And the world lay in silent anticipation of the coming storm. The air was heavy causing me to take a single moisture laden breath that was let out with a humbled gasp. The stillness of the silence shattered my ear drums as I looked across the plains and saw the darkness overtaking the blueness of the sun-filled sky. It was only a matter of time before the clouds in the far off distance would reach down and touch the frozen earth enveloping the world with a blinding whiteness. Daytime; no light would penetrate that whiteness as the strong winds carried it across the land.
I pulled my parka close to my body. The frigid temperatures foretold by the weatherman were slowly creeping into the nooks and crannies of the city. I searched for protection from the sure death that was approaching. I pulled and pulled on the sidewalk grate as people passed me by without a single glance or question. Finally, it came loose and I lowered myself down, down into the underbelly of the city where the stench hung frozen in the air but the wind no longer bit my cheeks and nose. My fingers began to melt into the warmth of the material surrounding all but one. I could hear the hustle and bustle of the traffic on the street high above me. The sounds of gentle, merry-filled voices drifted down through the tunnels carrying the sounds of well-wishing for a good holiday. I wanted to wish those above me a good holiday in return but my voice only traveled through the darkness of the tunnels before me.
Darkness fell and the sounds above me dwindled into silence with only the ocassional howl of the wind that had arrived in the city. Snow lilted down through the holes of the grate lit only by the street light above some distance down the tunnel creating a tiny snowglobe effect. The cold sunk into the tunnels wrapping its icy fingers around me as I drifted off to sleep. My mind wandered back to the days when I lay in my childhood bed shaking the snowy mountain scene watching as the snow twisted and twirled in a world of fancy and imagination. Such peace that was beheld in that one tiny scene.
It is Christmas morning, the sun is shining and I am alone and warm. I see her lying there still asleep and wonder if she will ever awaken. It is Christmas morning and I am alone and warm. I am alone and warm. It is Christmas morning and the sun is shining. The winds have passed over and the snow has ceased its descent. I am alone and warm. My parka is shared with the sleeping woman just feet away; and I am warm. A single light shines some distance away as she lies sleeping; dreaming of a snowy mountain scene. I cannot stay and move into the light wondering if she will ever awaken.
Sunday, June 27, 2010
Monday, June 21, 2010
Breathing into the World
"If you do not breathe through writing, if you do not cry out in writing, or sing in writing, then don't write, because our culture has no use for it." ~ Anais Nin
As I move forward in my quest to achieve dreams from days long past, I find I must dig deep within myself to bring forth the very force that gives those dreams life.
I have struggled for a long time with one question: Why do you write?
I write because it is my emotional attachment to the world. It is my only means to communicate with the rest of the world that which is born out of my inner-most being. Every word contained in my writings is a word that was born out of my very soul. Each word is consciously chosen and strategically placed for maximum impact. Every sentence, paragraph and page has purpose and meaning.
When I sit down to seriously write, I can't sit in a coffee shop or out in the woods because I need the music to stimulate the words. Every page that I have ever written in seriousness is a song in the world. The completed work that was just submitted is a series of notes that have morphed into words. When I am writing there is nothing else in my world except me, the music and the creation of a series of words that spill out onto the page formulating a story.
Writing is the breath of my life. The breath that I use to laugh, cry and sing. Writing is not only who I am but what I am. And for that I am grateful.
As I move forward in my quest to achieve dreams from days long past, I find I must dig deep within myself to bring forth the very force that gives those dreams life.
I have struggled for a long time with one question: Why do you write?
I write because it is my emotional attachment to the world. It is my only means to communicate with the rest of the world that which is born out of my inner-most being. Every word contained in my writings is a word that was born out of my very soul. Each word is consciously chosen and strategically placed for maximum impact. Every sentence, paragraph and page has purpose and meaning.
When I sit down to seriously write, I can't sit in a coffee shop or out in the woods because I need the music to stimulate the words. Every page that I have ever written in seriousness is a song in the world. The completed work that was just submitted is a series of notes that have morphed into words. When I am writing there is nothing else in my world except me, the music and the creation of a series of words that spill out onto the page formulating a story.
Writing is the breath of my life. The breath that I use to laugh, cry and sing. Writing is not only who I am but what I am. And for that I am grateful.
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