Writers Unblock

I love the tapping of a keyboard while purging myself through the tenacity of a word processor. There is probably nothing more satisfying than that sound. It's a sound that has been somewhat foreign to me lately. Tonight, though, I was tired of the silence-- tired of the private sentences formulating themselves in my head, but not clearly enough for me to see. There is a blockade that has held my mind for weeks. Tonight, it finally seemed to dissipate. I have become a sort of freedom. A sort of liberation, if you will.

Staggering upon this blockade some mere hours ago, I realized that a fight would ensue in order to relieve my mind from such an enemy. My mind raced with images of Berlin. The images, though, were personalized-- fitting perfectly into this void in my mind, creating a massive barricade between my words and me. Unlike the Berlin Wall, this wall was blank-- a clear, darkened gray, free from any idea whatsoever.

I glared at the massive thing. And it glared back.

Hearing my name from an unknown room, I wandered the dusk-lit hallways to find the source, and perhaps to find freedom from the adversary that was binding my attention. It was my mother who called; she was sitting calmly next to the piano in the burnt-orange chair with the broken leg when I found her.

"Oh hello," she says, "I just wanted to see what you were up to."

Fighting internal battles, I wanted to say.

I sat down on the matching burnt-orange chair, the one with no broken leg, right next to her.

"Oh, nothing," I lie.

I think she always knows, though.
She had been to a viewing earlier that night. It was a viewing of a good family friend. She passed away last week--leaving four young children and a husband. I asked her how the events transpired.

Upon arrival, the father could be found greeting friends and family with a cheerful grin filled with genuineness. He inquired about the lives of any and all visitors, all the while his parents stood by him with equally inviting smiles. The heir of happiness seemed almost out of place as the mourners made their way through the line, but the feeling of faith and love overfilled the room, a calm presence donned the room with light, and not a person could deny its origin.

This is what my mother said, anyway.

I cried as she spoke.

I cried for a lot of reasons.

The small wall in the corner of my mind that had captured my full attention only minutes before seemed to diminish itself through my tears and escape down the curves of my cheeks as both of us realized its lack of significance. The battle that I expected to fight was suddenly lost in the fervency of reality, in its undeniable nature.

It allowed my words to be loosed, to be free.

I don't know who you are, or why you are choosing to read my blog; maybe you are a close friend who follows it publicly. Maybe you are family who likes to stay in tune with my life. Maybe you are an acquaintance who simply likes to read, or maybe you are a complete stranger who happened upon this random web page.

Regardless of who you are though, you are still reading my inhibited words-- words which I sometimes struggle to give freely of. I don't know why. However, these words which I will share are real. They are full. They are.

I don't know what you believe. I don't know what means the most to you. And I am not trying to convince you one way or the other. I simply want to share the things most important to me while my mind is clear-- free from the restraints of the monotony of life.

Not many things are of extreme importance in our world. That seems like a broad, general statement, but it's true. There is so much focus placed on success and prestige, appearance and other vices of futility-- but why? Why is there not more value placed on honesty, love, and peace? I know, I sound like a flamboyant hippie, but I do not know one single person that doesn't appreciate an honest dealing with a fellow-man, a genuine expression of love, or a day filled with peace.

An inhibition created by commonplace and societal rules dictates that talk of God should be limited-- saved for the most grueling of circumstances. Even now as I type, I am careful to structure my sentences as to not be offensive. But why? I love God. I love him with all my heart. I am his daughter. And he loves me very much. I talk to God everyday; I know him. He is my best friend.

A love for God leaves me with a desire to do good. It leaves me with a love for people. It keeps me fighting for things I believe. It leads me exactly where I want to be, and I don't regret a minute of this time I have spent loving him.

It seems that the fervency of reality did not only disable the word-blocking wall, but the wall between my mind and my heart was also relinquished.

I can see the words clearer tonight than I have in months.

I can see my mother, sitting across from me in the chair, and I see the words I love you in my mind. I can see the woman across the street struggling with at 2-month-old and a 4 year old and the words I can help you formulate themselves. I can see hugs, quality time, and patience. I can see years of kindness from strangers. I can see the man who stands up for what he knows is right, even when it's hard. I can see goodness.

I can see life.

But I can see so little time.

And tonight as the words slip from my mind, I am deciding what to do with mine.