Poetry
Writing is what I used to do, back when I was alone and scared and far less sure of myself. I've been a writer of journals and of poetry and songs, but only during times in my life when I was unhappy or alone in some way.
Today, I read part of a book on discernment and sat in the sunshine and felt it pouring over me, and thought about the journey I've embarked on, and tried not to think at all, just to sit, and be, and listen to the will of the One, and talked to Jesus a bit, and there... there in the sunshine... I felt like writing. I felt the urge to rise to my feet, to go find paper or a computer, and put words to what I felt. I felt like writing.
Writing: it comes from two places, pain or peace. I think I am now touching the edge of peace. I feel that I am at the beginning of becoming more myself - though that's not true, really; I am, and always have been, in the middle of becoming more myself. And yet, I feel that I am taking steps now that, in some way, have always been calling to me, and which I never could quite approach before - something always caught me up, held me back.
Today, I sat in the sun, and thought about the light on the wings of birds, and understood how some of the greatest writers, the greatest lovers I know, can take a sense of stillness and transform it into beauty on the page.
Today, I read part of a book on discernment and sat in the sunshine and felt it pouring over me, and thought about the journey I've embarked on, and tried not to think at all, just to sit, and be, and listen to the will of the One, and talked to Jesus a bit, and there... there in the sunshine... I felt like writing. I felt the urge to rise to my feet, to go find paper or a computer, and put words to what I felt. I felt like writing.
Writing: it comes from two places, pain or peace. I think I am now touching the edge of peace. I feel that I am at the beginning of becoming more myself - though that's not true, really; I am, and always have been, in the middle of becoming more myself. And yet, I feel that I am taking steps now that, in some way, have always been calling to me, and which I never could quite approach before - something always caught me up, held me back.
Today, I sat in the sun, and thought about the light on the wings of birds, and understood how some of the greatest writers, the greatest lovers I know, can take a sense of stillness and transform it into beauty on the page.