As much as I love words, sometimes I get oversaturated with them. Like when you have a belly ache from gorging yourself on too much sugar. Sometimes, the constant stream of prose in my brain tips over the line from pleasure to painful overstimulation. Sometimes, the words come so fast, I rush to capture them like a child in a field chasing too many butterflies with only one small net. Sometimes, I feel positively waterboarded with my words, thoughts and creativity. At times like those, I long for silence. Not the kind of silence punctuated with bird song and the far away peaceful noises of nature, but the kind of silence that comes after a bomb goes off and you are momentarily deafened, except for a single high tone. And then, I remember. Oh yeah. I asked for this. I specifically asked for my creative writing muse to visit upon my so powerfully that I was awoken from deep sleep with words that MUSH be committed to page. It seems, I am getting what I asked for. Do not think I am ungrateful. Any wonderful thing can feel like too much at times. Like a handful of strawberries is a delicious treat, but a truckload would a task.
But, I come running back to my literary muse again and again. I reach for words like a someone in the desert reaches for water. My compulsion to describe my reality feels like air, or some other such thing necessary to survival. As if the very act of observing and speaking my experience, keeps my feet tethered to this earth. Sometimes, I reach for the right words to describe what I feel, see and AM like a songwriter reaches for a distant melody, that they can't. quite. catch. Sometimes, the need to describe and share my inner world, in as exact language as I can possibly drum up, feels like an effort to prove that I am in fact alive, and not a figment of my own imagination. And still, sometimes I feel most real in silence. Alone, and not alone, in the amorphous space of my own consciousness. There, no self description sticks. No agenda feels significant. There, I simply AM.
At this point, words fail me. I have that glimmer in my peripheral vision of a knowing that flits away if I try to look directly at it. So, for now. My fingers come to rest and I take myself to bed. See you tomorrow, beauties!
In love and creativity~ Anah