I am writing my life.
Not literally, not yet at least, although I hope to get there at some point. But in the every day, in the choices I make, I sculpt the words of my existence. In stringing them together – as Shakespeare taught with consonants to punctuate meaning and with vowels to express emotion – I write.
(And on really good days, I create songs to sing.)
These things called books.
Last night at work, I wrote in my journal. I am definitely not supposed to be doing this, but I had the time and needed to be responsible to myself. My heart was hurting at the end of a budding relationship, my first attempted since leaving my ex. It ended abruptly. I felt betrayed in trust. I turned to words to understand. They told me what I already knew, reassured me, comforted me.
These things called books are sometimes of the air, invisible but older than time. Destiny has a bad reputation, it feels so heavy, iron-bound and I am a believer in the errratic, ectsatic human mess (at least for me it is often a mess) of free will choosing. But there have also been connections made of late where words were not needed. I am remembering the beauty of friendship. It feels rather special to be able to feel someone far away without having to write a line, as if fated.
In my mind’s eye, I can see my book starting to form (even if there are days, many, when I leave the pages loose lying around, I walk over them unnoticing on the floor). If I open the cream cover, I can nearly trace what is written on the dedication page with a pinky finger: “This is dedicated to…loving myself.” And oh, that feels so vulnerable that at times that I am ashamed of it, I want to erase, erase, erase but I can’t, for it is written in gold.
This breath, this moment, I just exhaled. I am here, I am here and I am writing my life.
And oh, the stories within.
And you have so many stories to tell and you always share them in such a beautiful lyrical, thoughtful, mindful way.
Pen to paper, always clarifies and brings light to the dark corners. A new year….a new book!?
Great title “The Stories Within” …..
Yes !
I agree that life can sometimes be such an erratic mess. Write that book, Heather. You would do a wonderful job.
Love.
Much to think about and take to heart here. Thank you.
Complete admiration that you are putting pen to paper. I look forward to reading (and buying) it!
And there you have a name for your blog…if you are still looking to rename it! Actually two…"Writing my life" …or…"The stories within" But you had me at "BOOK". yes, yes and yes please.
Bonne année my friend – write that book!