Writing has a heartbeat

Words never come from the mind — they live in my body. My mind is all jumbled thoughts and an inability to express the inside. I never know how to start writing. But I know, I can’t show up half-hearted.

Every time I sit down and write, I commit to surrender. I stop and listen intently, and then I let my fingers type. Time feels like it’s slowing down, and quietly, a desire to give-in and trust comes in. A desire to be intimate through writing. A need to be truly seen for who I am. Naked, emotionally exposed.

Words of Truth exist somewhere inside me, and suddenly, one by one start pouring down the page, intelligently skipping the brain, and ruling the movement of my fingers.

These words are alive. Words are a ruling law. Words are boundaries. Writing is therapy – and has healing power.

It takes a shape on its own without asking my permission and drags me with it wherever it decides to go. Writing is both: a fear that terrifies me and a love that overwhelms me.

Every time I sit down and write, I wonder: Is this writing going to gently touch the surface of my heart and sing the lyrics of my heartbeat? Or is it going to be one of the dark shadows that will tear so deep and reveal layer by layer from the depths of my being?

Will it cause a slight shiver down my spine, a quiver in the stomach, or be a source of relief?

Whichever it is — I wouldn’t have it any other way!