As I live one moment at a time, breathe one breath at a time so do I write one
l e t t e r at a time – building a word and meaning and word after word building a sentence and a paragraph or the line of a poem or creating something that has no name – without genre – pure writing – – a density of letters that becomes story and meaning. I write the strings of my mind, stringing memory and imagination and knowledge – I string letters into words and memoires, dreams and hopes, into wants, needs and desire, into regrets and shame, pride, love, longing and finally find a place I belong – stringing letters and words into the mystery and discovery of my own true self.
When I write I find solitude is a quiet joy.
.Writing is shaking hands with yourself. Some people approach meditation or yoga as support for their lives. I write. My mind is in the ink. When I write I am meeting myself. Sometimes I chastise myself, other times I congratulate myself. It is a quiet place – this white page, these blue lines –writing my life in ink.
Sometimes I write in fragments. I write a story or, ruminations. Sometimes I merely watch my pen ink the page knowing it knows something I do not- as if the ink is breath and blood.
Sometimes I write horizontally, sometimes vertically. Labels or genres do not control me. I often abandon definitions. Here on the page I am free to create nameless forms, shadows, moments of illumination, of wonder and to plumb sadness.
Writing is a room without walls, a house with no address. Writing is a window to sky, ocean, wind and tide, a full sail and a wing.
Writing is a room where I pay no rent, a fully gassed vehicle waiting in its garage called time. The pen waits. The paper waits. Here I remember a self I loved once or maybe loathed, one I forgave and one I need to forgive. The ink listens and I write. The ink introduces me to my mind. I listen to the ink and follow.
“At its core, writing is about cutting beneath every social expression to get to the voice you have when no one is listening. It’s about finding something true, the voice that lies beneath all the words.” Pico Iyer
The page is where I can meet the self I put aside to do my work in the world. I teach, I repair, I excavate, I build, I protect and defend. Then I leave these for a while and refuel. I say to myself, “Come sit down, and rest a while. Tell me about how you’ve been Self. Talk with me and I’ll listen.” I begin and begin again.