Writing
24 May 2022
The waxing and waning of the moon each month hammers me physically and mentally.
I grow fangs, coarse hair prickles and itches between my shoulder blades as it sprouts and grows. The moon and earth play tug-of-war with my body. Tears squeeze from my eyes for half-known, illogical reasons. My spiritual and physical discomforts feel immediate and all too real.
My partner puts up with this. He is my rock and support, month after month. I feel sane only half of each month. My periods ceased long ago but as a woman I still feel the mad pull of the full and new moons.
In the middle of the tug-of-wars I endure, I find many things difficult to vocalize. Finding no escape from my tongue-tip, words whisper and rattle about in my head; rolling into dusty corners and down long echoing corridors of my mind.
Sleep evades me. I spend long torturous hours tossing and turning. Finally, I rise deep in the night, open my computer and stare at the blank “Notes” screen. I sit with fingertips poised, barely touching the keyboard, collecting my thoughts. Soon I feel concepts and words trickle from my mind. They gain momentum, sliding down my arms, flowing into my hands, dripping from my fingertips onto the keyboard…then they are gone. I return to bed, finally to sleep.
In the morning, I read what I know i wrote the night before. I wonder, who really wrote this trail of words, punctuations and thoughts? They are unfamiliar and foreign to me now. Are these my words or was I a willing conduit, writing for an unseen author?
After a recent newsletter I posted, a cousin called, commenting that he had not known I could “write like that”. Hell, I told him, I didn’t know I could “write like that” either!