My words are overflowing river and dried up riverbed. They bubble and pour, spill over and nourish; they disappear and stand still. They are both.
I've written through writer blocks. I've been silent through writer blocks. I've waited for inspiration and I've learned to create my own. But at the end of the day, when the words won't come, I find, at least lately, I'd rather not force it.
I'd rather just live.
Because so much of the time, writing and living, they lace fingers as I walk, run or limp through seasons. I couldn't separate them if I wanted.
And yet.
There are moments, days, weeks even, I'm content without words.
At the sight of blooms on the magnolia trees or the air magically caught in a snowstorm of delicate pink blossoms; pausing at a thick holly tree nearly pulsating with bird melodies and imagining the choir I can't see inside. When I sit with my husband on a dock on the lake, our legs dangling over the edge, and call to the ducks with the emerald heads and royal plumage, chuckle at the rascally seagulls; when I'm lost, momentarily, in the exuberance of a golden retriever diving into the water for a ball. The sliver of moon hanging on the edge of opaque circle, attracting my wonder; diving birds skimming the top of the water in perfect hydroplane landings, then disappearing beneath without making a splash; a lone turtle stretching out on a rock, his feet tiny paddles displayed, enjoying the last moments of light; a pair of eagles perched in trees, dark and stately feathered giants among us.
I'm tempted, at times, to rush to write these down, and in doing so, the moments slip through my fingers. The writing replaces the living wonder - the seeing, listening, feeling, smelling, hearing miracles of being present.
I'm learning to be still, to not immediately grasp for words.
And if the words come and fall away before I have opportunity to write them down? I carry them, imprints on my heart.
* * * * *
This is beautiful. I was once told by a friend "Be where you are, when you're there." Be present. We take pictures to remember a moment, we rush to write, and yet there is something profoundly beautiful in letting those moments sink into your heart, and being fully present in that place. Thank you for sharing this.
ReplyDelete"And yet there is something profoundly beautiful in letting those moments sink into your heart..." Yes. It astounds me, how I still have to fight the urge constantly to rush through moments instead of letting them sink in. It's a long learning process, but it's well worth it. Thank you for your thoughtful words.
DeleteHey Amber ... I'm your next door neighbor, just dropping in from Lisa's place. I LOVE your header ... and that gentle reminder, that compelling invitation to simply be still.
ReplyDeleteThe written words sooner or later flow from that quiet place, don't they ...
They sure do, Linda. Thank you for your kind affirmations and presence here.
DeleteAhhhhhh....this is so beautiful, dear Amber. I'm grappling with this, feeling like I might need to take a break to simply receive the wonder of living, breathing life. Words and responses come up short.
ReplyDeleteThis line: "The writing replaces the living wonder - the seeing, listening, feeling, smelling, hearing miracles of being present." How I get this. I've tried all the ways, too, and I want this: " I'm learning to be still, to not immediately grasp for words."
Thank you for this taste of spring's presence. I love you, and I'm so glad you both write and don't write because they are woven together so beautifully in the gift of you.
You bless me, dear friend. I think I'm finally (hopefully) only just beginning to learn how to hear the call to stillness in these moments of profound and 'ordinary' beauty, as well as in the times when words are dry. To give myself permission to live without writing, but let those moments be written on my heart, where perhaps they do the greatest, deepest work. You know? Yes, I think you know this very well. I so appreciate your encouragement and love.
DeleteYes! Oh, Amber, I have been thinking some very similar thoughts lately. Especially what you said at the end -- that even if the words don't get written, the experience is not wasted. Like Mary, we gather these things up and ponder them in our hearts, yes? Sometimes integrity demands nothing more.
ReplyDeleteThank you for this. Stunning.
It can be a hard pull to fight sometimes, right? Like looking at a gorgeous sunset and running for the camera - or choosing just to sit and drink it in, then let it pass. I want writing to be a vehicle through which I express my living, but never a hindrance to my living... I think this is something I'll be learning for a long time, how to distinguish between the two. I love you and your searching heart, Kelli. I'm glad we can resonate with each other.
DeleteI've been wrestling with my own quiet for quite some time and just recently decided that quiet was ok. Thank you for affirming this decision to be comfortable in my silence.
ReplyDeleteThe words certainly fell beautiful from you today!
It's amazing how much wrestling there is with quiet, isn't it? I'm grateful this was affirming for you. I think I'm beginning to recognize there are different types of quiet - some that require us to wrestle and others that just ask for our surrender and enjoyment. Sounds like we're both learning the latter. Thank you for your sweet words of encouragement.
DeleteI love the way you write. There's a cadence to these words that's a balm to the soul. I too struggle with experiencing beauty without worrying that I won't be able to document it. Thank you for your post. Popping by from FMF :)
ReplyDeleteYou bless me with your kind words, Rachel. I think this struggle may be more common among us writerly types than we realize :-) But it's liberating to learn, bit by bit, that these beautiful moments don't go away, per se, if they aren't written down. Blessings to you as you capture beauty and wonder in whatever forms seem best in the moment.
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