In the filling moon’s light, inner tides churn with dramatic ebbs and flows. Yesterday words bubbled, curled and crashed in waves, presenting three posts to the Archives. Whoa. That’s a first.
It goes like this, I’ll tell you.
A rush of inspiration to dig deep to the root of feeling, then share it with as much candor as I can. The Publish button clicked, my words echoing out into the world.
It’s only later – maybe I’m driving in the car – that all those syllables seem like scattered sea spray. Or seeds caught on a sudden gust of wind. Copious and aimless, it all will feel too much of me. And so will go the inner recanting. I become the fisherman reeling in the line. I want to make a U-turn to the inside, go silent.
If I’m living yes and no, walking a tideline that shifts in dramatic highs and lows, where is the center where I can steady? Is it in words or silence? Or in some space between?
And case in point, I wasn’t going to tell you this. But it arises like a surge of a rogue wave.
About the heart. The one inside. The one he listened to with his ear against my chest when we first met. “It sounds like a little bell.”
Last night he says the beat has changed. “It sounds different. It’s deeper, more full. There’s more life in it now. Not like that little bell before.”
See, I was going to be silent about the swells that move these inner beats. The pumping of a sweetness found with a man who will listen to my heart beat and tell me what he hears.
That’s the casting.
Now I’m reeling in.