When I Write

When I write, I become quiet inside. A listening mode, I suppose.

When I write, I like it to be quiet around me so that I am not distracted. Quietness helps me to listen for the still small voice, for the nuances of things – whatever I happen to be writing about at the time.

When I write, it is like giving myself a gift – of wisdom, of understanding, of compassion, of caring.

When I write, I feel at home and usually at peace – even when writing about difficult or disturbing things.

When I write, it’s a signal to slow down, to enter a different space, to let the mind’s eye see and the inner ear hear what can’t be seen or heard externally. It’s more about sensing or intuiting – kinesthetics or some such thing they call it.

When I write, I am in my own world, my own private space. I can choose, or not, to share it with others later.

When I write, I usually sit and ruminate more. It’s like a brook with water flowing in and around and under things, coming upon new ideas, new angles, different viewpoints of things.

When I write, I tell the truth – as best as I am able to at that point – as much as I am aware of. That is freeing and releasing.

When I write, I challenge myself, stretch myself, encourage myself, and in a way, I suppose, I love myself.

When I write, I am me.

© 2003, Evelyn Grace Marinoski