I was surprised by the words that came in my last post.

Blooming desert.

I have thought and written a lot (in my journal) about this new inner landscape I find myself entering, but I have described it differently.

Indeed, I describe it over and over, turning phrases and words and pictures in my head, trying to find just the right words.  There are so many almost-right words that I have a hard time talking about what I’m mulling over.

Blooming desert isn’t quite right, either.  I have, indeed, felt empty (formless and void?) for several years.  And that has, indeed, been slowing changing and transforming over the last year and a half.  But I do not think that I am a desert.  I reject the idea that a time of dryness and emptiness equals perpetual desert, blooming or not.

Splitting hairs, my dear, I suppose.  Maybe I can be a desert one day and a fertile land the next.

Don’t you feel that finding words connects you with your experience?  I suppose that others might need color or movement, not words.  I need words.  Even when I attempt to draw or paint, what comes out are words.

I’m making a concerted effort to capture some of those words that are running under what I’m otherwise doing – dishes, nursing, sweeping, listening, talking.  Ironically, when I sit down to write them down, these carefully crafted words, phrases, thoughts, theses, disappear and other, new words appear.  Blooming desert, anyone?



One thought on “Words

  1. Pingback: Compliments | spinning in my teacup

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