Writing - and quite possibly dialogue, or posts, on
social websites now I come to think of it - can be:
Translucent and yet clouded
Touching and yet divorced
Enlightening and yet dark
Imaginery and yet real
Resonating and yet totally separated
I keep thinking of how something will inspire me to
write a particular piece and it can be so very different as to how it may be
interpreted. I remember poetry I have
read of another and how it was so easy for me to internalise it, feel myself
there, imagine that I knew what this person went through and feel all manner of
joy .. or sadness .. or compassion .. and yet, honestly, I do not have a clue
as to what actually inspired them to write that particular piece. That is their secret, their moment, their
inner voice that only they can truly understand.
What may be read as a dark passage may be nothing of
the sort in reality, what is read as a broken heart by a unrequited love may
actually be a piece drawn on emotions through a painful family experience; what
one person may read as a poem about desperation - another may read as a poem
about love - another hope - another hopelessness ... it is all so very personal,
and therein lays the magic.
For me, given my passionate association with
expression through the written word, it is all about triggers. Words are the
triggers to our emotions, the light switch to a memory, the candle flickering
in the subconscious, the rope to hang onto, the ladder to climb and see a new
view, the passage from one room to another, the doorway into a new world, the
escape hatch from reality, the touch that can make us feel less alone, the
laughter that can lighten the load and the resonation that brings hope that
someone "gets" us.
In my private world, writing is truth drawn from the
purest well .. no hidden agenda, no need to hold back, no desire to mislead, no
expectation and no coat of armour .. it is where I can dive deep, swim with
sharks and remain totally vulnerable, open to all possibility and live without
fear. It is heaven in a cup of piping
hot coffee, sipped on a porch, talking to the moon and wishing upon the
stars. It is home.
If anything I write touches another then I am humbled,
for it makes me feel a sense of contribution. If a reader can draw strength,
laughter, a sense of association or love - or merely be taken to a
"moment", I consider this a gift and I feel blessed. But the "truth" in the writing is
the truth of the writer alone, and although it may resonate with another's
truth, that is because it has merely been a trigger into their own world not the
private world of the writer .. and therein lays the mystery.
When it comes to dialogue, or posts, on social
websites there are definite similarities and I am often perplexed how people
who have never met another can assume to know why that person posted
something. Sure, sometimes it may appear
clear cut .. other times not so much. It
is at these times, I find it quite amazing how, though no lengthy dialogue has
taken place, some presume to know another and to offer uninvited advice that
may actually be quite the opposite to what is required. Personally I think this
is a breach of boundaries but then that is the internet, where it appears
boundaries have become blurred. As for
how I react in this scenario; well, sometimes I find it annoying, sometimes
amusing, sometimes I take no notice and other times I want to snap back
"Don't assume!" More often
than not, I will distance myself for a while and write.
So back to writing and the art of
passionate expression. I would describe
it as an amazingly honest, free floating world with no boundaries, no limits
and where anything is possible. All the
elements of the real world are there .. sunshine, rain, love, betrayal, demons,
angels, war, victory, disappointment, heartbreak, oceans, deserts, life, death
and so much more .. and yet it is an entirely different world altogether. It is a world of truth; truth in that moment
.. when the mind sends signals through the body to the pen that draws from the
heart .. and in that moment, there is no earthly reality ... only magic.
And, today, as I turned .. there I was .. and I gave
thanks for the magic.
(c) Dianne Traynor
16 October 2012
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