I have reached that point in the month of March when I see writing everywhere. I hear myself talking, and I think that I am really talking in metaphor. I find myself observing life as I am living it and I stop to think about what is there. I listen to hear what is unsaid. I look to find what is lurking in shadows. I try to find the silence in the noise. Loitering on the periphery of my everyday world, I observe and contemplate that world with as much distance as possible. Would that be best written about with humor? Are there pictures that can accompany that idea to give it some grounding? Is that trite? Predictable? Derivative? Cliché? How close to the dark truth do I want to go today…or ever?
I relish the silence and the opportunities to fully sink into my contemplation. In a life full of people and conversations and sheer movement, I appreciate the gift of being able to stop and recognize when the world has receded temporarily and I am left with the space to discover these hidden treasures, finding a way to capture their depth with my fumbling words. Cherishing this, I have, ironically, lost the “writing” time. My clock ticks a bit louder, reminding me that there is a sink full of dishes, a house with others in need of attention, phone calls to return and texts to read. I try to transform my thoughts into words that will attempt to communicate this moment. I see the inevitable failure in this Sisyphean task.
Tomorrow is another day with another blank page to fill.