Occasionally, I have these spurts of inspiration. Words flow in my head and whirl around, mixing themselves up and in essence, they torment me until I write them down. Giving them life with paper and ink, and yes, I do still prefer long hand to typing. There's a certain romance to it, it seems more intimate, making the words more real. I created it, instead of tapping it out with a series of key strokes. I think it has something to do with the movement of my fingers, hand and arm as I write. There's a certain fluidness to the physical act of writing. My mother was always fascinated by how I used my hands. I never understood why completely, but she said I had a grace in the movements, a delicacy even though, as she knew, my fingers and hands are quite strong. Years of piano, flute, and the dreaded typing keep them toned. But what they, my hands, love best are a fresh sheet of paper and pen with blue ink. These two simple items join and help unleash my imagination, weaving tales that I can hardly keep up with. They give voice to my hopes and dreams, document my fears and heartache. They give breath to the words that live inside me, screaming to get out.
These sparks of creativity come and go, and I never know how long they will be around. Sometimes, it's barely long enough to write what needs to be written. Other times, it's like a series of dominos. I finish one project, and then there's another, and another, and another. Then just as suddenly as it came on, the words are gone. I don't always have control over it, and I confess, I kind of like it that way. I can force myself to continue writing, but it doesn't feel the same. Others may not be able to tell where I pushed the words out of me, but I can. I can feel the struggle as I read over the things I wrestled into being. So, I let it rest. That's when I wait patiently, watch, listen and keep the pen and paper nearby. Inevitably, it starts again. I live at the mercy of the thoughts in my head.
Alternately, I have times where I don't want to know. I would prefer my thoughts to stay hidden even from me. And I can do a pretty good job at keeping them quiet. I fill my time with things that muddle the brain, things I don't always enjoy. I fill my time with the mindless things, television and video games. I listen to music, heavy and loud. I avoid reading, and I keep the pen and paper safely tucked away. Unfortunately, these plans and techniques are never effective for very long. Sure, they keep the voices in my head quiet for awhile. Well, not really quiet, they are still there, but they usually aren't strong enough to compete with the distractions I've given myself. However, the voices get insistent, until they are all but bursting out of me. If I won't give them the attention they are calling for, they will claw their way out of me, one way or another. It isn't pleasant, and it's never convenient.
For a few weeks, I've felt the stirrings. Snippets running through my head, a word here, a phrase there. Something was beginning to take shape, but it's been vague. I haven't needed my trusty instruments yet. And, quite frankly, I've been scared of what would appear when I did use them. I find myself in a precarious position these days, both physically and emotionally. Having just one of these elements off-balance makes for some interesting creations. For both to be shaky is frightening when I feel the vocabulary wheel in my head starting to turn. So, I did what I could to tune it out. I tried not to taste the words as my mind would pair them up, group them together, and roll the results around like I do when I try to coat my tongue with a piece of chocolate. But, like a piece of chocolate, the pull was irresistible.
Predictably, the words that had been growing inside of me chose the most inopportune time to need to be free of me. I was driving from Orem to Idaho Falls slightly over the speed limit, crossing the state line, when I couldn't contain it anymore. It's obviously not safe to write while driving, especially when the creative process isn't finished. But I had to do what I had to do, and the result was surprising. It definitely wasn't what I expected. I thought it would be dark, or sad, and painful to write. Like I said, I've been emotionally compromised for a couple of months now. I braced myself as I let the lines flow through me, and what I got was a poem that made me realize that I'm not in as bad a place as I think I am. If this little blossom of a poem can sprout through my trial weary heart and mind, I'm going to be just fine. It'll probably be sooner than I expect, too.
So, here's the poem. Don't judge it too harshly, because I cherish it. It's pretty simple, and I'm not always one for rhyme, but this is what I needed right now. I've yet to give it a proper title, so for now I'm calling it The Invitation.
Hold your breath,
Close your eyes.
Make a wish
To the skies.
Throw your arms up,
Give a shout.
Spin around and
Blow it out.
My wish is for you,
And all you are.
It lives in you
Whether near or far.
The dream's alive,
Burning bright.
It's the cause
For which I'll fight.
More than that,
I'll tell you this.
I live and breathe
For your next kiss.
For your love
I'd give my all.
Because the gain
Is worth the fall.
I've glimpsed the happiness
We would share.
The choice is yours.
Jump if you dare.
Nurtured well,
The joy will grow.
Take us to heights
We've yet to know.
The path ahead is
Uncharted and new.
Take my hand,
I'll lead us true.
Side by side
We can't go wrong.
Forever together,
Steady and strong.
Now, I know how this would be interpreted to some people. It's not about what you think it is. To me this represents hope. Even though my heart is battered and bruised, it's a fighter. I still have the capacity to love through the ache inside of me. The eternally optimistic hopeless romantic still lives in me, and she's struggling to take back her place from the wounded pessimistic wraith that has taken up residence for the last few weeks. As they battle, the words will come in a flurry that will leave me dizzy. And when it's over, and Hope has won the day, I'll have something tangible to show that I survived.
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