Posted by: scintillatingspeck | October 26, 2012

All I have are words.

Every day, lately, there are sublime realizations and crushing anguish.

All I have right now are words.  Through writing, I’m attempting to interpret my thoughts and emotions to myself.  I feel like I’m dissolving; my response is to build a raft of words to cling to, a scaffolding of meaning, a vocabulary of love and grief.

As I write, I can feel the tears on my face, and I let myself sink beneath the waves of suffering, even as I lash one word to the next, seeking buoyancy and oxygen.

I shied from words for years, decades.  Once upon a time, I was a poet.  It was, then, also a raft-building exercise, a desperate bid to create meaning, to grasp the flotsam on the surface of a raging river, to keep my head above the water long enough to gasp.

Then, swayed by the gods of Propriety, the goddesses of Self-Abnegation, I learned to keep most of my words to myself.  I learned to build a little, silent cocoon around my vulnerability and thus around the truth.

That has changed, drastically, swiftly.  Words keep pouring out of me, recklessly, threatening to dash me against rocks– I think I can’t keep going and stay in one piece.  Words have brought me to the most raw emotional intimacy.  I have replaced eating and sleeping with words.  Sometimes I feel as though I have reached unprecedented heights of insight, and other times I’m leveled and sobbing, and often these phenomena are simultaneous.

Meanwhile, words have been offered back to me– words of comfort, words of searing truth.  They are all welcome.  They are welcome even when the tears and heat rise.  They are welcome even as they break my heart.

Farewell to the sleeping shore of silence.



  1. Let there be poetry! Loooooove you.

  2. Thank you for your words. You’ve seared a land-/life-/person-scape into my imagination.

  3. Thanks for your recent posts. I’m working on one for my own blog, and the little voices have started: “Should you even be writing this? What if he reads it? Are you really going to post this on your blog? Why do that? Why expose yourself?” These are the same old voices any writer hears (I think particularly women writers) and has to battle in order to get anything on paper/ computer, never mind out into the world. You remind me that we all have something important to say and can’t keep it to ourselves — the risk of what might happen if we speak is less dreadful than what can happen if we remain silent.

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