Still Life with Paradox?
Q: Still Life with Paradox?
A: I’m in a high-rise hotel nestled into a bustling city; home of one of the stronger cultural pulses within our country. Life is everywhere you look and it moves, weaves, honks, cries, consumes, smiles, decides, acts, conceives, eats, masks, etc., all within a heartbeat. Despite the ramping up of mass hysteria and necessary precautions to avoid a pandemic virus, everything seems to be continuing as usual.
What if we simply review the last four years of life? Who else can notice a deeper thread of upheaval in their personal world amidst the chaos that has expressed upon the world stage? Have you too been confronted around deep-seated beliefs that no longer make sense? Has your idea of security been ripped into shreds before your eyes? Have you had to take an impractical leap of faith in order to survive the nearly impossible? Me too and it hasn’t been easy.
Easy. Just yesterday after speaking with a beloved new acquaintance about the trials of entrepreneurship, I found myself settling into contemplation of this word that seems so etheric in nature.
easy | ˈēzē | adjective (easier, easiest) 1 achieved without great effort; presenting few difficulties: an easy way of retrieving information. 2 (of a period of time or way of life) free from worries or problems: promises of an easy life in the New World. • (of a person) lacking anxiety or awkwardness; relaxed: his easy and agreeable manner | they didn't feel easy about what they were doing. 3 [attributive] (of an object of attack or criticism) having no defense; vulnerable: he was vulnerable and an easy target. • informal, derogatory (of a woman) open to sexual advances; sexually available: her reputation at school for being easy.
After perusing the dictionary for a moment, I was struck by the juxtaposition of the examples in the 3rd definition and took a still life photo within my mind… he was vulnerable and an easy target versus her reputation at school for being easy. There it is, sexism written in code within the very definition of a ‘harmless’ word. If the words we speak are being defined by those writing our dictionaries who haven’t a connection to a source greater than their intellect or cultural bias, then perhaps the pandemic of distorted thought is much worse than any coronavirus will ever be.
A surge of fire rises up within my spine. Our word is our life…
In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.
John 1:1
A chilling truth follows through inquiry…where have we not corrupted this magical potent seed of the word, of reality? Are we living into the world we’ve created by our unconscious words, doubts, fears, arrogance, abuse, manipulation, deceit, etc.? Can we write a new story? Today?
Writing is a responsibility. If I can’t stand by my word, I can’t publish. Words are pillars, they create, they destroy. As a writer, I must take a powerful look at this task to live my word into the integrity of my truth. To share my perspective suddenly feels audacious and inherent to my being. If I didn’t write it would come out of my ears. I feel full, full of thoughts weaving around emotions that come to be later known as words on a page in the eventual journey of its life.
The paradox is that those words later become read by another who digest them again provoking new thoughts, emotions and perhaps words of their own. Ultimately, we are all inside of the words we are each creating through this human experience. Some of us simply choose to claim them, reach for them as if stars and bring them into a reality worth living.
This reality, worth living. Worth expressing, sharing and telling stories about. There is so much more beyond my hand with a pen or my fingers to the keyboard tapping away in a frenzy. It’s as if I can’t breathe until the next sentence is laid bare for all to witness, whether it is meaning-full or meaning-less, it simply is and has come into existence by the simple act of writing.
I am so thankful for this art, the one that runs through my veins without end, that ceases to allow me to pause, for the ideas, vision, inspiration begins to flood me if I don’t give it a channel to pour through. To be a writer…it is an incredible honor to even be learning this craft, the incredible invitation to share life through letters gathered together for eyes to receive and make eventual meaning.
Can we write a new story? I believe we are, I know I am. And if I am, you can too. May all the valiant writers of the world who live with an aching heart for justice, truth, and liberty raise their pen as a sword. May we serve and protect those whose voices have yet to be born and may we encourage those same voices through living as an example to breakthrough, speak up...sing out.
A precautionary tale - Choose your words with grace and awareness for they represent your life, lead you to your destiny, and are your bridge to possibility. At the beginning of your new life is the word...what word will it be?
“Is the pen really mightier than the sword? I suppose that depends on how sharp the pen is, and the strength of the warrior wielding it.”
~ Max Hawthorne
