I live in words. Anyone that’s known me for more than five minutes knows this. I swim in them, I breathe them in and vomit them out. I float in a sea of words, both well-thought-out and spontaneous; accidental and purposeful. They come with ease, and difficulty, borne on wave of prattle, profundity…anxiety…hubris.
I share words on paper, on the screen, aurally and unspoken. I shared them here, off and on for a while, at least. Shared them with you, reading this here (Maybe for the first time, maybe for the 30th).
And then I stopped. I ran out of words. Or rather, I…I…
Perhaps I had too much to say–too much, too deep, too raw, too incoherent, too much feeling, too much, too much, too much…too little skill to say all the things, to use my words to heal myself, help myself, hurt myself, bring myself peace, comfort, quietus…anything.
I just…stopped. None more words.
Somewhere, in that respite of verbiage, so much changed, so very fast, so may things that I had no more words to give, none that really mattered, it sometimes seems. Somewhere in all of that change, the seasons changed. The leaves turned from green to orange, yellow and brown–suddenly, I find that I’m in the Fall of my life, the long, tumultuous Summer passed with little ceremony, and less fanfare.
I was reminded recently that I used to have words, and that I could use them to capture this…this grief. Used them like some sort of balm–a soul salve that I could pour over my core to reach the grief, the anger, the sorrow, the joy, the empty scarred hollows that sometimes sit behind my eyes and deep inside my chest, reaching up around my shoulders and squeezing like an angry giant, determined to get the most out of a me-shaped lemon.
So, here I am, attempting to sup on words, so that I can find a way to describe the beautiful colors of now, of my life’s Fall. I want to celebrate this season that I now find myself in, to collect these greens, and oranges, and yellows, and browns and gold. I need to discover new words to find all the gold, bind it to memory, because, as the poet wrote “nothing gold can stay.”
The gold can’t stay, and I want to embrace it before it’s time to grieve again. Before I run out of words again.
Before I just stop.
Here, I bear words. Here I celebrate my Autumnal Nativity. Here I stand among the falling leaves, in this moment, here and now. But first, let me say goodbye to my Summer; not with a dirge, but with a hymn, sweet and solemn. A song of thanks, and sorrow; a hymn of love and blessings for that sweet June child that grew into September’s Wayfarer.