The calling?
The exquisite anguish of bursting with the words that people need and can't find?
I do.
There are days where I think of the words you are looking for only the second before they come to you. "It seemed... what's the word...?" Don't worry. Give it a second. I'm sending it now. I think the word, I see them find it, and I hear them say it. It happens too often, too predictably to be coincidence.
Other days, I have floods of thoughts come so fast I could drown in them. I forget where I am, I stop seeing and hearing what's around me, and I immerse. I put them to paper. I share them with another. And the gift I get back is the breathing sigh of relief that rises and falls from them as something inside their hearts is mended, seen, fed, and made new. Some foggy cloud of a feeling on the fringes of their thoughts finds form. More lines on the maps of their souls are drawn, and they can cross out "There Be Dragons" and sketch in the true edges of what is newly seen.
The burden of words means I feel at times like a roam the earth with nothing but a belly full of too many thoughts, looking for who they belong to.
When I find who needs me, and I connect the raindrops of the storms that swirl around them, I see them come to life. I draw boundaries around their emotions and etch in the details, adding shadow and light and depth, then hand over the pen. I show them how it is beautiful and tell them that it matters, and let them find the rest.
I can never seem to find my own words. Well, not never. But it's harder. I have more of yours than I have of mine. Could it be I have few, and each is just heavier than most? It makes them harder to find, difficult to carry, and easy to drop. They sink to the bottom. Sometimes they take me with them. They are fewer, but they are more. And the stronger I get, the more of them I can carry.
Photo by Patrick Tomasso on Unsplash
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