Would she dare? (be a writer)

would she dare?

Words would come. She had to believe it. They had always forced their way through her consciousness to reveal meanings hidden till then.
She had not looked for them. She had thought they were a disease and when they would all be out of her, she’d be free to live at last the way she was meant to.
In the beginning was the Word.
And in the end she’d go back to that Word, the way she’d be taught, in the Light and Sound that is in every atom, the Music of the Spheres..
But in between she has to tell and at least and at last, bear witness.
She has to tell all she can of all she knows – imperfectly – but honestly. What she has learnt now can not be unlearnt. She has been forced to see.

She has to tell – to tame the words. Put them on paper. She once wished them away. Now she’s scared they won’t come, that they will desert her.

She’s been pushed to that very moment of accepting at last a gift she did not choose. She would have chosen notes that make music to the ears. She would have preferred the chisel to sculpt her desires, better even, she would have preferred her hands filled only with caresses for children and lovers.

As she once assembled a patchwork of printed fabric through night shifts, she would gather pieces of a prose that wove itself slowly, unconspicuously but steadily.. She would sew them end to end, make a crazy patchwork of it all.
She has seen enough, heard enough, felt enough.

If she stopped now to consider whether it is right, whether the bits fit together, she would never complete the task. She has to trust that she’ll be led to compose a harmonious enough piece, because the aim is not to be so good as to be one of the best. The aim is, as she has had to learn in order to survive with the self, to be good enough.

To be good enough, but do it, because it has been weighing so much inside for so long. Yet those stories need to be told.

There are many ways to tell a story.

pebble beach -
the magnificent insignificance
of our lives

sprite