Destiny

Words tumble around in my brain and through my thoughts pleading to be released. Energy pours from my body as those words find their home; sometimes sliding right into place and other times impatiently hitting the page like gunfire, waiting to be moved, molded and formed into the perfect tale. The stories, too many to be imagined, long to be enjoyed, but fear keeps them inside. What if I share with the world and the world throws them back? Will my heart break? Will my soul bleed?

Doubt clouds my vision and I question if I am supposed to write beyond my own personal escape. Am I a storyteller and is this my gift? Are the words I savor meant to touch other lives? Stringing words together seems so elementary. We are taught from the beginning how to form sentences and how to link words. What makes the way I combine them different from anybody else? The uncertainty terrifies me, but my entire spirit sings and the world opens when I create. My words waltz and cha cha. They are seductive and create beyond a simple sentence. Deep in my bones I feel the difference, but the questions taunt me each time I grab my pen or turn on my keyboard. Is it fear of failure or success? Is there panic that such intimate parts of my soul could be scrutinized with anger, hate and dismissal? Why would my words draw others? Is it worth the struggle, pain and vulnerability? Do I believe enough to fail time and again? Perhaps my greatest fear is that writing is not my gift.

The path is unclear, but deep in my heart I feel the power. Words romance me as no lover ever could. They tempt and tease, urging me to draw people in, painting a different reality, even if for a few minutes. I long to spin an escape, projecting images in hearts and minds; creating characters that take them on an unimaginable journey; painting the innocence of a summer's day or the thrill of a Halloween night; rekindling the joy of experiencing the fantastic. I want my words to speak like a long lost lover, to caress hearts, draw tears and evoke laughter. The tales should be a springboard, teaching children how to dream and believe; coaxing them to find the world locked inside their imaginations rather than the world locked in an electronic box.

Everything I see and feel is in words and stories. A tree is not just a tree, it has a spirit and a story or poem that needs to be told. The words are full of depth and dimension, the story is thought provoking and beautiful. The poem flows with the life of an early spring creek. I yearn to bring that fullness back to a world focused on the surface, to elicite discovery and unearth images of dragons, heroes or forest glades, igniting individual vision and stoking the creative fire burning in every soul.

The words draw me back to my question; am I supposed to write for other people? I wish the path were clear and the answer was posted on a large billboard or written in stone. I wish I knew, without a doubt, that this is my journey and my calling. Unfortunately there is not a direct answer, no bolts of lightening or booming voices from above.  The words beckon so I must decide. Logic says it is crazy to dream; better to place your odds on a sure thing; do not take chances; it is a hobby at best, but my heart sings a different truth. The shackles of an unimaginative world snap under the expansion of it breaking free; free from logic and status quo. My heart feels and sees knowledge and truth, but knows I need to take the leap without seeing what is underneath or on the other side.  The words entice me to awaken their stories. Writing is pain, passing, life, death, fear, hope, belief, love and so much more. Writing is my path and my journey. The words are my destiny.