Mind of A Writer, Words of A Wanderer

Another dawn. It was a cool day, the winds light and soft bringing with it good tidings and a promise of rain. Good. It's been moons since the last downpour. One more week and the earth will die, along with it my livestock.

***

It was a splendid day to be out. And yet here I am, locked up within the confines of these walls. I should've been out in the open. For the umpteenth time my little voice spoke up. Hush!

Sitting down at the edge of my bed, I heard the snores from my family. Sound asleep, in the lands of dreams they were leaving me behind. Just like last night. Just like every night.

The normal sounds accompany me: the speakers, the fan, the air-conditioning as well as the steady rumble of my laptop. Tonight the mood is adventure and for that occasion, Sanctuary has been set on replay for the past hour or so. I don't mind, I love the mood and atmosphere. It fits the situation.

You know, I can't help but think of two things tonight. Actually three now that I've really started to get my brain running.

One, how I wish I could've saved one of my grandest writing of all time. A piece I wrote in the exams. It was at that precise moment my body, brain and imagination became one and the same. It was that moment went I literally stepped into the papers.

Of course, I vividly remembered the story line yet what I longed for was to see the sequence of words, the way they lined up to one another, the former a perfect match for the latter, the slant of my handwriting, the bright blue ink with the occasional smudge and the paragraphs of emotion they contained.

Second, a word from the lips of friends 'Don't you want to write a book?'. Now that they've mentioned it, I daresay, that is a mighty good idea chum! And again, why have not I started on it?

Frankly, I don't know. I don't have a clue as to what I have done the past half a year. I don't seem to have grown at all - mentally I mean. I don't know why I've slowly reduced the frequency of my reading and stop altogether. I don't have a reason. I don't have a clue. I don't have nothing to say.

Third, could I have wasted all this time listening instead of recording? It pretty much seems that way to me now as I sit blanketed in the dead of night. Well then, if so, what good has come from it?

Even as I type this, the answer comes clear & crystal to me : I failed to get a copy of the essay because deep in me lies another story worth telling and writing, something bigger, better, badder and to unlock that door, I am in a transition to open my eyes to new ways of expressing my thoughts and ideals. The first step it seems is to listen & learn because there is no destination in language, just an endless journey.

This is the mind of a writer... This is the words of a wanderer..