Without Words

I don’t know what I think half the time. I do, however, know how I feel most of the time, but that gauge of consciousness seems to be mouldable.  It takes the shape of my surroundings and is influenced by circumstance. To understand my thoughts I must put them to paper.  Without this tool my mind would be an insurmountable, cluttered mess.   

When I was little, if I ever was upset, bad and felt I need to apologize or needed to convey how much I cared, I would pull out paper and a pen, and in my best hand writing, dictate a note to my mom to slip under her door.  This was my means of communication; it was the monologue I wanted to say out loud but didn’t possess the words until they flowed through my pen.  This need to put a pen to paper to convey my thoughts is deeply rooted in who I am.  It in many ways defines me.   Through this, I sort through my ideas, my thoughts, worries and frustrations. Still true today; I don’t always express myself well at the drop of a hat. I know my heart needs to be deciphered and translated. But I take comfort in knowing that I am not the only human to feel this need.   

"I do not sit down at my desk to put into verse something that is already clear in my mind. If it were clear in my mind, I should have no incentive or need to write about it. We do not write in order to be understood; we write in order to understand." C. S. Lewis

“I write because I don’t know what I think until I read what I say.”  - Flannery O’Connor