Writers block…
Too much to say, too much on my mind, not able to get it
out. Starting and not finishing, exhausted at the content of which my heart
bleeds onto the page.
“Transition” is the name of the season, “Letting Go” is the
tagline.
Tossed to and fro in a whirlwind of emotions and deep,
intense realities.
I am a woman.
I am a wife.
I am a mom.
I am a sister.
I am an auntie.
I am a friend.
I am letting go of so much. Wanting to hold on tight. My
hands are open and the agony of seeing those things I hold dear float away is
extreme.
There is a numbness inside that keeps me sane. A place of
surrender I must go to. My mind is engulfed by the stagnant stench of
transition and I wait. Watching for something to change. Expecting something to
move. Hoping for God to intervene.
So much to say, so much to process, yet the words are
jumbled up in a web of knots. All tangled together in a bundle of too much. All
I can get out is what you see here.
Still, I sit… looking at the screen, trying to formulate
words to express my heart….
NOTHING
A blank canvas, staring me in the face. Vast emptiness
awaiting creative expression. My intention is to create a masterpiece, but I
cannot even muster up enough energy to put my hand to the canvas.
So I sit here, in the silence of my home, when dreams fill
the minds of my family and weariness wrecks my bones. I sit here, wanting to
get it out, let it go, but it is stuck to me like static.
The past bubbles up to the surface and the present collides
with it.
Empty space. Quiet. Stillness. Peace.
My body aches from exhaustion. I will try this sleep thing
again. Hoping my dreams are filled with answers. Longing to see the next step.
Waiting in the midst of transition….
