My body is tired.
My brain is physically fatigued.
But I feel alive.
I am writing.
Only four syllables.
Those four syllables comprise three words into one sentence.
”I am writing.”
The most powerful declarative that can ever be utter as a speech act is “I am.”
In the beginning was the Word.
One cannot separate
a sun beam from the Sun.
I cannot separate me from my God.
I create like God created.
The Word made flesh, bone & blood
makes me make sense.
I know the power of Word.
And I know how to wield it.
Dripping off my page
like a sensually sweet cream
liqueur from South Africa.
They keep tumbling, meandering,
then racing through my mind like a
German train that can take you
around the world in a day.
Never stopping for gas.
I cant stop writing.
I sit. Seconds. Minutes. Hours.
Until my legs go numb.
I stare at the screen until
my tired eyes see double.
I type until my fingers and
back curve in to gnarly shaped Cs
that can’t be straightened.
… when I peel myself away from the subduction of the screen
to walk my pup,
or shovel food as fuel in my face
or relive my grid-locked bladder…
I realize I am living my dreams.
And while I’m tired,
achy and swollen,
I am a writer.
I know how to do things with words.
I am becoming what God intended when he spoke the world into existence.
So I will sit and write and rewrite and learn how to write and write tired and write achy and write, type, think, speak and pray regardless of how I feel.
My feelings don’t matter. Not with this. Not now. Not ever again. My feelings physical comfort will not sabotage my destiny.
As long as I make God proud
it–ALL of it–is worth it.