On Writing-(How I feel)
In the
beginning, it’s like darkness. Not the absolute that blinds, but a soft black
which glows. And it terrifies me. In total darkness I might stumble blindly,
groping, hoping my fingers touch something. But in this soft light I can see
there is nothing. Then I see a strand, thin as violin string, but tall as a
tree, and I reach out to grasp it. Now I have my hands around it, I know I am
not falling, or moving.
As I hold
it, it stirs, slightly, and high above my head, or maybe deep beneath my feet,
I hear music. Faint and simple, but now I know I am not deaf. Two more are
within reach, then three. Soon they stroke my arms, caress my cheeks, and sooth
my fears with their complex melody, this forest of taught strings. I am no
longer floating, I am connected. When I am tired I stop clambering and rest, as
if in a hammock.
I awake and
go deeper, and the forest of string thickens, and I begin to struggle. I am
bound. I move one leg forward and I feel them tighten, before slowly slipping
through, into the grasp of new, eager, threads. Sometimes the melody becomes
harsh and bitter, but I have to move forward. My passage has twisted everything
behind me into thick ropes and crisscrossing nets. So I move forward, sometimes
happy to play the sweet melody, other times wishing only to cut myself free…but
I can’t.
I think
back to my beginning, floating, free and unconnected, and then I carry on. Soon
I’ll be out, and freedom will turn to fear, just as a stable rope became a
binding chord. But for a few moments I find the right strings, and the
resulting melody soothes and calms me, for a time.
