Episodes of blogging, online newsreading, email composing, and even old-fashioned pen-to-paper journal writing result in shooting pains up my arm that settle as a dull ache in my elbow. The right hand fields the greater affliction, of course, but both arms carry the painful resonance at times.
A gift? You might question.
Yes, a gift.
Pain . . . that gift that nobody asks for, yet every time it enters my life I come away with some new understanding or acquisition that changes my life remarkably.
Pain: The motivator to change, accept, adapt as fits the situation.
I trust this episode will be no different.
For me writing is like breathing . . . I must do it. Copious journals and rambling blog posts attest to my natural inclination to put thoughts into words scrawled in a place that holds them for longer than the breath a voice carries them upon when they become conversation. The spoken word evaporates or changes into remembrance (sometimes incorrectly) over time, whereas words etch a thought (right or wrong) that lasts intact.
Alas, this delightful dalliance of blogging and soul-refreshing exercise in journaling must be laid aside for a time. Healing must happen.
What will I do? What new activity will fill the moments previously blogged?
Aha! Therein lies the adventure, and I eagerly await it!
In the act of creativity,
the artist lets go the self-control
which he normally clings to
and is open to ride the wind.
~~ Madeleine L’Engle ~~
Walking on Water (81)
And so, I unharness the strictures that cause pain this day, spread my arms wide, trust that wings of delight will sprout fully, and take off to ride the wind. I anticipate soaring over new territories and discovering new ways to create and share and enJOY it all.
When I return (and surely I will, though like a famous Hobbit drafted into service, I know not when I shall cross this bloggy home’s threshold once again), I shall come bearing gifts gleaned from the quest. More than pictures and retelling of tales, I hope to bring a fresh beacon of insight worthy of sharing.
As for today . . . I must be off this computer and about the business of relying on wings so that my arms can rest and rejuvenate.
Be well, sweet friends. I carry you in my heart and prayers until I return to sweep off the welcome mat and put on the kettle once again.
. . . and the wind gently blows . . .
. . . newly unfurled feathers ruffle . . .