From within me, flow the words. Their energy seems distant or unattached somehow, only pausing for a mere moment in my brain as I find the term necessary to express what is flowing through me.
The words string together like the cob of a freshly woven web, delicate in their individual nature but strong as a whole. The words know the truth – for they only bring the truth when they’re doing their job right. My fingertips, my hands, my arms, my heart – they are all beautiful accessories in this creative process.
Another writer hears the thunder crash in the distance. She hears the lightning strike the nearby ground. She stops writing for a few seconds. The rumbles seem to bring important lessons and a myriad of refreshing energy as the rain soaks the earth. All that has been lost, will be found. All that betrays, will be washed away. The storm brings love anew.
And so we dance. We celebrate this bright beginning, just as we’ve celebrated those before. We will continue to make mistakes. We, as writers, will continue to write words that do not serve. But for now we get a fresh tomorrow, where we will fulfill the keyboard and paper temptresses once again.
What more is there to write? What has not been said? Perhaps that is not the point. The point is to honour the words that flow. Honour the words. Trust the words. Know the words will serve – someone, someplace, somehow. Not all words will prove worthy, but at the very least a few. Love them. Nourish them. Do not let them slip away simply because you are afraid of the parts of others that are desperately in need of healing – the judgmental parts of their personalities. You are worthy. Your soul is worthy. The words are worthy. Set them free.