Words begin painting emotionally driven vistas, previously picturesque, now hardly discernible with dark, shadowy overtones. I am at a loss for words sinking into oblivion with their evocatively Herculean emotional grip. They come so fast, rapidity staunching my ability to form anything except a three-word phrase before the free-flowing plethora overwhelmingly frustrates all cognition, altering my landscape to fantasy and science fiction dimensions. Everything I write comes from the intensity of feelings. Have you ever been stymied by emotion’s depths that the abyss holds you captive? As if caught in a web, I gingerly grasp for each silken, almost invisible strand, feeling to ‘write’ my way.
The last several months have progressively been my definition of hell, as my vision obscures to barely able to see enough to feel my way. Simultaneously, having lost most pleasurable feelings to immense pain, blinded by stinging salt storms, aching figurative feet, symbolically sore arms from disparaging thrashing, all analogous of my life. Searching thirstily for refreshment, seeking calm, and pleading for comforting peace, through scorching desert places, deep suffocating abysses, and the darkest, trail-less wildernesses, I recognize only a shadowed shell of myself in bodily form, drastically changed in size and scope.
Never-ending nights’ blackness looms despite midday beams refracting off and through rippling waves creating diamond-like dimensions above and below the surface. An inverted pyramid of light’s rays reaching upward from a focal point within the underwater forest and algae-covered depths catches my attention. Drawing my gaze with siren-like extrasensory perception, I stare into the waiting depths while standing, throwing off my balance with the slightest of wind-driven motions causing wobbliness. Quickly alerted before falling headfirst, I kneel, drifting with the gentle breeze while adjusting the focus of my eyes before again standing tall to paddle forward to my destination.
The impossible hope in my mind writes and rewrites my assumptive plot, thickened by its deceitful urges, imaginings, and dreams. I would follow him anywhere and give my life for his happiness though I shy away from boldness allowing insecurity’s fear to grip my heart. I relegate the pen strokes of fantastical fiction to a specially designed cavernous recess hidden deep within my heart. A focal point of light radiating from him into my life and countenance, he continually provides stabilizing, encouraging strength and friendship.
I find myself stuck, temporarily, I earnestly pray, as if in an hourglass of time. Momentarily washed ashore in a bottled ship sealed with the cork of identity’s loss, and left adrift on my voyage by an unsecured anchor, one I linked with faulty welds in a fantasy dream world. Thus encased, as the tides surge and recede dragging me to sandy or rocky shorelines and out again, I am held bound by the moon’s gravitational pull.
Under the mystifying allure of moonlight’s enchantment surrounded by a myriad of stars penetrating the looming blackness, I float back in time, carried on whitecaps and shadows. To more pleasant shores, I voyage, mentally escaping my captivity within the fragile container, to a place where moments mean life, love, joy, contentment, and peace.
She feels the cooling brushstrokes of the Master’s painting across the canvas of her face with a fine layer of semi-transparent greyish white wetness. Mist enshrouded pinnacles rise high above and on either side of the Ovation of the Seas navigating through some narrow channels. Sensing her smallness under towering majestic beauty, she carefully traverses across the slippery deck, from port to starboard side and back again. Her eyes reach to touch each awe-inspiring cascading stream plunging from veiled vegetation-covered and rock-faced mountainsides into oneness with the receiving waters.
Softened glowing rays of light, occasionally sketched between burdened, billowing, shaping-shifting pillows unable to restrain escaping drizzle, allow momentary highlighting glimpses of nature’s acrylic masterpieces in the southwestern glacier-carved fiords of New Zealand’s south island. Insignificant, she is not as she immerses herself in the artful landscape, filling her lungs with the unique, indescribable freshness of its moisture-rich air.
Reverential stillness paints delicate subtleness into her heart-pounding excitement, matching cardiac rhythm in tune with splashing whitecaps against rocky shorelines. Artfully blending sounds and sights of water-coloured greenery with outcroppings of igneous protrusions, she falls into trance-like meditation.
Have you ever been stymied by emotion’s depths that the abyss holds you captive?
When life’s happenings catch you in a word-strung web of evocative emotions, how and where do you seek solace?
Life Happens . . . so do Landscapes and so do . . ?, so . . ., Storms, and Skeletons, Feet, Tents, Father/Daughter Memories, Missing Pieces, Waves, Gingerbread, What am I to do Now, and Choices.
Life Happens in Scriptural Musings. . . so do Dioramas, Prayers, What Lack I Yet, Swords and Shields, Rescues, the Shepherd, and Faith and Wholeness.
