“She withdrew onto herself,
First writing just for one,
Then touching thousands.
She incarnated ghosts, hurt, and joy
Into paper-and-ink stories of wonder.” – Deng Ming Dao

I’ve been feeling a little out of sorts lately; with body and mind settling into the abyss of ‘just slightly out of sync.’ It’s a desperate feeling, really – particularly for a writer who prides herself on being so intimately connected with her feelings.

And, so very distressing when it occurs, as it represents a dichotomy of monstrous proportions:

To hold onto the energy of the struggle, to live deliberately within it – that we ultimately become more aware of our ‘edges’,

or,

To release it immediately, that we may begin to slowly know the liberation of our pain.

With each, there is a choice, a unique path which only the soul may traverse. On one side, there is instantaneous relief – albeit, deceptively fleeting;

While farther off, over dusted trails and precarious terrain – there is this glimmering hope of awakening, and, the growing ember of possibility which may someday carry us forward.

Ironically, the choice is never easy, is it? Inevitably, we must acknowledge our willingness to stay – to reside in the uncertainty of the ‘what may happen next?’

How foolish we are to think it must be all or nothing. When, in fact, there must be room enough for both to grow. As, it is only through their contrast that we gain depth to our vision. The sharpness of jagged rocks, in time will yield to softer sands – but, only by way of the crashing waves.

This is the nature of our being – through ‘tortured’ heart we may begin to learn the true capacity of our human soul.

Each day we are presented with the callousness of our limits – intended to test, and hopefully, strengthen our resolve. But the road ahead is often littered with the scattered castings of doubt, forged by the insecurities we’ve held all these years.

To find the balance between the two ~ between the desperation of unknowing, and the thrill of unguarded discovery ~ my darlings, that is to have truly lived.

For somewhere in this balance we find our most authentic self – buried beneath the ashes of the fire which always burns.

And so, on this day, it is with gratitude, not trepidation, that I embrace these uncertainties… knowing that the true gift is somewhere in that ‘in between.’

My darlings, I write because I must – as it’s through these ‘oft jumbled words that I have discovered my voice within.