Winter Parte Dos:
i lost my voice. i can’t find my voice. This journey i thought would awaken my voice and give me so much to share hasn’t awaken my soul, but instead i find that i am fighting the winter locked up inside my soul. There are days when i have active thoughts that would make for good writing, but when i sit at keyboard the words escape me and i feel the blizzard welling up inside making white out conditions in my writing process. Sometimes music helps to unlock certain words, thoughts and phrases, but lyrics don’t always pay off and the winter remains inside of me. i think i’ve grown comfortable in winter. i think i’ve grown comfortable locked up and shut off. It is there where i don’t have to think or confront the feelings i have about life and this journey and who i am and hopes deferred and him. If i don’t actively write, i don’t have to actively think about what i am and what i am not. i don’t have to worry about if these words are enough of if they are a jumbled mess on a page. And does that jumbled mess represent the emotions inside of me that i quietly let die inside each day. i don’t have to face this story i am writing with my everyday if i don’t write, if i just avoid, if i just wait out the longings then i don’t have to live. If i don’t actually live then i don’t have anything to write and winter stays and stays and stays and i stoke the fire inside, but let it die on the outside. So maybe i haven’t lost my voice maybe i just haven’t been living my story the way i hoped i would and so my winter feels comfortable and the blizzard is bliss and the white out keeps words at bay and i have a season to blame for the lost voice inside of me and the lack of story and my inability to share and feel and give and do. Perhaps i have pushed away the spring that wanted to birth life into me and my story and these words, but perhaps it’s not too late. Maybe just maybe spring is waiting me out as i type these words i have to believe that there is a story and there are words to share. Sometimes they will be a jumbled mess on a page and they will indicate the storm inside of me, but that has to be better than emotion smothered by a blizzard that goes on and on and on and while it has watered the soul, it can’t be all there is, it has to be only an opening line in the narrative that started way back when. Sometimes we all get lost in the blizzard of our souls, the winter of our discontent, but it can’t last forever life must burst forth with a story that needs told by me and you and humanity. So today as i write, i couldn’t feel it when i began, but the longer i typed the more i felt the spring dawning and words exemplifying this journey into a new season.