A Word

I wrote a word. Just one. On a stone and threw it into the ocean. It was my word. It was what would save me. I hope someday someone finds that word and brings it to me. The word is the beginning of my song.

I wrote a song. Just one. On a guitar and threw it into the sky. It was my song. It could tame beasts and free minds. It flitters on the wind and lurks in our minds. It is the song of nature, of humanity, of dreams and dreamers. It binds us, defines us, plays in our hearts and lives beyond us. It is as glorious as a sunrise, somber as a black night. It is as pompous as I am.

I wrote a story. Many, in fact. And put them in the universe. They were mostly my stories, all from my imagination and my life. Some for people in particular, most for anyone to find what they needed. The universe gives people what they need, but it also needs people to be the attendants of its many messages. Each one of us bears this role at different times. We are seldom aware. Perhaps this is my role and time to tell people this is the case.

Sometimes you write what is in the moment in your head. It doesn’t make any sense. Your muse guiding your pen on the page, scripting the words that have need of being there. Even as I write these, I have no idea what their purpose is. But I know it’s needed. I feel that I’m writing this to get across the idea of how, or why I must write. But even that is just a guess, I really have no idea for sure.

I sit in front of my canary-yellow legal pad, pen poised, each symbol placed on the paper in a rushed motion. Missed letters. Misspelled words. Later, I will go back and edit, but the need to get the idea out overtakes my will to be correct and complete. These ideas you are reading, a stream of thoughts from my mind to be placed in your mind. The funny thing is, you are probably reading this in a voice in your head that isn’t your own. Do you know me? Is it in my voice? Or in a voice you think is mine?

As I write I tend to think of each syllable, each pause, each accent, and each run. Do I want you to feel stuttered reading short quick sentences? Is this pause, here, meant to feel like a kiss on the lips from a long lost lover? The idea that I can pass on dreams and emotions through nothing more that a few simple words is both the most beautiful thing I can think of and at the same time terrifying. One word even holds this power. And it can be any word you think of, nonsensical and new, sonorous and simple, or jagged and complex. What is your word?

-V-