“I know for sure that I have an instinct for color, and that it will come to me more and more, that painting is in the very marrow of my bones.”
(Vincent van Gogh, Letter to Theo van Gogh, 3 September 1882)
Since creating this blog, I have shared different reasons for writing in this capacity and an evolving relationship with the art and practice of writing. The following is an update.
I am a communicator. It is unsustainable and unhealthy for me to keep things in when they are bothering me.
I live alone, so apart from my feline companions, I am limited in venues for personal expression.
Over the past few years of living alone and in my own mind, I have set in motion the practice of writing to communicate.
When something happens that is affecting emotionally or psychologically, and many things have—divorce, work, life—I write about it.
I write with textual language and the language of music.
I write to help find meaning in what I am experiencing and to try to understand where others with whom I have crossed paths in good and ugly times might be coming from.
The truths I discover are only ever from my own being. I would never ever seek to speak for another being, human or otherwise. I can only imagine what goes on for another person or creature whose life is composed of as many or more thousands of experiences that have shaped them over time.
I write in the hopes that someone out there may feel a connection to the words, stories, or emotions I express. Maybe, they will reach out and we will each feel less alone in this strange world.
I try to write in a way that does not single any one person out for their actions; however, in my writing I refuse to shy away from controversial subjects. These are not easy topics to explore and deconstruct, but they are for me the very essence of what it means to be human and to try to make sense of life.
I am thankful for those who have read my words and for those who have reached out in some way, shape, or form.
I will continue to write just as I continue to breath in and out.
Writing has become many things for me. Mostly, it has become a meditation, a fundamental practice that helps me keep my breathing calm and even. I am thankful for the words that flow from within to fill first one then another page with verbal expressions from an often tumultuous, interior storm. Should my words offend, I apologize, for it was not my intention.
I hope you will continue to read and to share your thoughts with me from your own life and experiences.
life of m 