For a long time I’ve felt like a lost soul. A dampened spirit without a glow. Like a book without an ending, I was shut closed and pushed away to the back of the shelf. The words disappeared with time as I became an unfinished story. I wrote an old post once, ‘Backbones of New Awakenings’ that paints a portrait of a younger and spontaneous me, full of life and imagination searching for new thrills to explore. I talked about what writing meant to me.
Anecdotes were the scapegoat of my perplexing imagination, and in the real world it may seem bizarre and cause confusion, but that was the beauty of my style.
I really missed that world. I missed falling deep into my writing, my characters and into their universe. I went onto saying:
It’s amazing how just a few words and sentences can craft such vividness in our conscious mind. It’s a place to get away by creating another new dimension by giving it personality, depth and using the five vital senses as the key ingredients for perception. You are the master in creating your own characters and their mental capacity, as well as giving them a perception of their own space around them. Having control of their thoughts, emotions and actions are riveting, since it is so easy to build their status, yet take it away with one click of the erase button.
And it hit me.
I had erased myself, just like I have with unworthy characters that had no purpose in the narrative arc. I had no purpose to the arc of life that I have hoped to venture out into. Instead of escaping to my comfort zone and falling into a dream where reality did not exist, I abandoned a part of me that had gone unwritten.
This took me back to something I wrote in 2013. Here is part of it : Yeah, I don’t want to die… well, at least not yet… Not a physical death, not a death where my body lies somber and restless on the ground with no spirit, soul, nor body. I speak of the death of my thoughts, the censoring of my words, and the abolishing of my opinion. It is this death that I cannot fathom; thus, I write to remain alive, I write to express my desire of self-expression through painting a mural with words.
Words do bring life, they bring memories, they bring feeling, they ascribe to our senses in such a way that it’s fascinating to know that God created everything by using the Word. Thanks for the memories!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you for sharing this with me. Writing is a form of expression and I can definitely say I can relate to your words. It’s a journey I am on now, “I write to remain alive” is what I have come realise and without it, I have felt the loss of my creativity and the comfort it used to bring. I’m glad it reminded of a time in your past, much appreciated! 🙂
LikeLiked by 1 person
A Missing Page part 2 is up. Thought you’ll be interested to see the turn it took as it’s similar to your 2013 piece. Many thanks 🙂
LikeLiked by 1 person
The last paragraph. I do believe that I’ve erased the me that felt. I think though, I’m always erasing and rewriting myself. When I die, I’ll have to write a book about who I was.
LikeLiked by 1 person
I’m glad you can relate. We are constantly evolving and I read somewhere, if the goal is to avoid changes, one can’t seek higher levels of consciousness or spiritual evolution. So it’s important we accept,discipline and develop into bettering ourselves.
LikeLiked by 1 person
I do agree.
LikeLike
I love you,samia. What a pleasure visiting your blog is! Also,this is my first visit. Will come back soon.
LikeLiked by 1 person