It's been a while

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The white of the screen is staring at me—looking intently into my eyes. i can almost hear the hum of the fan laughing in anticipation. ‘It’s been a while … what will these coming hours bring? Where might your wandering thoughts lead us this night?’

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Seeing as it has only been a week, you’d think there would be a normal post. But still, it’s been too long. My appreciation for my relationship with this old screen has been absolutely transformed. There wasn’t time to be alone—i couldn’t write on paper or blog. The time i’ve spent alone was in my room—listening to the fans, attempting to find myself again. And there was no one to talk to, not truly talk to.

Just the shadows, the walls, and me. The shadows like to fill the space, and keep company. (Somehow the word ‘shadows’ has a negative connotation, and should not.) Walls though—make lovely companions. You can yell, scream, cry, or just have a nice heart to heart, and the wall is always here. Not there, you may notice … but here. Available. Willing. On occasion, from the wall will come a face—not an actual face, you see. That would be borderline insane—but a face from thought. And one may sit and practice saying all the things one would have this said Face to know. Asking all the questions one might have. Describing all the joy and pain one feels for or from this Face. One would practice saying such things, but for what? i, for one, am rarely able to say any of it in person. In fact, i am yet to be fully successful. Perhaps, though, this is best.

i seem to have gotten off track (not that there is a clear path to follow in such blogging, but nonetheless … tangents.) So in the night and in the quiet, thoughts flew, questions arose, faces came forth, and some conclusions were even drawn. But i haven’t been able to rid myself of any of it. i seemed to carry it all around until some of it could be saved.

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We write of what we know, what we are, what we feel … and rightly so. We also write for ourselves. i write not only for You, nor Them … but for myself. And to be clear, i don’t intend to be selfish in this, but this is the essence of writing. Should You stumble through my thoughts and want to understand, then ask—by all means, i will not take offense. Of course, i’ll not promise to make everything clear to You, but ask, and i’ll tell what i can. But don’t betray me in the worst way: ask for my trust, then force me to watch as You toss that trust aside … because You didn’t actually care from the first. Do not ask me to misplace my trust.

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Expression—through words, motion, Life. Words allow freedom, and dance allows wings. Without one, what is the other? Without freedom, where will you fly? And without wings, what use is freedom? The two shine through Life—and Soul. Soul … i’ll come back to this in a moment. But first, i don’t mean only words themselves, but the emotion behind the poetry, prose, letters, essays, journals. And by dance and motion, i mean not only literal dance, but the emotion that comes with the performance, the game, the match, the full rush of adrenaline. Find Your words, find Your motion, feel them … then the two together will bring expression through Life, and Life itself will come soon enough.

Now, soul. Soul is what we are—when we breathe, what we see, how we see it. Soul is of two parts … almost as though we are two separate people working together, and on occasion taking turns. i’ve written before of Mind and Heart—these are the two who make Soul what it is.

Mind, of course, is logical and systematic. Mind takes into consideration every move you think about making. Mind looks at the consequences that could come from a decision at every angle. Mind gets into every crevasse of life, peering around corners, wondering if this is the move where the king gets himself assassinated. Words are of Mind. Words are still. sound. clear.

Heart, though … Heart feels, breathes. Heart finds joy, sorrow, peace, disturbance, love, and disappointment. Heart gives us longing and desire—ganas. A fearful Heart lets Mind lead, and follows into the quiet corners of life only after it receives permission from Mind. A playful Heart races ahead of Mind, exploring the world without thinking twice. Motion—dance and the thrill of the game—is of Heart. With motion comes sensation. fury. passion.

And once both Mind and Heart are satisfied with their exploring, one way or another, they come together. The two pieces of Soul decide who will lead the next venture. Perhaps neither will lead, and they will walk hand in hand on this journey. It is conceivable, though, that Mind will not risk the fickleness of Heart, or Heart the excessive deliberation of Mind—and as such, one or the other must remain behind. Sometimes forgotten. Sometimes longed for.

This rendezvous is not one of conscious effort, understand. It is a learned trait—the balance between logic and desire. Whatever the case, however this all plays out, it’s the manner in which Heart and Mind fall into one Soul that makes us who we are. So who are You? What are You? ... and i?

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In a previous post i wondered how people could live isolated lives. Not literally isolated, but personally, emotionally isolated. i asked to be granted such oblivion--apparently i should be careful what i ask for, because now i know. i know how They live. i know why They enjoy it. But i don't. i despise every minute of it.

Go on and live your life lacking Heart, then--but if there is any mercy at all in this world, You won't ask me to live the same way. If nothing else, i need Heart again. i beg for it to be returned to my hand.

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So tell me, if you will. Who are You?