"When archaeologists uncover lost civilizations and they unearth these worlds that have long since been destroyed, you know what they find most often? They find stories: ancient languages, words, inscriptions from people who have been gone for thousands of years. Because chances are they, like you, they wanted to know, what's the point? And they wanted us to know that they were here, you know? They told their stories and they tried to make sense out of their lives and their worlds and their tragedies. And that's what writers do. We put pen to paper in times of devastating tragedy, we just try to make sense of it. Maybe we'll find clarity in some of those words. Maybe we'll find peace."
As a writer of all sorts, the written word can be very powerful. Just as one can express themselves through song or through poetry, through the written word I am able to take my journey. The written word is where I both find my safe place to hide and the place I go when I want to challenge myself. My words are my strength, weakness, and all that lies in-between. My words belong to me. You can twist them, take them and manipulate them, repeat them, repost them, and even ignore them; but you cannot and will not take away the power I have pushed throughout them.
I feel immensely. I feel passionately. I feel intensely. I feel whole-heartedly. This is my gift and my downfall. When I hurt, I am in agony. When I am happy, I am elated. When I am inspired, I ride a high stronger than any drug you'd be able to find. When I bleed, it's a river. When I cry, it's an overflowing waterfall. When I scream, it's thunder. When I suffer silently, it's heat lightning in the warm distant sky. When I am filled with joy, it's electrifying. My cold shoulder will give you frost bite. I am a storm, figuratively. Though there is no weather app for me. Both calming & terrifying, I am a walking storm. The eye is my safe place. Here I am calm. The rest is unpredictable.
I am a story. I am a walking, talking, moving story being written every moment of every single day. As a writer, in times of tragedy, confusion, and hopelessness especially, we do what we do best. We write. I refer so often to how the words bleed right out of me. This time they pour out like a broken faucet. They ooze from my skin leaping out demanding to be heard because my audible voice feels silenced. The words refuse to be drown out white noise. The brewing storm edges onto paper to avoid creating a hurricane inevitably leaving nothing in its wake but wreckage. The words appear because they lack the intent to destroy. These words urge healing. They seek peace. They want answers they know they will not find so instead they seep out hoping for an acceptable alternative. Though I am unsure that anything I find between these lines will be enough for the time being.
Peace. A word that goes in endless directions. A word that has been tossed around throughout my immediate word like a child's toy in monkey in the middle. Peace. I cannot find it but I can see it. To see someone at peace is to see the written word come alive. I envy it, though I feel a twinge of guilt given the situation I am witnessing it in. Peace. To be so at peace in life is something I am unsure I will ever feel myself so to see it visibly is bone-chilling. To hear of another being in such a state that they are unafraid of what comes next is eerie and awe-striking simultaneously. In my life I can only hope to feel such a strong sense of certainty and peace. It is something forever etched into my mind.
To write honestly and uncensored is to allow yourself to be broken, to examine the pieces, and then to somehow put them back together. -All without even knowing this process. The written word is striking & boundless. My written words bring me clarity. They bring me hope. They allow me to break down without shame and guilt & then they bring me back up and together again. It's what we do. The intense, mad, passionate, misunderstood and crazy ones. Though we are not. We work through it. Sometimes we find nothing at all. But, sometimes we find our clarity, & in the rare and lucky moments; we find peace. On days we struggle to even find the strength to type just remember: it's a process.