Over the last week I have felt what it is to be swept along by my own words and by the awareness that I have readers out there who have been reading through all of this woven language. Last weekend, I pointed to the obvious paradox of forming human thought and pouring out sentences and paragraphs to describe that which cannot be described. Again, I feel overcome by the inadequacy of writing. Somehow it is because I love words so much that I must flow with their waves, and I must accept my need to recede from communication from time to time. It is in recognizing when language risks losing its power that I cultivate a truer respect for what it may be I am trying to say. I must stop trying to pound every experience into measured meaning and let myself float in a sense of unstructured being.
Thanks to all who have commented on my blog over the past week – I value all that you have shared with me and know myself blessed to have others out there who will dare me to think in new ways all the time. On Saturday, I could not bear to get back to the keyboard, but I found comfort beyond measure in a room lit by one candle, simply allowing myself to receive. Only at that moment could I integrate my own rhetoric into a version of truth. It makes me realize that those masters we have grown to love on the pages of books were not trying to churn out a daily blog post about every step along the path. They were permitted secret, unpunctuated silence.
I’ll be be back when the wave seems ready to crest again.