Metamorphosis

Do something you love and the rest will follow. Well, I love to do many things: witnessing the changing of the seasons and being left in awe, year after year, of the beauty and wonderment of nature; spending leisurely days at the beach reading while salty winds caress my hair; walking hand in hand with hubby on a comfortably warm summer day, reconnecting in the comfortableness of our relationship; sitting down for hours breaking bread with a good friend and talking about life and love; listening to the gurgles and shrieking laughter of babies -- smelling their delightful baby smell. I can certainly go on and the list would be endless. Yes, I love many things, yet I cannot think of any other more important thing in my life that I love most, that moves me most, than writing. Because expressing myself through this venue puts me in a state of tranquility that is good for my heart (both in the physical and emotive senses), roots my restless mind and spirit, and extracts the seeds of doubt that at times takes hold - can I do it or can I not?

I love words. And because I love words, writing naturally follows. As soon as I could put pencil to paper, I wrote - whether to express growing pains or attempt more creative and challenging endeavors such as poetry or short stories. Words coursed through my veins and needed to be drawn out. But the outlet they chose was not my vocal voice; instead they were my hands that molded a voice to carry my words.

At times writing opens doors for me - doors that lead to pathways of self-realization and healing. When I am burdened with worry or concern, I begin to write. Then the answer to whatever is troubling me becomes crystal clear; that which I could not clearly articulate nor easily identify reveals itself. Answers held intangible by my conscious mind then become discernable through the aid of the subsconscious, which reveals itself through the writing and holds the communicative key. I've always believed that the answers one seeks in life are always there, in our subsconscious which misses nothing, waiting for us to find it. My writing has always been the key to the door of the not-yet-known - the door that reveals all.

During the 911 incident while watching the news with the same debilitating general malaise this entire nation was held under, I saw a sign atop an ash-covered car that read, We Shall Overcome. Those three powerful words electrified my senses in such a way, they immediately lifted me out of the mental and emotional exhaustion images upon tragic images my mind had absorbed during the course of the week. I felt the sudden, urgent need to write. I went to my computer and began writing fluidly, uncontrollably, and when I was done I had created a piece that came from a raw emotional core where the tragedy unfolding had finally found its prolific conduit; We Shall Overcome opened the gates of the not-yet-defined feelings I had inside and articulated them with painful clarity. They poured out of me in a tumultous sea of sorrow and pain and understanding and love and recognition and awakening. This is how it is sometimes with me. This is what happens. A word I see, a thought I have...and then the rest follows.

There have been many times in my life when I have not written and it is due to nothing more than what would be the significance of it? Am I really birthing anything worthwhile? Yet I find that whenever I stray from that which sustains my emotional and mental well being, I begin to deteriorate. I get edgy, a bit depressed, listless. I feel a sense of malaise that does not readily identify itself in any particular form. It is a feeling of nothingness and wastefulness at the same time. But then I sagely remind myself, this is why. This is why you need to write. Writing brings me joy, brings me pleasure, makes me think, helps me process; writing exorcises my worries and douses me with tranquility. Writing, simply, nourishes my spirit.

And, in that vein, despite my biggest fear, despite my cocoon-spirited shyness, despite my incessant internal voices of criticism and self-doubt, I created this blog last year. I woke one morning with much courage and decided to slew my most formidable dragon once and for all, my own personal Grendel: the revelation of me through my writing. And I assured myself that I would be fine. All I wanted was to silence those voices; all I wanted was to overcome the fear; all I wanted was to leave the safety of the what ifs behind. Suddenly the questions of will I birth anything worthwhile or ever write anything of significance no longer mattered. What mattered was that I was doing the thing I loved. And I am happy to say that, despite my inherent shyness, I am fine; I am better than fine. And, like a butterfly, I exited my cocoon stage to journey life before I die; to see what I am capable of accomplishing without the safety of my pupal wrap.

© 2008 Rebecca Bush

Photo credit, Therese Chase @ http://velma-dacron.livejournal.com/