless fodder for these posts. Like the Phantom of The Opera I wear my own mask and wander through the dark passages wondering when I can shed the mask and once again walk under blue skies. I am ready to feel sunlight on my shoulders and warmth upon my back.

The words that wander inside my mind sing softly to me. They tell me their stories and speak of things that I would rather not face. Little whispers wonder how much longer I walk the tightrope. They question my ability to shoulder the load that has been placed across my shoulders and sometimes do I.

Sometimes I look in the mirror and think of what it is that I face and wonder if today will be the day that my knees buckle. Sometimes I sit on the couch and stare out the window and wonder what would happen if I just opened the door and started walking. It is intriguing and of interest.

But then a moment comes and the dreamer rises from within the depths and asks why I worry when I know that I will find a way. The dreamer isn’t concerned with loss or failure. He expects that both will happen. The dreamer provides balance. He pays little attention to the whispers and when he does he smiles broadly and laughs. The dreamer feeds off of hope and darkness. He looks at failure as lessons learned and accepts that there will be setbacks- but he never gives up. He never stops working hard or loses hope because what what once was can be again.

The dreamer understands that though the river changes daily it still provides the same opportunities. And opportunities are all that we need and the gumption to take them when they come.

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  1. 30ish Mama April 5, 2011 at 10:18 am

    I can relate to how you feel about writing, although I am by no means a “writer” per se. I have high expectations for myself and when I read comments on my posts that seem a little generic I feel that I failed in my writing.

  2. Rebekah C April 5, 2011 at 9:42 am

    Hmmmm. Thanks, that is somehing I’ll be chewing on today.

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