Why Do I Write?
After a two-month hiatus caring for a friend and pondering life,
I asked myself this question, “Why do I write?”
Here is the answer I found.
I write to give voice to freedom of rarely expressed words.
To turn the tide on convention,
To open to energy long trapped in the mire of conjecture and precedent.
To capture the fragility of the word as it floats in the moment
before it recedes back into oblivion,
like a tide ebbing back into the ocean after its kiss to the shore.
To embrace those courageous words rising up
as a raging volcano, exploding and destroying
yet beautiful in its destruction, its power unmistakeable.
Hot words, angry words, molten words.
I write to give voice to nature, to its essence and flow,
to its beauty and graciousness, to its rhythms, its wildness
but mostly to marvel at its patience and acceptance
of its role in the cycles of life.
I write to give voice to the mystery.
The wonder of the cosmos, the inner and the outer
and hold both with wonder and awe.
