This week our word is: awake.
Awake my soul, they sing to me from the computer in the quiet afternoon that bleeds into night. Awake, my soul. And isn't this what I long for? I think to myself as my feet tap dance their way to the end of the day and my fingers itch for a pen.
I write to be awake. I make poems and stories and I write letters to myself and I try to listen closer, closer, to the words that the world is telling me. Because I want my hand on the heartbeat of the truth and I want to write what I discover there.
I'm terrified, you know. Of writing, and getting it wrong. Of blundering in love, or of being alone and uncertain. But more than that I am terrified of sleepwalking my way through the world, dulled to the miracles, immune to the richness. So I breathe deep and wrangle the fear. I open my eyes, and pick up my pen, and let the words flow out.
Awake my soul. Because the world offers itself up to this young imagination. Because the people in my space are only here for such a short while, and these hours are better spent with them, drinking them in, marveling, challenging... than all the hours running away from fears and chasing expectations.
So I meet you, in this space, on these pages, and I write to you. I write you letters and postcards and blog entries. I write you phone calls and chocolate and hugs. I write you difficult honesty and beautiful brave honesty and so much love I hope we both burst with it. Let's be awake together.