Takes a level of concentration, imagination, understanding of language, and depth of vocabulary that daunts me. Yet I continue my feeble attempts, hoping at the very least that my words will someday prove wisdom to a future clouded me. Something draws me to write, to language, to the power that is inherent within it, to how impossibly far it sets us apart from the other animals. We can not only speak and form ideas, but can immortalize them in words, books, Scripture...Yet they often seem to have a life of their own. I write, and then ideas come to me, stream of consciousness I think it was called in my high school years; now it is natural to me, and is simply writing. I do not like to constrain what I write about, or even why. There does not need to be a reason, nor a theme, nor a goal. But the mystique for me is that all my jumbled thoughts put down on paper may cause you to think, reconsider, question, and ultimately ask. Thus, the power works.
If you could write, what would you write about? This question is somewhat ironic, because likely those possessing the ability to read it, would also possess the ability to write. Still, one can write, and still not appreciate what it means to really write; to write for writing's sake, to write to think, to write to inspire hope or anarchy. It is the difference between talking and speaking, chatting and conversing. One leads to something, the other usually goes in a circle, left only to be continued along the same rut that always comes back to the same. I may be the greatest hypocrite here because my writing frequently is only self-examination, but I like to think that with every sentence my self-knowledge grows, and hence my insights become deeper and more helpful, more self-perfecting.
With age though too, my mind seems less able to focus on these things for great portions of time, my mind sooner wearies of these unending questions as to the meaning of life and my role within it. Still, maybe we require new horizons and atmospheres to inspire us, to help us to question, and ultimately see the great truth. That life is greater than we, that we cannot figure everything out here, that some of our answers can only be found in place that is not of this world.
Maybe that's why I write, or shall I say the most significant reason why. To try to figure out anything and everything that it is possible to figure out in this life, without God's answers. Someday He will tell us everything that we agonized to know in this world. You may find my search frivolous and unimportant, but it is the only reasonable search we can undertake in this life.
