Sometimes I sit here and I have a bundle of words rolling around inside of me, arguing the toss with one another about who should leap onto the page first. So whilst my internal Lexicons tumble in a spin cycle of possibility, I just open the door and let them spill. I do write as if I am pouring words into a bucket sometimes and I have no idea where the words will land or in what order or if they will make any kind of sense. Even as I type, slowly I must add, but faster than I used to, I am wondering, as if witnessing myself, what this will be about? What are you going to say? Trying to say? Looking inward at the impulse that causes this ripple in my consciousness provides me with an answer of sorts. The urge to open the door and allow the altercation to avalanche it’s way out is mostly to be found in an emotion. Maybe sadness, maybe anger, maybe joy. Maybe just a sense of something sitting there in my gut. It’s there though. And it wants out. Emotion. Motion. Movement. Not stillness. But stillness is there. Ever present at the beginning before the word is made. Stillness. Movement. As I sit still and motionless I can feel all sorts of things. My stillness turns up the volume on my thoughts too. I see them more. Hear them more. Feel what is attached to them.
How do I sift through this jungle of noise and find a word or two worth putting down? Writing down. Writing up?. I don’t sift. I pour. Freely and without direction. Let em fall. At the edge of emotion is stillness. Always a point in time. A moment. Anything can happen. Anything can change. In a moment. I can be angry and the truth can still my rage. I can be joyous and the truth shows me my lack of ground. The truth. What is the truth? A still-point in the midst of the madness.A place where you just KNOW. The truth. It matters to me. More than anything any God has ever had to say. My truth. It’s mine. I earned it. I lived through it. I became the person I am because of it. I am it. My own truth. Scary! Total responsibility for me and for my life and for my thoughts and the wonderful thing is that in that moment, in that blink of an eye YOU KNOW. Later you might dismiss it or question it but in the present moment truth is inescapable. It can fuck up your story. I had one of those moments today. The impulse pouring onto this page here began there. In that blink. Only today I caught it. Like catching the rain. All of it. A miracle. Impossible. You can’t catch the rain. Not all of it. Not when you try to you can’t 😉 In that moment my story was over. I was faced with the mountain called truth. I could not and cannot avoid that. It’s too big. What was the story? What was the Blink moment? Mine. All mine.
grasping these moments
like catching all the raindrops
blink and it is there