It seems I’ve been in a bit of a writing rut these past few months. I dislike such times, as they make me feel sort of broken, or rather like a part of me has drifted away for a while. But I’ve decided to take my own advise and just start putting words onto the page in hopes that something worth reading will come of it perhaps. It’s not so much a lack of thought as it is a failure to articulate it.
In fact, I feel that it is the times we are most silent that we have, perhaps, the most to say, though we don’t often know it at the time. I believe it was Steinbeck who said ‘when a man says he does not want to speak of something, he usually means he can think of nothing else’.
How dreadfully true. In this case I do not even know what exactly I am not articulating, but the longer I live the more I realize that those buried thoughts in the back corner of my mind are often the most significant in the end. So perhaps they are worth attempting to find, even if it takes a whole lot of nonsense to get there.
Most writing is nonsense, you know. After all, where is the embodiment of thought, really, if we’re going to be honest with ourselves? I don’t believe words capture quite enough or do justice to the depths of what dances about in our minds, and certainly not what dances outside of it. Music comes close, and I sometimes see it in the mountains or the sea, or in the eyes of a person who is very much alive in their heart and mind, but it seems so fleeting. I turn to words because though they may be nonsense, there is something to be found there too. As long as we keep the fluff out and the witty and unashamed candor in I think we might scratch the surface of something from time to time.
And maybe that is exactly what brings about writers rut, as it were. Maybe we find ourselves stuck there when our mind has been in deeper places of thought for a while, places that require forms bigger than words, bigger than concepts or stories or definitions or even color . Sometimes I feel rather like my mind will burst with the thoughts I cannot express, ripples of notions I cannot quite get a hold of but I know are there.
They taunt me.
Trying to express them is about as helpful as attempting to hold onto a stream of running water. Sometimes it’s better just to let it wash over you.
So that is what I am attempted today I suppose, though I’ve talked of nothing more than that which cannot be talked about….whatever that is.
Perhaps this declaration of nothing is the best expression I can come up with in regards to the thoughts I cannot seem to find a place for. There is solace in that somehow. To know that there is something much bigger than ourselves that every now and then we come upon, despite our failure to capture. We desire expression for it but find only awareness of it’s presence, and in that knowledge we are stilled to know there is something more daunting and magnificent than we can possibly wrap our minds around.