Some writers suffer from a dearth of ideas. I on the other hand struggle with too much information. Ideas flash into my head from every imaginable angle and source, and it’s the harnessing of these wild impulses, the clarification of their messages, that I am obliged to convey with as much respectful accuracy as possible. I don’t think there is any shortage of inspiration in Creation, and those of us lucky enough to present an open conduit for its expression are blessed. Sharing in this WordPress community, I count myself among the most fortunate.
I greatly admire the storyteller – that ancient purveyor of oral history that some convey with seeming facility and aplomb. Old Jules is a classic spinner of tales and our world is richer for the telling. Harper Faulkner makes me laugh and at times cringe with vivid recollection as he rockets from intimacy to the Bible, from childhood to a man’s cherished perspective. Priya weaves colorful dioramas from faraway India – in her words I smell the streets; feel the heartbeat of the people. VivianLea is a sister under the skin – she does not fear the depths nor does she shirk from expressing the most tender of feelings. Cecilia’s stories and images from the prairie are delightful and perpetually provide an earthy satisfaction – grounding and elevating me at the same time. This Little Lark can pick up a dragging jaw and set it back in its socket. Ronnie lends lighthearted perspective to the everyday and Nissi feels like a good friend who lets us glimpse the heart and soul of the feminine. Michael shares his own motivational messages and is always generous in praise of others. I am sure there are many out there who deserve merit and mention that I haven’t yet discovered.
When inspiration showers its sparks, the most difficult challenge is in translating impulses and feelings into words. Einstein had his mathmatic symbols, Rembrandt his brush. I too have attempted to paint, but holding a brush distances me from the oeuvre. I have had some success with pastels because I can get my hands into them; likewise sculpture has provided me with satisfactory results. But these are definitive expressions: I can portray your face with reasonable accuracy. A horse is a horse, of course. Of course. What I most admire are those who can visually transmit the amorphous into brilliant colors, forms and shapes that provide recognition yet defy description. My daughters Amanda and Alison are brilliant artists, and I don’t think I’ve overstated a case because I’m their mother. Others I have shared in several of my posts.
The closest writing can come to universal truth is perhaps in poetry. Although I have written many poems throughout the course of my existence, metaphor can tend toward the obscure. If the heavens are awash in archetypes and symbols, writers are indeed etymologists, linguistic interpreters of the unseen. In the end I am happy to be a wordsmith, recognizing words as the last medium of expression along the helix of universal truth. The human brain is a marvel to behold in its ability to transmit and translate and spew out something intelligible. I am eternally grateful for this WordPress community, the support of my fellow bloggers, and those of you who take the time to subscribe to and follow the ramblings of a mind struggling to make sense of it all.