Saturday, October 27, 2012
It is one of those days for no particular reason at all, and for every reason in the world.
It has been a gray, rainy, lonely, ragged, tired, heavy, tried-to-pull-myself-up-but couldn't, kind of day.
It is days like this that I must write. Sometimes without really having anything to actually say, but I must say something.
I need someway to move forward. Something concrete to look at. Words. Maybe they aren't really concrete. But they are the something that I need right now.
Words are the something that I need to write or read or hear or speak.
I am an emotional person. I've finally, after many years, embraced this about myself. All of the joy, anger, grief, quietness, anxiety, "blah-ness", empathy, and any other emotion you could possibly think of need some place to go, and today they go here.
They become words.
People need words. It is our words that inspire and move and change us. Words can break us into a thousand bits. The absence of words can do the same. And sometimes that's just it I've noticed. The absence of words can break us to bits. The absence of words can destroy us.
I often wonder why I blog or why does anybody else for that matter, and that's just it. I do it for words. Mine and others.
We need each other. We need words. And although, I will always, always, value the real life words, of a real life person--flesh and bone and heart and beauty--sitting across from you with the weight of the world or the joy and wonder of it within them, so much more. Somehow, I think we, or at least I, need this. This space. This very odd, public space to give and receive the wonder of words.
So, as I make it through this dark day, that is here for no reason in particular and for every reason in the world, I at least have the quietness, and steadiness of words to see me through.
Thank you for being a part of it.
Saturday, October 20, 2012
It is this time of year,
that the tall and golden sun flowers bow their great heads, to mourn the end of summer.
quietly and carefully the garden has been turned under in a kind of closing ceremony,
like the fresh and sacred ground of a tomb.
Preparing the soft and giving earth to wait out another winter.
The sweat and wonder of summer has long since left, and we wait.
We wait in the fiery, golden, light of autumn, set against it's lengthened shadows,
deep and mysterious.
We wait in its damp morning fog
Or its gray drizzling mornings.
Our hearts grow in heaviness and awe at the sight of the first frost, cold and unforgiving
The geese call out, harsh and metallic, a warning
and a wanting.
Different days are coming.
It is this time of year, that we celebrate and grieve. We let go, and hold on, and we wait, and remember, the days that are to come.