when the words come (not this morning, i think), they are simple words for intense feelings, but they are the right words. of course, i don’t have time to write them down or the ability to remember them later – i am a bit of a blur as my life moves on ahead of me, not caring if i am keeping up or not. i wait, believing that i can come back into it when i am ready, once i figure out how my skin feels on me in this new place.
i’m reading again, and i like it. i am exploring eat, pray, love by elizabeth gilbert, having read her big magic on the plane last weekend. i’m thinking about inspiration, wondering if it truly is alive the way she describes it, or if it is Him, seeking out open hearts. i’d like to think He’s got a bigger magic than i can comprehend – and i think it’s funny, that i have always thought of Him as magic. i wonder if He’s okay with that.
i do like writing, in spite of the limitations on my words right now. i keep thinking that i have a book in me, but it’s not for right now. i’m only remembering how to use words right now, only relearning my voice in the words that have retreated as i let the pictures speak for me for so long.
i landed in a place last weekend where i used to fit. while i wasn’t surprised to find that i didn’t fit there anymore, i was surprised to find that i didn’t want to fit there anymore. the experience triggered a restlessness in me. i felt both trapped and liberated – i don’t know what that means. these old spaces that i have been in aren’t comfortable. the memories were overwhelming – one moment thanking Him for the familiar, the next moment howling with grief over my losses. (i’ve rarely cried uncontrollably, that gut-level shrieking sob that seems to surface only in my most painful moments.)
something is happening in me. i don’t have the energy to fight or control or do – if i had to find a word for it, i think i would choose “receiving,” standing with my hands open as life does what it’s going to do, waiting to see how He will act on it – half-believing He won’t, but expecting that He will. it’s an odd paradox, standing in faith while holding so many doubts. i think i want Him to be real more than i want anything; i don’t believe i can call Him into existence like a fairy, by clapping my hands or squinting my eyes shut and calling Him down. The “magic” I ascribe to Him is in the reality of His being, and His somehow being for me, even as He is for Himself.