There are times I think I could subsist on word alone.
Moments when I feel that all that is needed to substantiate my existence is a poetic arrangement of words that, syncopated like a heart beat, potentiate some essential part of my being.
Word that infuses light, and condenses spirit into something legible.
Word whose vibration reverberates, xylophonic, on my rib case and plucks at the chords of my most interior Self.
Word is a masterpiece, bridging the invisible, distilling it into the phenomenal, potent and enduring.
Word that illuminates all of your senses, that plays with the terminal edges of your imagination and invites you to rebel against the line.
Word like a spell of creation cast to magnetize reality into existence.
Word that is love – passionate, feverish, immaculate, impeccable, elevated and eloquent.
In telling any version of my own story this is the crux, the underpinning of the journey is fed and driven by word. This is the relational point between my internal & external experiences and expressions. It has meant that I delight in them, voraciously consuming them, and it has equally meant that I can more readily be cut open and incised by them. And still, I would change nothing about it. Time and again it strikes, flint sparking, and sets ablaze the landscape of my heart, expanding it ever outward, challenging its boundaries and tempting it open.
This is my lifeblood, my marrow, my mercurial & fundamental essence – my materia prima. I am learning to embrace and lean into it and transform it into offerings, making this love affair an act of service.
In deep gratitude, as always. xx