Writing now with no idea what to express. Simply trying to reconnect with the act of breaking down thoughts into words into letters and then reconstructing them into ideas and sentences. Writing is a discipline. How quickly the muscles slack and atrophy. The same with reflection. How quickly the image can blur, morph, and eventually maybe even disappear completely. Without these twin disciplines– writing and reflecting, the days run together. Memories evaporate, insights stop penetrating, and life takes on a mundane and toneless quality. It’s not that life has suddenly lost its richness, its surprise, its undeniable power. It’s just that I’ve abandoned my vehicle for appreciating it.
Lest this post reek of despair, I remind myself that words will come again, and with them a renewed desire to make sense of the stuff of daily life– so poignant, so blessed, and so miraculously simple and complex.
