I never have to make myself write. Writing is such an unabashed pleasure and joy- it gives me clarity and solace and peace and clears my head of all the cobwebs. But today, I am stuck. It’s nothing new in the examined life. There is nothing new under the sun; it’s all the same story- we all sing the same earthbound song.
Right now, I am in one particular place. It a place many have stood, and many still may someday stand. Someday I will hopefully get to stand somewhere else. The challenge is to hold onto faith. Faith that something can be made of this song. Faith that the beauty of the song may be its whole purpose. Faith that the wheel turns and the tune changes, because it does, even as bones grow; infinitesimally, yet over the long count, an infant metamorphoses into a woman.
I want things to hurry up. I want answers I cannot see. I want weeks like this one to not happen. And yet it’s all part of the process. Someday maybe I can write about it more than in vague references and sideways glances. For now though, I may not know much, but I know enough to realize I lack the hindsight to have sorted this mess out and gathered the pearls from the waste.
The bones will grow. The wheel will turn. In time. In time, the sap will run, the bulbs will pop, the sun will shine, and hearts do mend. In time, my child. Only in time.