Life is about words, one after another, written from a imagineer’s workshop – a place where gerunds, infinitives, modifiers, and many other grammarian tools hang at the ready. An author’s toy box of elfin ideas. This place of unlimited beginnings, caressing story arcs, and heartfelt closures, stays silent to the outside, but is always vibrant in an eager writer’s mind. It is ever open to new, friendly faces tapping at the sides, wanting to play along, anxious to join the matrix of merriment that is this inner world of a writer’s silent joy.
As one of many solitary minds playing with words in such a literary toy box, day after day, I am fascinated by imagined ideas coming into reality within the lives of the living. When fantasized wonders become real in poems, short stories, long reads or letters – simply one word after another – eyes see loves redder, ears hear “I love you” more often, touch is goose-pimplier, and one white rose smells as heavenly as a dozen red. The charm of inexhaustible possibilities, woven into word tapestries, cordially blanket the reader’s time with endless preoccupation.
I never knew this to be so. A free flow of ideas inside one’s mind for the purposes of enlightenment, fulfillment, engagement, and whimsy? Notions such as these never inhabited the younger mind of this writer. Immediately purged were thoughts of gentlemanly handshakes between peaceful words and hope for better tomorrows as I navigated my way through confusing earlier times. Harmful words, contaminated missiles not always a direct hit but leaving craters on my soul, I would later understand to be out-of -context and grossly inappropriate. “Consider the source” and “Understand the why of the other” common themes among those considered great council at the time when I, a lost wanderer, sought a welcoming hand. An open gesture never to be offered at the time. Opportunities and words dying. Year after year.
That was the holding pattern leading up to graying templed-head, split-screened eyeglass “now” years as I embrace my potential last third … if actuary tables hold true. Words reappearing, now, in understanding the why of me after intense inner-study, introspection, talk therapy, and writing … lots and lots of writing. A much, much better place to offer my own hand to hold.
At present, I capture each moment with passionate words just like my younger self; However, the tears are soaked with joy and the words go forth to you … not to leave craters on your souls, but to build mountains of hope for your tomorrows.
Past experiences took time. Bad and good ones developed into memories … into words, one after another, written from a imagineer’s workshop. I’ve only just begun to rebuild after tearing down what was once a place of limits and harmful words. Please visit my ever expanding toy box of elfin ideas – this place of unlimited beginnings where words fly free among all that dream .