Just writing...

Writing is practice. Flow. Is words being typed, one letter following the next and the next. And then backwards, typo caught and fixed (hopefully).

Writing is community.

Writing is communication.

Writing is fording my thoughts into separate streams, then plucking each fish whole and wet, dripping from the water.

Writing is chomping down and getting into the thick of those thoughts.

Writing is life.

I cannot imagine my life without words, without written words.

Even the thoughts that might be able to imagine such a life come to me in words, the thought-stream of endless words that pass through my inner self each day. I think in words. Never pictures, though I admit this confuses me, since I have never been able to adequately explain my ability to spatially map a place so easily, given the way I think. I come close, but then not-quite. It's a mystery.

Words are my salve. My comfort. My impetus. My way. Words fulfill and contain and explain and then break free into bright shiny blessings of lyrical wonder. Oh how I love them, these words.

Words just are. "To be or not to be..." it's all words. We think, we exist. We are. Because of words we are able to know, to think, to philosophize...

And yet. And yet. At the deepest level of me, I know I came into this world without words, simply beingness (as did we all).

And I know that even if I leave archives (and significant last words, is that every writer's dream or just mine?) that my dying breath will be the end of all these words I have given and been given.

The spaces in between words. Is that where our ultimate selves are found? "There are no words to describe..."

And maybe that's why I crave silence. Because I am trying to tune into the in-between and bring back words for it. That's poetry, to me. That's power. That's love. That's blessing and comfort and gift. That's how I bridge the gap.

I heard it in the lyrics to a song last night, by Snatnam Kaur:

"Peace to all. Life to all. Love to all."

Not to you, not to me, not to some, but to all.

Words contain multitudes. May I use them wisely, with compassion and love. Always.