When I write, I feel like I need to get it right or not write at all. When I write, I see myself struggle with getting an accurate portrayal of what I see in my mind onto paper. When I write, I discover visualizations I never would have stumbled across otherwise. When I write, I ache for the ability to get all these stories, memories, thoughts out into words. It would be cool if I could have a pensieve that automatically converts what I see in my mind into words. That would save me a lot of the struggling that I have- the ability to sift through my memories and thoughts with a detached soul.
When I am writing, I feel myself become serene and calm at the same time my mind awakens and starts racing as it digs deeper within for inspiration. When I write, I see things click into place when I wasn’t sure how it would fit together as a whole story. When I write, I discover things about myself that I did not know, even if the subject isn’t about me. When I write, I feel nervous that if I do let myself write from the heart, from my soul; allowing myself to passionately pour myself into my work that it will come back to haunt me… therefore I am always finding myself to be writing with self-restraint in order to protect myself.
When I write with my favorite messy tortoise shell fountain pen with bottles of emerald ink scattered at my side; I watch the shadow of my pen lick and flitter across the crisp page; chasing its own shadow; tracing an inky trail of breadcrumbs… if only the birds could come fly onto my pages and peck at it- eating my words away. Alas… this pen is an ordinary one, it permanently leaves its mark, cancelled out only by smearing additional ink onto it. It goes both ways for me… it’s therapeutical to visualize ink as if it is sucking my emotions out down my arm, through the pen and finally onto the paper to remain there for a long time. Yet that is precisely why it is intimidating- the knowledge that the ink I deposit upon the paper will remain in its stark reality for anyone to discover.
When I write, I discover the wonderful mysteries of how strangely my mind works. My mind has minds within minds, each independent of others and this is how I can carry several separate trains of thoughts all at once… yet if one level of my thoughts cease to function, all the other levels of my thoughts will go away too and I am left an empty shell- a zombie-like being. Aha… perhaps I’ve stumbled onto the secret of myself… a mind whose all levels and sublevels of thoughts is a sign of a troubled soul truly at peace, whereas a mind whose different levels of thoughts clash points to a tormented soul.
On some days, my mind feels whole, coherent, calm, at peace… and on other days, my mind feels fractured, confusing, and constantly racing, feeling unsettled. So on the whole, what shape is my inner being in? Since I am not calm every day, does that mean my bad days hurt me more than I realize? Some days, I write furiously and clearly, forming words that flow and make sense and on other days, my writing look like the angry scribblings of a grade schooler. I ache for a revelation by the Lord Almighty himself and for the confidence and faith to recognize without any doubts that the thoughts I have do come directly from the Holy Spirit…
How do I learn to release my self bondage and write freely, without holding anything back? How do I allow myself to live through my words; rather than using words to show what I am? I know I can write much better and I know what my writing needs… more of the raw essence of my being kneaded into my words. I just have to figure out how to break down the dam holding back the flood of emotions that I know is on the brink of being released…
